“But I will stay in sight of his prison; I will sell myself as a slave—do anything, if they will only let me stay near him.”
The missionary sat down upon the ground, and taking from his coat the little case of writing materials which he always carried about him wrote a few lines and gave them to Tahmeroo.
“Read them,” he said; “I can do nothing more.”
“It is enough, enough! Bless you, bless you!” exclaimed Tahmeroo, seizing his hand and pressing it to her lips. The missionary withdrew it gently and rose to his feet.
“And when do you start?” Mary asked.
“Before the evening stars look into the water Tahmeroo will be far away.”
“Come home with me first, and get some food and rest,” Mary urged, taking her hand.
“Tahmeroo has no need of food and rest.” She laid one hand on her heart, and finished the sentence with a mournful bend of the head.
“Do not go to-night—stay with me.”
“The pale medicine is very kind, and Tahmeroo loves her, but she must go; some of her father’s warriors wait near the old camping-ground, and will show her the way.”