“It was while I was reckless and strong to maintain it; but now, alas! I am only a poor weak woman! Since we first met on the banks of this river, thoughts have awakened in my bosom which had slept for years. This terrible life shocks me to the soul, and the chief despises what he deems cowardice. Queen Esther has regained her old power, and Walter Butler, my child’s husband, urges them on like a demon. They have left me here without a word; Heaven only knows what the end will be.”
“You must do something—do not give way; there is not a moment to spare; human life is at stake!”
“It is like a dream,” said Catharine, vaguely; “the present is gone from me—your voice carries me back—back to my early youth. Where did I hear it then?”
“This is no time for dreams, lady,” cried the missionary. “Only rouse yourself—come away. Do you hear those shots—that yell?”
But Catharine yielded more completely to the power which dulled her senses—she could realize nothing: years rolled back their troubled tempest from her brain; she was once more in her English home. Even the war-whoop of her tribe could not arouse her.
“Will you not move?” groaned the missionary. “The whole valley will be slaughtered—that innocent child on the island will be killed. A second time, Caroline, as you value your soul, save her!”
“That child—the girl with an angel’s face, and that form,” said Catharine, dreamily, but with a look of affright, as if she were just awakening. “Bless her, Heaven bless that angel girl!”
“Can you realize nothing? Then I must say that which will waken, or drive you wholly mad! Woman—Lady Granby—fly—save that girl—for, as there is a God to judge between us two, she is your own daughter.”
Catharine sat motionless, staring at him vaguely with her heavy eyes.
“I have no daughter but Tahmeroo,” she said; “and she is only half my child now.”