Jane began to sob.
“What is the difference, supposing he speaks the truth?” said Butler, also bending over her. “I love you, and have the means of performing all my promises. Who will know or care about this forest hawk in our world?”
Jane Derwent was weak and miserably vain, but not vicious. Butler had enlisted no really deep feeling in his behalf. Indeed, but for her terror of the Indian girl, it is doubtful if she would have followed him to the shore. She had been taught from childhood up to regard the missionary with reverence, and never for an instant dreamed of doubting his word. Arising with an angry gesture, she put Butler aside and submitted herself to the caressing arm of her sister.
“Go to your wife,” she said, with a burst of mortification. “She is only too good for you. I am sorry for her and despise you—a pretty creature you intended to make of me.”
“Not at all, my dear. It was the Lord that made you a pretty creature to begin with, or I should never have troubled my head about you. After all, I dare say the whole thing would have turned out more plague than pleasure.”
“Or profit, either,” said the missionary, with the nearest approach to sarcasm that his heavenly voice or features could express. “Remember, for the present, I am that poor girl’s trustee; wrong her by another word, and the draft upon Sir William Johnson shall be cancelled. Before morning I will deliver it back, with the casket of jewels in my bosom, to the lady whose munificence you have abused. Gold cannot re-kindle the love that would give happiness to this unfortunate child, but it shall save her from cruelty.”
“Upon my word, old gentleman, you should have been a lawyer; among that hive of red skins up yonder. I really thought praying your vocation, but you are rather hard upon my harmless enterprise. I only wanted to torment little hunchback here, who has been following me round like a wildcat the whole week; there was nothing serious in the matter, I assure you, upon the honor of a gentleman.”
The missionary regarded him for a moment in dead silence; the audacity of this falsehood was something new to him. It is probable he would have rebuked this coarse attempt at deception, but Tahmeroo came proudly up at the instant, and for her sake he refrained.
During this entire conversation the Indian bride had kept aloof, standing alone on the banks of the cove; as she moved towards them Butler’s last speech fell upon her ear. She drew a deep breath, and listened for more. The light shone full upon her face; it was pale, but very beautiful, with the new hope his words had aroused—her eyes shone like stars. All the spirit of her fathers lay in the movement of that slender form. With the elasticity of sudden hope she came back to her old life.
Butler was eager to retaliate upon Jane, to convince the missionary and appease his bride. With that quick transition of manner which rendered him almost irresistible at times, he met Tahmeroo half way.