“Well, sir?” she asked, in her sweetest voice. “Surely I can not be so terrible that you need hesitate.”
“If you had a portrait of yourself that you would permit me to take back to the General, it would make him a proud and happy man.”
“What!” she exclaimed, smiling still, though her voice rung out a shade less soft, “would you have a picture of the Indian queen that your nation might look at it and say, ‘This is the panther of the forest?’”
“Madam, you wrong our gallantry and our manhood by the doubt.”
“Truly, I think so,” she answered. “Let me see—let me see. I have a miniature of myself—yes, you shall send Rene for it soon. I shall have news for you then. It is the face of a mere girl; but, tell the Governor, when he looks at to remember that it is a pledge of the woman’s sincerity.”
“Many, many thanks,” returned St. Clair. “Now, madam, permit us to take our leave. The night is wearing on, and we have a long journey before us.”
“Farewell, then, gentlemen. Believe me, you have bound me to you by this night’s work. I may one day be able to give you a proof of my friendship.”
“The knowledge that we possess it is good fortune enough,” they answered.
They bent over the hand she extended, and, with more words of courtesy, passed out of her presence.
Mahaska stood in the hall where she had parted from her visitors, till the softly-handled oars died away on the lake. Then, without more delay, she began, by the light of the moon which filled the apartment with its radiance, to complete the task which lay before her.