“Then your eyes have deceived me, for I fancied I saw love deep down in them. It must have been the reflection of the love that was in my heart. But still I know there was encouragement in them. They spoke like words.”
“And this is my punishment!” sobbed the poor girl. “Oh, Mr. Swiftwing, it was not love—it was admiration! I thought you so brave and so noble! I did not dream you could do such a wicked thing as you have done! No one could have made me believe it was in your heart. I would have defended you against the tongues of all accusers. But now—how my idol is shattered!”
He shrank beneath her words, as if they were blows from a whip. For a moment he cowered, and then he lifted his head with an angry, defiant toss.
“They told you,” he said—“they told you the red streak was in me! They were right! I heard them say it! They told you that my heart was the heart of an Indian, even though I wore white man’s clothes and read white man’s books. They were right! They told you all the education I might receive would not change my nature. They were right! God made the white man, and He made the Indian. He did not make them alike, and what God has made man cannot change. The white man took me to give me an education. Bah! What is an education to me? What would it mean if I had the finest education that the white man could give me? I would still remain an Indian, and, with all my education, I would turn back to my people, live as they live and die as they die—no better. I have thought it all out. I have thought it is no use to try to be anything but an Indian. The fight is ended! I am an Indian again!”
Inza’s heart was full of despair.
“I will not believe you are as bad as you think!” she cried. “I saw something noble in your face, and I think it came from your heart. See, Swiftwing—on my knees I beg you to take me back to my friends! I know you will not refuse me! Take me back to them, and always will I remember you with gratitude. Always will I think of you as noble and true when the great test came!”
Thus she entreated him, and the pleading of her face and eyes was more than her words. He stirred uneasily.
“You do not love me?”
“No! no!”
“You love Frank Merriwell?”