The patient seemed as if speaking in a trance. She was in that state which baffles all human knowledge to understand, and, without attempting to explain what never can be understood, we give the facts alone. What the Frontier Angel saw on that stormy night, when neither the impenetrable walls of the block-house, nor the miles of wilderness could bound her vision, was really occurring. And the commander, rapt, wondering, and believing, listened. When she had finished, she turned toward him.
"Franklin Holmes, I understand all, not all either; but I feel I have passed through some dreadful darkness, and light is again dawning upon me. There is a white captive in danger this moment. She must be rescued! I can lead the way!"
"But—but, Myra, you cannot. Hear how the storm rages," pleaded the commander.
"Have I not passed through more fearful storms than this?" she asked, stepping upon the floor and confronting him. "Yes," she added in a low, meaning tone, "if you value the life of Marian Abbot, who is now living, it must be done. Get me one or two companions and I will lead the way."
Holmes believed that it was his duty to do so, and answering her that her wish should be gratified at once, he passed out. He aroused Dingle and Mansfield, but Peterson was nowhere to be found. He imparted to the ranger the identity of their guide, and the absence of Peterson was then understood. Preparations were made at once to start, and the impatience and excitement of Mansfield was painful to witness.
The Frontier Angel—as we shall call her for a time—arrayed herself in her usual garments, wrapping a large shawl around her form, and covering her head securely, and was ready when Holmes reentered the room.
"How many are going?" she asked.
"Two well-tried and reliable men."
"That is plenty. Let us wait no longer."
She passed out without a word, and the two men joined her. The commander unbarred the gate and saw them move off in the darkness, adding no unnecessary caution or question.