"Keep away! keep away!" she screamed, retreating to the door and yet fearing to go out.
"Kiss me—tomahawk pappoose!" said the savage, placing his hand upon the weapon.
The young wife placed her hands over her face and sobbed aloud. She did not hear the cat-like footsteps of the savage, as he approached. His long arm was already stretched forth to clasp her, when the door was darkened, a form leaped into the room, and with the quickness of lightning, dealt the savage a tremendous blow that stretched him limp and lifeless upon the floor.
"Move a limb and I will kill you!" shouted the young missionary, his face all ablaze with passion. "Cora, has he harmed you?"
"No, no, no, Harvey; have you not already killed him?"
"Pity that I haven't. He is not fit to live."
"Dear Harvey, you are carried away by your passion. Do restrain yourself."
Woman-like, the only emotion of Cora Richter was that of commiseration for the poor wretch that had been stricken down by the hand of her husband. She saw the blood trickling from his face and knew that he was dreadfully injured. The missionary, too, began to become more calm and collected; and yet, while regretting the occasion, he could but think he had done his simple duty to his insulted wife. Had he been prepared as he entered the door, he would have shot the savage dead in his tracks.