Roger started back from her, anger flashing from his eyes.
“A child of such a brood! Better let it die, Loïs. Would you nurture a viper in your bosom?” he said.
“It is my brother’s child, and its mother is dying for me!” said Loïs passionately, and she burst into tears.
A great struggle was visible in the hunter’s face. He hated this Indian woman, who, to his mind, had helped to decoy his friend. Why should he save her child?
“She is dying; fetch the child for her, Roger, and then I will depart with it, and you shall see our faces no more!” and Loïs threw herself on her knees before him. “By our old love,” she murmured. He turned away and strode up to the room where he knew they had laid Nadjii. Loïs and the minister followed.
All the soul of the dying woman was reflected in her eyes. When she saw Roger she strove to lift herself, but Loïs sprang to her side and laid her hand upon her, saying,—
“Tell him where to find Nenemoosha. He will go for him,” she said.
Nadjii lay motionless, wounded from head to foot, tortured with awakening agony.
Loïs moistened her lips, and smiled down on her dark sister as an angel might.
Then Nadjii spoke, quickly, gaspingly, looking at Roger. When she ceased, he bowed his head and left the room.