“What! Do you mean that all men are either brutes or idiots?”
“All!”
“Oh! Britomarte, how can you—can you—say so, dearest? You had a father!”
Dark as a thundercloud grew the beautiful face of the amazon; harsh, curt and strange were the words of her reply.
“Yes; I had a father with little claim upon my love, and less upon my honor. Never name him to me again.”
Erminie was appalled.
Britomarte stopped in her walk and sat down at the foot of a tree, as if overshadowed by some dark destiny.
Erminie sank down at her feet and laid her head on her lap.
Both were silent for a time, and the only sounds that broke the stillness were the whispering of the leaves above their heads, the hum of the insects around them, and the ripple of the river below.
Erminie began to sob softly, while Britomarte laid her hand gently on her pet’s head.