Why, there was her warrior: her own! And the son she had lost! And now—what was this in the parting of the tent curtains? The moonlight made mortal?
No. Not a moon-born but a sun-born maiden she, who stooped till her white garments swept the earth and her beautiful, loving face was close, close. Even the glazing eyes could see how wondrously fair it was in the sight of men and spirits. Even the dulled ears could catch that agonized cry:
“Wahneenah! Wahneenah! My Mother! Bravest and noblest! and yet—a savage!”
“Who called her so knew not of what he spake. From one God we all came and unto Him we must return. Blessed be His Name!” answered the clergyman who had followed.
Then the frail man, who had so little strength for himself, was given power to lift the broken-hearted Maid and carry her away into a place of safety.
CHAPTER XXII.
GROWING UP.
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