"I," the squatter went on, with ill-concealed emotion, "am a man; I can, without succumbing, support the most excessive fatigue, brave the greatest dangers; but—"
"I understand you," the missionary quickly interrupted him; "I intend to keep your daughter with me. Be at your ease, she shall want for nothing."
"Oh, thanks, thanks, father!" he exclaimed, with an accent such a man might have been thought incapable of.
Ellen had hitherto listened to the conversation in silence, but now she stepped forward, and placing herself between the two men, said with sublime dignity:
"I am most grateful to both of you for your intentions with regard to me, but I cannot abandon my father; I will follow him wherever he goes, to console him and aid him in suffering the retributions Heaven sends on him, as a Christian should do."
The two men prepared to interrupt her.
"Stay!" she said, warmly; "hitherto I have suffered through my father's conduct, for it was guilty; but now that repentance fills his soul, I pity and love him. My resolution is unchangeable."
Father Seraphin gazed at her in admiration.
"It is well, my child," he said; "Heaven will remember such pure and noble devotion."
The squatter pressed his daughter to his heart, but had not the strength to utter a word—he had never felt such sweet emotion before. The missionary rose.