"Let us do something," said the monk.
Ellen, exhausted with fatigue, seated herself on a branch, and her father gazed at her in despair.
"Poor child," he said, in a low voice, "how she suffers!"
"Do not think about me, father," she said; "save yourself, and leave me here."
"Leave you!" he cried, savagely; "never! Not if I died; no, no, I will save you."
"What have I to fear from these men, to whom I never did any harm?" she continued; "they will have pity on my weakness."
Red Cedar burst into an ironical laugh. "Ask the jaguars if they pity the antelopes," he said. "You do not know the savages, poor child. They would torture you to death with ferocious joy."
Ellen sighed, and let her head droop.
"Time is slipping away; let us decide on something," the monk repeated.
"Go to the demon!" the squatter said brutally; "You are my evil genius."