The cowering Prophet looked the impotent rage he felt, but did not open his lips. As he left the cabin Bradford chuckled huskily:
“I have cowed him. The miserable coward—he is afraid to say his life is his own!”
Then gravely:
“But he’s cunning—treacherous. What a wonderful, uncanny power he exerts over his ignorant people! I must not be long absent. What a sweet revenge it would be to him, to frustrate my designs. The only thing that will restrain him is his abject cowardice. How he hates me! And for what? Because I have made him bow the knee to me—the craven! Because my wishes have run counter to his selfish purpose—because I have done as I please concerning the welfare of that dear girl.”
Just outside of the door he met La Violette.
“I’m going away for a few weeks, La Violette,” he remarked. “In my absence improve your opportunity to the utmost.”
“What do you mean?” she asked softly, dropping her long lashes over her tell-tale eyes.
“You know what I mean, my little coquette,” he laughed lightly. “You have ensnared Ross Douglas’s heart. Throw a few more cords of love around it, to hold it secure.”
“Snared his heart!” she cried, petulantly stamping her moccasined foot. “He has no heart—it is in another’s keeping.”
“Not so, little one,” he answered positively. “He’s betrothed to another—he muttered her name in his delirium—but he’s learning to love you. Already he loves you better than you know—than he suspects. Yours is the name that falls from his lips during sleep. Be patient—but persistent. Devote yourself to his comfort—make yourself necessary to his very existence. Above all, see to it that he doesn’t escape during my absence. Good-by.”