Ere she could make reply, Bradford had turned the corner of the cabin and disappeared. A half hour later he had set out upon his journey, accompanied by a half score of picked warriors.
CHAPTER XII.
The night of Bradford’s departure was quite warm for the time of year. Ross Douglas sat in front of the cabin he had occupied since coming to the village. The balmy air was laden with the scent of wild flowers—sweet with the breath of the damp woodland. La Violette timidly stole to his side and whispered:
“You are lonely. May I talk to you?”
“Certainly—I’m always glad to have your company,” he replied,—sincerity in his voice and manner.
In low tones they conversed for some time, aimlessly rambling from one subject to another. Each put forth an effort to entertain the other; but in spite of their endeavors the conversation flagged. Silence fell upon them. The stars peeped out; the moon rose above the tree-tops. At last the girl sprang from her seat, and with a soft “good-night” slipped away among the shadows.
Douglas promptly got upon his feet, and calling to Duke—who lay dozing near the door—entered the hut. The place was in absolute darkness. Without removing any of his apparel, the young man threw himself upon his couch, murmuring:
“At last the opportunity has come; and I’m ready to take advantage of it. I’ll snatch a few hours of sleep. Then when the camp is wrapped in slumber, I’ll steal into the black forest, and leave this hated place far behind me. No guards have been placed over me. I can hardly understand it. But I ought not to complain, if fortune sees fit to favor me for once. Ah, Amy! God favoring, I shall soon meet you and clasp you to my heart!”
A short time he lay, open-eyed and thoughtful. Then sighing deeply, he whispered: