“My people are allies of the English.”
“Still you can’t blame me for wishing to fight for my country.”
“And you cannot blame me for refusing to liberate you.”
He remained silent. Again she gave him that meaning glance; but he could not fathom it. At that moment, the sound of voices in angry altercation came to their ears.
“Secure his hands!” La Violette cried to the guard, as she sprang past him and planted her slender form in the doorway.
The sight that met her gaze was one calculated to unnerve the bravest man. Fifty armed warriors had overpowered Long Gun and his faithful few, and were rushing toward the spot where she stood.
Only too well she knew what it meant. The infuriated mob were bent upon murdering Ross Douglas.
On they came, brandishing their weapons and yelling like demons. Their painted faces were contorted with rage; their eyes gleamed with the fire of their hellish purpose.
The hot blood forsook La Violette’s face, and surged in a sickening flood to her heart and brain. Her vision grew misty; her limbs trembled. But she set her white teeth and firmly stood her ground.