Each word fell separately, like a ringing brazen coin. Then she screamed excitedly:
“But my innocent child shall never blush for its father—it shall never know him! I hate him—I loathe him! The brute—the coward—the murderer! Oh! that I had never seen him——”
“Sh!” he cautioned. “You’re talking too loud. Remember we are surrounded by sharp-eared, lynx-eyed enemies. Where were you going—what were you trying to do, when I met you?”
“Trying to escape,” she panted in a strident whisper.
“Softly!” he again cautioned. “From whom were you trying to escape?”
“From my captors, the Indians at Fort Miami—and from George Hilliard.”
“I can’t understand,” he replied wonderingly. “Is your—your husband among the British, at their encampment just below here?”
“Yes.”
“Then you and the child must return to him,” Ross answered firmly, decidedly.
“Never!” she hissed through her set teeth. “We’ll find a grave in the river first. I hate him, I tell you—I despise and loathe him!”—Then pleadingly: “Oh, Ross Douglas! If one spark of the old love for me yet burns in your bosom, save me—save me!”