“Mean,” retorted the other; “why, I mean that you must give up your mistress to serve your master.”
“No; I can retain the one and do the other. From the Nana I shall derive wealth, greatness, position. It is worth some sacrifice to gain them. But I have risked too much for this white-faced woman to let her go now. I will take her to Cawnpore.”
With a scream, Flora—who, though apparently unconscious, had heard the conversation between the two men—flung herself at the feet of Jewan, and, catching his hand between her own, cried—
“Oh, man, if you are not something less than human, do not take me away. Do not take me to Cawnpore. Let me remain here. Nay, kill me, rather than separate me for ever from those who are dear to me.”
She crouched at his feet; she held his hand tightly, and looked up into his face with such a look of sorrow, that it should have moved even a savage animal. But the man only laughed coarsely, and, with a sneer on his lips, said—
“Our power is returning. The white woman crouches at the feet of the despised Indian.”
“No, no; do not say despised,” she answered, her voice broken with sobs. “You have ever experienced the greatest kindness from my countrymen. Has not Mr. Gordon been a friend to you? Were you not nursed and tended with love and gentleness by white friends? Let some remembrance of all that has been done for you move your heart to pity me; and, rather than take me away, strike me dead now at your feet, and with my last breath I will bless you.”
“Why do you remind me that I have been a slave?” he answered, his eyes glowing with hatred. “Why do you utter a name in my ear that only serves to turn my heart to stone. Walter Gordon is your lover. I offer all that he can—love and faithfulness. You spurn me, and choose him. I hate him. Do you hear? And do you think that, after having risked so much to secure you, I shall let you escape? No; I’m for Cawnpore, and you go with me.”
She threw up her arms, and, with a pitiful cry, fell upon her face on the floor.