“I hope, through Heaven's mercy, not. Indeed, I think not; though I fear he must be a prisoner.”
“Thank you for that, dear, dear Mr. Littlepage! Oh! Thank you for that, from the bottom of my heart. But may they not torture him? Do not these Hurons torture their prisoners? Conceal nothing from me, Corny; you cannot imagine how much self-command I have, and how well I can behave. Oh! conceal nothing.”
Poor girl! At the very moment she was boasting of her fortitude and ability to endure, her whole frame was trembling from head to foot, her face was of the hue of death, and the smile with which she spoke was frightfully haggard. That pent-up passion, which had so long struggled with her prudence, could no longer be suppressed. That she really loved Guert, and that her love would prove stronger than her discretion, I had not doubted, now, for some months; but, never having before witnessed the strength of any feeling that had been so long and so painfully suppressed, I confess that this exhibition of a suffering so intense, in a being so delicate, so excellent, and so lovely, almost unmanned me. I took Mary Wallace's hand and led her to a chair, scarce knowing what to say to relieve her mind. All this time, her eye never turned from mine, as if she hoped to learn the truth by the aid of the sense of sight alone. How anxious, jealous, distrustful, and yet beseeching was that gaze!
“Will he be tortured?” She rather whispered huskily, than asked aloud.
“I trust, by God's mercy, not. They have taken my slave, Jaap, also; and it is far more probable that he would be the victim, in such a case, than Mr. Ten Eyck—”
“Why do you call him Mr. Ten Eyck? You have always called him Guert of late—you are his friend—you think well of him—you cannot be less his friend, now that he is miserable, than when he was happy, and the pride of all human eyes, in his strength and manly beauty!”
“Dear Miss Wallace, compose yourself, I do entreat of you—no one will cling to Guert longer than I.”
“Yes; I have always thought this—always felt this. Guert cannot be low, or mean in his sentiments, while an educated gentleman, like Corny Littlepage, is his friend. I have written to my aunt, and we must not be too hasty in our judgments. The spirit and follies of youth will soon be over, and then we shall see a shining character in Guert Ten Eyck. Is not this true, Anneke?”
Anneke knelt at the side of her friend, folded her in her arms, drew the quivering head down upon her own sympathising bosom, and held it there a moment, in the very attitude of protecting, solacing love. After a brief pause, Mary Wallace burst into tears, and I have ever thought that that relief, under God's mercy, saved her reason. In a few minutes, the sufferer became more calm, when she retired into herself, as was her wont, leaving Anneke and me to discuss the subject.
After turning all the chances and probabilities in our minds, I promised my companions not to lose a moment, but to use immediate means of ascertaining all that could be ascertained, in Guert's behalf, and of doing everything that could be done, to save him.