“You speak truly, chief, when you call me sad, but were I to wed you without love, you too would soon grow sad. The white maiden respects you,—is grateful to you,—would serve you all in her feeble power, but she cannot do so great a wrong to herself and to you, as to say yes, when her heart speaks no.”
Kiana shook like an aspen leaf. His voice grew tremulous, but the pride and passion of his race were subdued before the truth and beauty of Beatriz. There had always been something in her deportment, which as decisively forbade hope where hope was not to be, as it would have invited love where love was to be. So he turned from her more in sorrow than in anger, but had gone but a few steps, when returning, he said, “Kiana loves you, and ever will. He seeks a companion, not a captive. You are right not to say yes, when you feel no; fear not. Kiana can love, even if not loved. All that he possesses is yours. Never shall it be said of Kiana that his love changed to dishonor, because he could not win the white maiden.”
Tears started to her eyes as she gave him her hand. She dared not trust her speech to express the gratitude she really felt, for fear it might revive his passion. And so they parted, each remaining true to their last words.
CHAPTER XI.
“I never saw a vessel of like Sorrow,
So filled and so becoming.”
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