“Father!” She lifted her head quickly, leaned back with hands caught tight in front of her, looked up into his face—her own crimsoning and paling as she took in the full meaning of it all. Her eyes dropped.
“Then,” she said slowly, “that Indian girl—Early Morn—is his half-sister. Oh, oh!” A great pity flooded her heart and eyes. “Why didn’t Erskine take them away from the Indians?”
“His mother wouldn’t leave them.” And Barbara understood.
“Poor thing—poor thing!”
“I think Erskine is going to try now.”
“Did you tell him to bring them here?” The general put his hand on her head.
“I hoped you would say that. I did, but he shook his head.”
“Poor Erskine!” she whispered, and her tears came. Her father leaned back and for a moment closed his eyes.
“There is more,” he said finally. “Erskine’s father was the eldest brother—and Red Oaks——”
The girl sprang to her feet, startled, agonized, shamed: “Belongs to Erskine,” she finished with her face in her hands. “God pity me,” she whispered, “I drove him from his own home.”