“What became of the white man and woman who taught you?” asked Duncan.
“After we had learned to speak their tongue my father killed them,” she answered simply.
“Then he, too, lied,” I said.
“Not so. He promised them life if they would teach us, and they lived. But he could not promise them life for all time, because all life is uncertain.”
“So he killed them?”
“Yes; having no longer need for them. They were white, and the Techlas hate all white people.”
“Because of their color?”
“Because they once robbed our people and drove them from their homes.”
“Listen, Ilalah,” said Duncan, earnestly; “the white race that wronged your people was the Spanish race; but there are many whites that are not Spaniards—any more than are all Indians Techlas. So you have no reason to hate us, who are not Spanish and have never wronged you.”
“I do not hate you,” she answered, taking his hand and pressing it fondly. “I love you.”