At the fort, where it was said that she was heartless, that she was a coquette, the story she would never contradict, for well she knew that the handsome young aide, whose story she had heard and regarded as one of mystery and romance, had won her heart almost at their first meeting.
Then came their ride together, their danger, and the thought that she had left him behind to die while she lived.
Had she been in doubt before of her feelings she could not be longer after that ride with Kit Carey, and it was no wonder that, as she was whirled eastward on the train, that she felt a dread of evil, that death would take away the one man among men in all the world to her.
Mrs. Foshay had, of course, been told by the kind neighbors the most harassing stories of the Indian war, the death of Sitting Bull, and the terrors that were expected to follow, but they were good enough who retailed the news to state that thus far they had seen no account of Captain Foshay's having been slain or captured by the hostiles.
It was a great relief, therefore, to the lady when her daughter arrived, fresh from the fields of danger, and she learned the truth of affairs.
Emma was most careful that no paper should reach her mother's hands, for she read all the news to her, keeping back all that might excite or alarm her.
One afternoon Emma Foshay went out to call upon a friend, and she met there a young lady who was visiting for a week.
She was at once struck with the beauty of the young girl, and her lovely, fascinating manners, and seemed strangely drawn toward her.
She had been introduced as Miss Earl, and the conversation at once turned upon Emma Foshay's visit to her father upon the frontier, and her narrow escape from capture by the Indians.