Bidiane shuddered, and then, with difficulty, ejaculated, "No, never."
"I was," said Charlitte, unblushingly, "on a cannibal island. All the rest of the crew were eaten. I was the only one spared, and I was left shut up in a hut in a palm grove until six months ago, when a passing ship took me off and brought me to New York."
Bidiane, by means of a vigorous effort, was able to partly restore her mind to working order. Should she believe this man or not? She felt dimly that she did not like him, yet she could not resist Rose's touching, mute entreaty that she should bestow some recognition on the returned one. Therefore she said, confusedly, "Those cannibals, where did they live?"
"In the South Sea Islands, 'way yonder," and Charlitte's eyes seemed to twinkle into immense distance.
Rose was hanging her head. This recital pained her, and before Bidiane could again speak, she said, hurriedly, "Do not mention it. Our Lord and the blessed Virgin have brought you home. Ah! how glad Father Duvair will be, and the village."
"Good heavens!" said Charlitte. "Do you think I care for the village. I have come to see you."
For the first time Rose shrank from him, and Agapit brought down his eyes from the sky to glance keenly at him.
"Charlitte," faltered Rose, "there have been great changes since you went away. I—I—" and she hesitated, and looked at Bidiane.
Bidiane shrank behind a spruce-tree near which she was standing, and from its shelter looked out like a small red squirrel of an inquiring turn of mind. She felt that she was about to be banished, and in the present dazed state of her brain she dreaded to be alone.
Agapit's inexorable gaze sought her out, and, taking his pipe from his mouth, he sauntered over to her. "Wilt thou run away, little one? We may have something to talk of not fit for thy tender ears."