For some seconds she remains intently listening, her young heart pulsing audibly within her breast. It beats easier as the footfall draws nigher, and she can tell it is not that of a man. The tread is too light and elastic. It cannot be Aguara who approaches.
She is still surer of its not being he, as the footsteps, having come close up to the hut, cease to be heard, and in their place a different sound enters through the open door—a feminine voice speaking in soft, dulcet tones.
The speech is not addressed to the captive herself, but to him who watches outside. After an interchange of ordinary salutation, and an inquiry by the watcher as to what is wanted—this evidently in tone of surprise—the soft voice responds, “I want to speak with the little pale free.”
“You cannot. Shebotha forbids it. No one may enter here without her permission.”
“But I have more than her permission—her commands. She has sent me with a message to the paleface. At this moment Mam Shebotha has a matter elsewhere, and could not come herself.”
“You may be speaking the truth, but how am I to know?” questions the man, as he regards the intruder with an incredulous stare. “I don’t go so far as to say you are telling a lie. All I say is, that the thing isn’t at all likely. Mam Shebotha’s not the sort to trust her affairs to such a chiquitita as you.”
“You know me, don’t you?”
“Oh, yes; you are Kaolin’s sister—her they call the belle of the tribe; your name’s Nacena.”
“It is so; and surely you’ll believe me? The sister of Kaolin would not speak false. You cannot suppose I am deceiving you?”
“Ah!” he rejoins, with his words heaving a sigh, “it is often those who are most beautiful who most deceive.”