“But what is your life worth without liberty?”
It is not Nacena who puts this question, but the paleface herself; speaking to him in her native tongue, as his. He gives a sudden start on hearing it, and regards the young girl with a stare of astonishment, rubbing his eyes as though just awakened from a long-continued sleep.
“Ah—eh!” he exclaims, excitedly. “What’s that? Liberty, did you say? Liberty? Mine’s gone long ago. I’m but a poor slave—Shebotha’s slave. I can never be free again; no, never!”
“You may be free now—this very moment—if you wish it.”
“If I wish it! Ha, ha, ha! That’s a good joke! If I wish it! Only show me the way, and let Mam Shebotha go to—”
“Never mind Mam Shebotha. Listen to me, who am of the same race and people as yourself. There are some of them now near, who have come to take me home to my friends. You must have friends too, whom you left long ago. Why should you not go back to them?”
“Carramba!” he cries out, as if the sound of his native tongue had brought back to remembrance one of its most common exclamations, and along with it a desire to return to the place where he last heard it spoken. “Why should I not? If you say you’ll take me, I will.”
“Ah! I’ll not only take you, but be glad of your company. Nos vamos!”
It is still Francesca who speaks, and at the last words, pronounced in a tone of half encouragement, half command, she stretches out her hand, and taking hold of that of her late jailer, leads him off, as a rough pampas colt just tamed and gentled.
Nacena, astonished at the spirit shown by the little paleface, and delighted with a success which may prove advantageous to herself, says not a word; but steps off forward in front of the other two—making mute pantomimic signs to guide them in the direction they are to go.