The reproachful tone in which Sansuta uttered his name, recalled young Rody to himself.
He immediately changed his tactics.
“But why talk of Oluski’s anger? Rather speak of my love. Surely you do not doubt it?”
The Indian maiden heaved a sigh.
“Sansuta does not doubt you, but she is unhappy.”
“Unhappy! Why?”
“Because an Indian girl would make but a poor wife to a white gentleman.”
A strange smile crossed the young man’s face. He did not, however, interrupt her.
“If Sansuta cared for you less, she would not have been here this morning; she would not have seen you again.”
“Come, come, dearest, you alarm yourself without reason. Need I tell you how much I love you—how I have always loved you? Have we not grown up together? What more natural than love like mine?”