“Who has committed one?”
“You know wrongs have been done by white people against the Indians, not alone now, but ever since the two races have been brought together. We are no better than others; but we can avoid their errors by trying to remedy the grievances they complain of.”
Old Rody stamped the floor with rage; his daughter’s remarks made him wince. Conscience, which he deemed asleep, was at work, and upon the tongue of his own child had found utterance.
“Begone, girl!” he cried, “before I forget that you are my own flesh and blood. You insult me beyond endurance. I will manage my affairs my own way, without impediment from you. Ay, not only my own affairs, but the affairs of all here. I will have blind obedience; I demand it, and will exact it. Begone!”
His daughter looked him boldly in the face.
“Be it so, father,” she answered; “I have done my duty—will always do it. Think, however, before it is too late, that to your conduct in this matter, the groans of widows and the sighs of orphans may be laid. The happiness or misery of many rests upon your single word. It is an awful risk—reflect upon it, dear father, reflect!”
Her proud bearing gave place to tears. Her womanly heart was full to overflowing. It conquered her spirit for a time; and as she parted from her father’s presence, she felt that the last hope of peace had vanished.
“By the eternal powers!” cried he, “this will prove too much for me. It must come to an end!”
As Rody uttered these words, he drew from his pocket a flask and applied it to his lips.
It was a bottle of brandy. It seemed the last friend left him.