“Rise, Nelatu; the son of Oluski should not bend his knee to man. At your intercession, her life shall be spared!”
Nelatu rose from the ground.
“You are indeed our chief, Wacora. Your heart is open and generous.”
“Stay, yet, before you mistake me. I give you her life, but ‘an eye for an eye!’ She shall suffer what Sansuta has suffered; spare her life, but not her honour.”
“Wacora!”
“I have said it. Here”—turning to the assembled warriors who had been amazed witnesses of the scene—“this is the child of our enemy, Elias Rody. I have, at Nelatu’s entreaty, spared her life; I bestow her upon the tribe; do with her what you will.”
Nelatu leaped before the advancing braves.
“Back!” he cried. “The first who lays hands upon her, dies!”
Wacora gazed upon his cousin.
In his breast rage contended with wonder.