“Is it not my prison?”
“It is no more your prison than you are a prisoner. You have long been free.”
There was a mournful sadness in Alice Rody’s speech which touched the heart of the Indian chief.
“Freedom is a boon only to those who can enjoy it,” she said, after a pause.
“And are you unhappy?” asked Wacora.
“Can you ask that question?—you who have done so much—” She paused; her generous nature hesitated to inflict pain.
He concluded her speech for her.
“I have done so much to make you unhappy. You are right. I have been an instrument in the hands of Fate, and you owe your misery to me. But I am only an instrument, not the original cause. My will had no voice in my actions, and but one motive prompted me. That was Duty.”
“Duty?” she asked, a smile curling her lip.
“Yes, duty! I could prove it to you had you the desire to hear me.”