His captive continued to recover, and, along with her restored strength, came a change over the spirit of her existence. She seemed transformed into a different being.
The past had vanished like a dream. Only dimly did she remember her residence at Tampa Bay, her father, the conflict on the hill, the massacre, her brother’s sad fate, all seemed to have faded from her memory, until they appeared as things that had never been, or of which she had no personal knowledge, but had only heard of them long, long ago.
It is true they still had a shadowy existence in her mind, but entirely disassociated with the events of her life, since she had been a captive among the Indians. Nor was there much to regret in this impaired recollection, for both the events and personages had been among the miseries of her life.
Of her present she had a more pleasurable appreciation. She was living a new life, and thinking new thoughts.
Nelatu and Wacora both strove in a thousand kind ways to render her contented and happy.
They had no great luxuries to offer her, but such as they had were bestowed with true delicacy.
Strange to say, that in this common solicitude there was not a spark of jealousy between the two cousins.
Nelatu’s nature was generosity itself; and self-sacrifice appeared to him as if it was his duty or fate!
Still, while he basked in the sunshine of the young girl’s beauty, he had not the courage to imagine to himself that she could ever belong to another. Not to him might her love be given, but surely not to another! He could not think of that.
True that at times he fancied he could perceive a look bestowed on Wacora such as she never vouchsafed to him—a tremor in her voice when speaking to his cousin, which had never betrayed itself in her discourse with himself.