His interview with Nelatu, although of the briefest, had been as unproductive of results as that with the blunt old backwoodsman.
The plain speaking indulged in by Carrol, and which he had overheard before entering the cabin, had annoyed him, while the oracular manner adopted by Cris in no way assuaged the feeling.
The fact of the matter is that the old hunter had made a clear guess at the truth.
Warren had a passion for Sansuta, the daughter of Oluski.
Not a manly, loving passion, though.
Her beauty had cast a spell upon him. Had his soul been pure, the spell would have worked its own cure. Out of the magic of her very simplicity would have arisen chaste love.
But his heart was wicked, and its growth weeds.
Hitherto the difference of race had shielded from harm the object of his admiration. He would have been ashamed to avow it in an honest way.
Secretly, therefore, he had forged a false friendship for her brother, as a mask to conceal his base treachery.
In the incident with which our tale opens, he had found a ready means of advancing his own interests by more closely cementing Nelatu’s simple friendship, and moulding it to his will.