“It matters not: dictate what you would say to her. I have here paper and pencil; and shall write for you. If she has read the other, she will be on the look-out—and no doubt we may find an opportunity of giving a note to her.”
“And she of reading it, no doubt. Yes; it does seem the best course we can pursue—the surest and safest. Surely Lilian has not forgotten me? Surely she will follow the advice of a sister who dearly loves her?”
Drawing out my pencil, and tearing a leaf from the memorandum-book, I stood ready to act as amanuensis. The intelligent though unlettered maiden, resting her forehead upon her hand—as if to aid in giving shape to her thoughts—commenced the dictation:
“Beloved sister!—A friend writes for me—one whom you know. It is Marian who speaks—your own sister Marian—still living and well. I am here with others—in the disguise of Indians—those you have seen. We are here on your account alone. We have come to save you from a danger—O sister! a dreadful danger: which your innocent heart cannot have dreamt of!”
I was not so certain of this. The shade I had observed upon Lilian’s countenance—produced by the taunting speeches of the mulatta—had convinced me that the young girl was not without some presentiment of her peril, however vaguely outlined. So much the better for our purpose; and, as I had already declared this belief to Marian, I did not interrupt her. She continued: “When you have read this, do not show it to any one. Do not make known its contents even to—”
The maiden paused for a moment. Filial affection, too cruelly crushed, was causing her voice to falter. Tremblingly and low muttered came the words:
“Our father—!”
“Dear Lil!” proceeded she in a firmer tone, “you know how dearly I loved you? I love you still the same. You know I would have risked my life to save yours. I now risk that and more—ah! far more, if I could tell you; but some time you shall know all. And you, dear Lil! your danger is even greater than of life—for it is the danger of dishonour! Hear me, then, beloved sister, and do not refuse to follow my advice! When it is dark—and to-night if possible—steal out from the camp. Separate yourself from the vile people who surround you—separate yourself—O sister! it is hard to say the word—from him, our father—him who should have been our protector, but who, I fear—Alas! I cannot speak the thought. To-night, dear Lil! if possible, to-night! To-morrow it may be too late. Our disguise may be discovered, and all our plans frustrated. To-night—to-night! Fear not! your friend awaits you—as also your old favourite, Frank Wingrove, with other brave companions. Your sister will receive you with open arms.”
“Marian.”
Surely Lilian would not resist such an appeal? Surely it would be enough to separate her—even from him whose slight protection scarcely gave him claim to the sacred title of parent?