And Mrs. Ellsworth but a little while ago had given him a deep insight into her evil nature.
Perhaps she had sent her nieces—as wicked as herself—to follow poor Dainty and devise means for getting her out of the way.
It was horrible to think of such a crime, but he made haste to verify his suspicions by darting around to an end window not yet wreathed in the leaping flames and peering into the house, though the heat scorched him and the smoke was stifling.
He drew back with a cry of horror and indignation.
Yes, Dainty was there!
On gaining the shelter of the cabin, seeking the protection of the old mammy, whom she counted as her only friend, the girl, in her grief and sorrow and cruel disappointment at finding the place untenanted, had sunk into a heavy swoon on the hard floor.
Doubtless her cruel rivals, following and beholding her piteous plight, had seen their opportunity and taken instant advantage of it.
Roused from her unconsciousness by the crackling flames and stifling smoke, the girl was just rising from the floor, and the despair on her face as she comprehended her terrible environment would haunt John Franklin to his dying day.
The great, sublime pity that rose to flood-tide in the man's tender heart submerged every thought of self in an instant.
No escape seemed possible for Dainty. The inflammable log cabin was surrounded by fire, and she stood in the center of the awful glare like some pale, beautiful martyr at the stake.