Cynthia emerged from the tree just after me. The girl, hearing the roll of a stone upon which I stepped, turned in a terrified way and confronted us. It was not to be wondered at that she should be horrified at seeing two persons whom she had not seen before, appear upon the now quiet scene. She raised her manacled arms to heaven and shrieked as if for aid, then threw herself upon the beach, and screamed and beat her head against the ground.
The education of this child had taught her to fear the mysterious, and when the beautiful white girl emerged like a hamadryad from a tree in the depths of the forest, the child imagined her an avenging angel. What vengeance she intended to take upon a young girl of such tender years the girl herself had not knowledge enough to imagine. Later developments taught us what she had feared.
The poor child continued to wail and beat her head against the ground. I glanced at Cynthia. Her lovely eyes were dimmed with tears. At once she became all gentleness, all tenderness. She approached the girl slowly, as she would a frightened bird, holding out her hand and making soft, cooing noises. As she drew near, the girl shrank behind the tree, peering out with terrified eyes at this strange apparition. Cynthia continued to advance, still making those sweet sounds. The prisoner trembled in every limb, and drew away as far as the cords would allow. She looked wildly over her shoulder, as if longing to escape. Cynthia came nearer, and put out her hand. She laid it gently on the girl's shoulder, when the young savage twisted her head suddenly and with a snap like that of a wild beast buried her teeth in the tender flesh. A blow from my hand laid her sprawling. Cynthia turned angrily on me, forgetful of her own pain.
"Don't you dare to interfere with me!" she said angrily. "I shall never get her confidence now."
The Haïtienne lay where I had thrown her, and watched our movements with glittering eyes. Cynthia took me by the shoulder and marched me off to the hollow trunk, where the Skipper lay snoring his antiphonal response to the louder snores of the sailors. Then Cynthia returned to the attack of kindness and humanity.
The prisoner, seeing that I was quite gone, and that it was Cynthia's wish that I should be gone, lay looking at her as she again approached her. This time Cynthia knelt upon the ground, and, seemingly without fear, she stretched out her hand and gently stroked the captive's head. The girl did not renew her attack upon Cynthia, but suffered her to stroke her head and coo and murmur over her.
"Bring me some water, Mr. Jones!" Cynthia ordered.
I stretched my hand inside the tree and felt for the cup; then I ran to the place where we had left the breaker of water. I drew some and carried it to Cynthia. She took it from me, saying at the same time:
"What is the matter with your hand?"
"Don't mind me!" I said shortly. By this time my fingers were puffed out of all semblance to their original shape, and when I endeavoured to move them the pain was intense.