The Indian pointed up the creek. “Him sick man, I take you to him!”
Without waiting for further words the man turned in his tracks and swung up the creek at such a pace that the two girls had hard work to keep up with him. Joy questioned the man as to his master’s name, but the man either did not or would not understand, for he merely shook his head, and pressed forward. In a few minutes they reached the little cabin at the edge of the trees, and maintaining a wooden face, the Indian swung the door open and motioned them to enter.
Joy pressed forward eagerly with her foster-sister at her heels. The Indian softly closed the door behind them, an evil smile wrinkling his scarred face, then going to the rear of the hut, a moment later he appeared with a bow and some arrows in his hand, and entering the shadow of the trees, he began to walk towards the mouth of the creek.
... As she entered the cabin Joy Gargrave looked quickly about her. The only light came through a parchment window and from the improvised stove, and in the semi-darkness, at first, she could see nothing. But after a moment she discerned a tall figure standing but a little way from her. The face was in shadow, and she could not make out the features, but as her eyes fell on him, the man gave vent to a thin, choking laugh.
“Good morning, my dear Joy! This is an unexpected pleasure!”
At the sound of the voice Joy started, and with a dawning fear in her eyes leaned forward and stared into the haggard face before her. As she did so, her fear increased, and she asked suddenly, “Who are you, that you should address me in that way?”
“Then you do not recognize me?” asked the voice mockingly. “I am not surprised. Time has wrought inevitable changes—but of course, it does not change the constant heart. Look again, my dear, and you will see——”
Overwhelming fear surged in the girl’s heart. She knew who this haggard man was; indeed, she had known from the first word that he had spoken, and now she turned abruptly towards the door as if to flee. The door was closed, and as she stretched a hand towards the wooden latch, the thin cackling laugh broke out again.
“The door is fastened, my dear Joy—on the outside. I remember how you ran from me at Alcombe, and when I arranged this joyous meeting, I foresaw that you might be startled, that you might try to repeat that old folly; therefore I took steps—and my man Joe keeps the door outside. But I am glad to see you, dear wife, most unfeignedly glad to see you, and there is no need that you should hurry away; indeed, I am afraid that until I give permission for you to go, you will have to remain here.”