“They are not your people, Paul.”
“They are my father’s children.”
An eager light came into the woman’s eyes.
“Paul! Paul!” she cried in English. “You do not know what you say. They are of my blood. They will be a burden on you. They will spoil your life. Your father, Paul, did not wish that, I know. Peter will be a great chief. He will care for Tanna. I have planned this with my father. They will drag you down as I dragged your father down. I—who would have given him the blood from my heart! You must not do this.” Her voice was eager and tremulous with pain. “I will not spoil your life too.”
“They are my father’s children. They are my brother and sister,” said Paul, in a voice steady and strong. “Do you think I can leave Tanna to go back to the blanket and the wigwam? Tanna! my little blind sister!” His voice rang out in indignant scorn. “No, no, Mammy,” he added, using Tanna’s form of address, rare with him, “say no more. It is settled. They go with me.”
A look of great wonder dawned in the woman’s eyes—wonder and joy. Raising herself she held out her hands to him.
“Paul!” she cried, her voice broken with sobs, the tears flowing down her cheeks. “Your God hears! Now I know, I know! Oh, I feared to lay this burden on you, but now I know He hears. I was afraid for Tanna, my Tanna living in the dark. I feared for her. But now——”
Paul took her hands in his, leaned over and, for the first time in his life, kissed her.
“Have no fear, Mammy,” he said softly. “I will keep her with me always—always.”
The blood slowly came up into her dark face, touching it with rare beauty. Passionately she kissed his hands.