From this time forward the two women were firm friends, and Lightfoot pledged herself to do all in her power to restore her to her friends.
Her attachment to Captain Flint was still too strong, however, to make her take any measures to effect that object, until she could do so without endangering his safety.
But Lightfoot was not the only friend that Hellena had secured since her capture. She had made another, and if possible a firmer one, in the person of Black Bill.
From the moment Hellena entered the cavern, Bill seemed to be perfectly fascinated by her. Had she been an angel just from heaven, his admiration for her could hardly have been greater. He could not keep his eyes off of her. He followed her as she moved about, though generally at a respectful distance, and nothing delighted him so much, as to be allowed to wait upon her and perform for her such little acts of kindness as lay within his power.
While Hellena was relating the story of her wrongs to Lightfoot, Black Bill sat at a little distance off an attentive listener to the narrative. When it was finished, and Hellena's eyes were filled with tears, the darkey sprang up saying in an encouraging tone of voice:
"Don't cry, don't cry misses, de debble's comin arter massa Flint berry soon, he tell me so hisself; den Black Bill take care ob de white angel."
This sudden and earnest outburst of feeling and kindness from the negro, expressed as it was in such a strange manner, brought a smile to the face of the maiden, notwithstanding the affliction which was crushing her to the earth.
"Why Bill," said Hellena, "you don't mean to say you ever saw the devil here, do you?"
"Never seed him, but heer'd him doe, sometimes," replied Bill.
Now, Hellena, although a sensible girl in her way, was by no means free from the superstition of the times. She believed in ghosts, and witches, and fairies, and all that, and it was with a look of considerable alarm that she turned to the Indian woman, saying: