“But little, girl. He told me that it was a talking ring—that it was given him by an old man whom the Indians slew; that after he had avenged the old man’s death, he would seek you beyond the lakes and give you the ring that would tell you who you are.”
For a moment the girl was silent.
“But,” she said, looking up, disappointedly, “the ring is lost, and I will never know who I am.”
“Where is your mother?” asked the White Tiger, kindly.
“Dead.”
“Would she not tell you any thing?”
“She told me that on the shores of Lake Superior dwelt a man who possessed a ring which held my life mystery, and on her death-bed she bade me hunt him and demand the ring in her name, which he would restore. She intimated that that man was my father, and I believe he was. My mother would never speak of the past, and whenever I would ask where father was, she would point to the North-west and say, ‘Yonder, perhaps.’ I left Ontario after her death, and once, in these woods, encountered Ahdeek, your brother. He darted by me like a rocket; but I saw a ring on his finger, and knew that it was mine. How I trailed him then; how, not knowing that I was in the country, he eluded me. But,” with a sigh, “the trail is near an end.”
“Girl, I will hunt for the ring,” said the White Tiger, quickly following her last word. “You shall solve the mystery of your life. The ring shall be recovered, though in the search I tramp these woods till doomsday—though the trail leads into the jaws of death, the mouth of hell.”
The girl stopped sudden in the starlight, and put forth her hand.
“You are brave!” she said, her great blue eyes sparkling with tear-pearls. “I have not deserved such sacrifice at your hands. But, sir, give the ring to me, and I will reward you as best I can.”