He drew a deep breath. “She went there just to see them?” he said.
I smiled into his brilliant eyes. “I’ll tell you the rest of the story some other time,” I remarked, satisfied, because at not a single point had he criticized my guessing. “There is one thing more,” I went on. “Of course the children adopted the native dress, but their father’s blood in them had lightened their native color, and that must be overcome.”
His eyes kindled brighter; his lips had fallen apart. There was not a movement in his body.
“Lad, how did you learn to stain a fair skin so well that it looks like a native’s?”
With that I seized the collar of his blouse, to tear it open and see the real color of his chest before he could prevent.
CHAPTER VIII.—A Crumbling Edge.
Beelo’s Horror at the Fate Intended for Us. My Visit in Disguise to Mr. Vancouver. Annabel’s Dramatic Defiance, and How She Was Humbled.
BEELO sprang away and scampered into the forest as though Satan pursued. That gave me no uneasiness. I gathered up his twigs and began laboriously to weave the hut.