“I? I can laugh now,—Well,—you have never seen me weep.”
“Would to God you did rather than laugh like that.”
“Uncle Gideon,” said Elsie, “one day your tears will flow.”
“When will that day come, White Owl?”
“When my father’s prison doors are opened.”
Gideon glared at her, terror and fury writ large upon his distorted face. Just then a knock was heard; Aletta arose and went to the door where she found the returned messenger, who had just off-saddled his horse. She came back to the table and silently laid a letter before Gideon who, when he recognised the handwriting started violently. After looking at the letter for a few seconds he picked it up as though about to open it; then he flung the missive down and hurried from the room.
“Elsie,” said Aletta in agitated tones, “here is a letter from your father.”
Elsie sprang to her feet.
“Read it,—read it,—Aunt,” she said, “perhaps the prison doors are open.”
Aletta opened the letter with shaking fingers and read it aloud laboriously and in an agitated voice:—