Gordon knew instantly what it meant, though he could not guess who had dealt the blow. He hesitated for an answer, and in his embarrassment she felt that which began to ring a bell of warning in her heart.
The impulse to spare her pain was stronger in him than the desire that she should know the truth.
"Send her away," he urged. "Don't ask any questions. She has been sent to hurt you."
A fawnlike fear flashed into the startled eyes. "To hurt me?"
"I am afraid so."
"But—why? I have done nobody any harm." She seemed to hold even her breathing in suspense. Only a pulse beat wildly in her white throat like the heart of an imprisoned thrush.
"Perhaps some of Macdonald's enemies," he suggested.
And at that there came a star-flash into the soft eyes and a lifted tilt to the chin cut fine as a cameo. She turned proudly to the Indian woman.
"What is it that you have to tell me about this boy's father?"
Meteetse began to speak. At the first mention of Macdonald's name Sheba's eyes dilated. Her smile, her sweet, glad pleasure at Gordon's arrival, were already gone like the flame of a blown candle. Clearly her heart was a-flutter, in fear of she knew not what. When the Indian woman told how she had first crossed the path of Macdonald, the color flamed into the cheeks of the Irish girl, but as the story progressed, the blood ebbed even from her lips.