Even at that moment, with her heart almost breaking, Nell's fair face flushed.
"Nell, will you marry me?" asked Jim, softly. Low though it was, he had heard Mr. Wells' whisper.
Nell stretched a little trembling hand over her uncle to Jim, who inclosed it in his own. Her eyes met his. Through her tears shone faintly a light, which, but for the agony that made it dim, would have beamed radiant.
"Find the place," said Mr. Wells, handing Jim a Bible. It was the one he always carried in his pocket.
With trembling hand Jim turned the leaves. At last he found the lines, and handed the book back to the old man.
Simple, sweet and sad was that marriage service. Nell and Jim knelt with hands clasped over Mr. Wells. The old missionary's voice was faint; Nell's responses were low, and Jim answered with deep and tender feeling. Beside them stood Wingenund, a dark, magnificent figure.
"There! May God bless you!" murmured Mr. Wells, with a happy smile, closing the Bible.
"Nell, my wife!" whispered Jim, kissing her hand.
"Come!" broke in Wingenund's voice, deep, strong, like that of a bell.
Not one of them had observed the chief as he stood erect, motionless, poised like a stag scenting the air. His dark eyes seemed to pierce the purple-golden forest, his keen ear seemed to drink in the singing of the birds and the gentle rustling of leaves. Native to these haunts as were the wild creatures, they were no quicker than the Indian to feel the approach of foes. The breeze had borne faint, suspicious sounds.