"Shame, brother, to put such a question! I am a white woman--he is an
Indian. How dare you speak of such a thing?"
Warren laughed lightly at his sister, as he answered.
"Why, you don't think that _I_ care for the fellow, do you?"
The young girl saw her opportunity, and seized it.
"And yet you pretend to be his friend. Ah! have I caught you by your
own confession?"
"Again, what do you mean?"
"That my doubts are now certainties--that some wicked scheme _is_
concealed under this false friendship for Nelatu."
"You are mad, Alice."
"No, perfectly sane. You have some design, and I advise you, whatever
it be, to abandon it. You don't like my tears, so I'll try to suppress
them if I can; but I implore you, Warren, brother, to give it up now and
for ever."
She dashed a few bitter drops from her eyes ere she spoke again.
"I have only you and my father to look to for support and comfort; my
heart has yearned towards you both, but has met with nothing but
coldness. Oh, Warren, be a brave man--brave enough to despise
wickedness, and you will not only make me happy, but, perhaps, avert
that terrible retribution which overtakes transgression. There is time
yet; hear my prayer before it is too late."
Her pleading voice fell upon an ear that heard not.
The appeal did not reach her brother's stony heart.
With a few commonplaces he endeavoured to exculpate himself from any
evil intentions towards the young Indian.
All in vain.
Her woman's instinct saw through his hypocrisy, and showed him to her as
he was--wicked!
That night Alice Rody prayed long and earnestly for support in an
affliction which she felt was but too surely coming; and she wept till
her pillow was bedewed with tears!