As the old hunter has ridden out of our sight for ever, let us return to
the Indian town, where Alice Rody was so strangely domiciled.
Her people had buried the ill-fated Sansuta near the old fort.
The wild flowers she had loved so well had already blossomed over her
grave.
Wacora and Nelatu had both been present--both much affected.
The events of the contest had called them away immediately afterwards.
Wacora remained absent, but his cousin had made a stolen visit to the
town, as shown by the incidents already related.
The search for the escaped captive was carried on for some time with
vigour, but was at length abandoned.
Meanwhile, the other captive's life passed without incident. The aid
she had given the backwoodsman had afforded her the greatest pleasure.
She had been informed of his capture immediately after his condemnation,
and was resolved to help him in his escape.
She did not know of Nelatu's presence near the scene, nor of his
well-timed assistance.
The Indian youth had ridden many miles that evening, merely to stand and
gaze at her window.
To feel that he was near her seemed a happiness to him.
He departed without even seeing her.
Weeks had elapsed since the Indian maiden had been laid to rest within
the old fort.
Alice often visited the spot.
And there Wacora, who had once, more returned to the town again, saw
her.
She was resting on the same stone where Sansuta's head had rested on her
bosom.
On perceiving the chief's approach she rose to her feet, as if to quit
the spot.
"Does my coming drive you away?" he asked.
"Not that; but it is growing late, and I must return to my prison."
"Your prison?"
"Is it not my prison?"
"It is no more your prison than you are a prisoner. You have long been
free."
There was a mournful sadness in Alice Rody's speech which touched the
heart of the Indian chief.
"Freedom is a boon only to those who can enjoy it," she said, after a
pause.
"And are you unhappy?" asked Wacora.
"Can you ask that question?--you who have done so much--" She paused;
her generous nature hesitated to inflict pain.
He concluded her speech for her.
"I have done so much to make you unhappy. You are right. I have been
an instrument in the hands of Fate, and you owe your misery to me. But
I am only an instrument, not the original cause. My will had no voice
in my actions, and but one motive prompted me. That was Duty."
"Duty?" she asked, a smile curling her lip.
"Yes, duty! I could prove it to you had you the desire to hear me."