Wacora had saved his white captive. She still lived!
The struggle between life and death had been long and doubtful, but life
at length triumphed.
Por days had she lingered upon the verge of existence, powerless to move
from her couch; scarce able to speak. It was some time before she could
shape words to thank her deliverer, though she knew who it was.
She had been told it was Wacora.
The young chief had been unremitting in his attentions, and showed great
solicitude for her recovery. He found time, amidst the warlike
preparations constantly going on, to make frequent calls at her
dwelling, and make anxious inquiry about her progress.
The nurses who attended upon her did not fail to note his anxiety.
Nelatu had been absent and did not return to the town until she was
convalescent.
He was grieved to the heart on hearing what had happened.
Wacora, suspecting that Maracota was the guilty one, sought him in every
direction, but the vengeful warrior was nowhere to be found.
He had fled from the presence of his indignant chief.
It was not until long after that his fate became known.
He had been captured in his flight by some of the settlers, and shot;
thus dying by the hands of the enemies he so hated.
Several weeks elapsed, and no active movement had, as yet, been made by
the government troops. Wacora's tribe still continued to reside in
their town undisturbed.
His captive continued to recover, and, along with her restored strength,
came a change over the spirit of her existence. She seemed transformed
into a different being.
The past had vanished like a dream. Only dimly did she remember her
residence at Tampa Bay, her father, the conflict on the hill, the
massacre, her brother's sad fate, all seemed to have faded from her
memory, until they appeared as things that had never been, or of which
she had no personal knowledge, but had only heard of them long, long
ago.
It is true they still had a shadowy existence in her mind, but entirely
disassociated with the events of her life, since she had been a captive
among the Indians. Nor was there much to regret in this impaired
recollection, for both the events and personages had been among the
miseries of her life.
Of her present she had a more pleasurable appreciation. She was living
a new life, and thinking new thoughts.
Nelatu and Wacora both strove in a thousand kind ways to render her
contented and happy.
They had no great luxuries to offer her, but such as they had were
bestowed with true delicacy.
Strange to say, that in this common solicitude there was not a spark of
jealousy between the two cousins.
Nelatu's nature was generosity itself; and self-sacrifice appeared to
him as if it was his duty or fate!
Still, while he basked in the sunshine of the young girl's beauty, he
had not the courage to imagine to himself that she could ever belong to
another. Not to him might her love be given, but surely not to another!
He could not think of that.
True that at times he fancied he could perceive a look bestowed on
Wacora such as she never vouchsafed to him--a tremor in her voice when
speaking to his cousin, which had never betrayed itself in her discourse
with himself.
But he might be mistaken. Might? He was certain of it. If she did not
love him, at any rate he could not think that she loved Wacora.
Thus did the Indian youth beguile himself!
Innocent as a child, he knew little of the heart of woman.
That look--that tremor of the voice--should have told him that she loved
Wacora.
Yes; the end had come, and love had conquered.
The white maiden was in love with the young Indian chief!
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Wacora and his captive--now more than ever his captive--were seated
within the ruined fort near Sansuta's grave.
"You are pleased once more to be here?" he asked.
"I am. During my illness I promised myself if ever I recovered that my
first visit should be to this spot."
"And yet it was in paying such a visit that you nearly lost your life."
"The life you saved."
"'Twas a happy chance. I cannot tell what led me to the forest on that
occasion."
"What were you doing there?" she asked.
"Like the blind mortal that I am, I was blaming myself, and my fate,
too, when I should have been blessing my fortune."
"For what?"
"For conducting me to the spot where I heard you cry."
"What fortune were you blaming?"
"That which made me unworthy."
"Unworthy of what?"
He did not immediately answer her, but the look he gave her caused her
to turn her eyes to the ground.
"Do you really wish to know of what I think myself unworthy?"