Simon Girty is plotting our ruin. I heard it to-day from the
Delaware runner who is my friend. He is jealous of our influence,
when all we desire is to save these poor Indians. And, Jim, Girty
has killed our happiness. Can we ever recover from the misery
brought upon us by poor Kate's fate?"
The missionary raised his hand as if to exhort some power above.
"Curse the Girty's!" he exclaimed in a sudden burst of
uncontrollable passion. "Having conquered all other obstacles, must
we fail because of wicked men of our own race? Oh, curse them!"
"Come," he said, presently, in a voice which trembled with the
effort he made to be calm. "We'll go in to Nellie."
The three men entered Mr. Wells' cabin. The old missionary, with
bowed head and hands clasped behind his back, was pacing to and fro.
He greeted Jim with glad surprise.
"We want Nellie to see him," whispered Heckewelder. "We think the
surprise will do her good."
"I trust it may," said Mr. Wells.
"Leave it to me."
They followed Heckewelder into an adjoining room. A torch flickered
over the rude mantle-shelf, lighting up the room with fitful flare.
It was a warm night, and the soft breeze coming in the window
alternately paled and brightened the flame.
Jim saw Nell lying on the bed. Her eyes were closed, and her long,
dark lashes seemed black against the marble paleness of her skin.
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