“I am seeking entrance within the encampment, hoping thus to rescue a maiden whom I believe to be prisoner in the hands of the Indians.”

“A maiden,—­Elsa Matherson?”

“Nay, another; one I have learned to love so well that I now willingly risk even torture for her sake.  You are a woman, and have a woman’s heart; you exercise some strange power among these savages.  I beg you to aid me.”

She sat with clasped hands, her eyes lowered upon the grass.

“Whatsoever power I have comes from God,” she said solemnly; “and there be times, such as now, when it seems as if He held me unworthy of His trust.”

“But you will aid me in whatever way you can?”

“You are sure you love this maiden?”

“Would I be here, think you, otherwise?”

She did not answer immediately, but crept across the little space separating us until she could look more closely into my face, scanning it earnestly with her dark eyes.

“You have the appearance of a true man,” she said finally.  “Does the maid love you?”

“I know not,” I stammered honestly, confused by so direct a question.  “I fear not; yet I would save her even then.”

I felt her hand touch mine as if in sudden sympathy.

“Monsieur,” she spoke gravely, “love has never been kind to me, and I have learned to put small trust in the word as it finds easy utterance upon men’s lips.  A man swore once, even at the altar, that he loved me; and when he had won my heart he left me for another.  If I believed you were such a man I would rather leave this girl to her fate among the savages yonder.”

“I am not of that school,” I protested earnestly.  “I am of a race that love once and forever.  But you, who are you?  Why are you here in the midst of these savages?  You bear a strange likeness to her I would save, but for the lighter shade of your hair.”

She drew back slightly, removing her hand from mine, but with gentleness.

“It would do you little good to know my story,” She said firmly.  “I am no longer of the world, and my life is dedicated to a service you might deem sacrifice.  Moreover, we waste time in such idle converse; and if it be my privilege to aid you at all, I must learn more, so as to plan safely.”

“You have the freedom of the camp yonder?”

“I hardly know,” she responded sadly.  “God has placed in my poor hands, Monsieur, a portion of His work amid those benighted, sin-stained creatures there.  Times come, as now, when the wild wolf breaks loose, and my life hardly is safe among them.  I fled the camp to-night,—­not from fear, Christ knows, but because I am a woman, and too weak physically to bear the sight of suffering that I am helpless to relieve.  It is indeed Christ’s mercy that so few of your company were spared to be thus tortured; but there was naught left for me but prayer.”

She stooped forward, her hands pressed over her eyes as though she would shut out the horror.