"And thou art still my father," she added,
earnestly. "What care I to go to Spain? I will stay always with thee."
"For a time, it may be. Yet have a care, little wild rose," he
cautioned, smiling, "Let not the Englishman lure thee away! He, too, may
not be all that thou thinkest."
And even as he spoke, in mocking confirmation of his words, there came
to them suddenly from across the water, the distant creaking of ropes,
the snapping of sails flung hastily to the wind. Before their
unbelieving eyes the vessel swung about and put slowly out to sea. Dumb
with amazement they watched until the last faint light flickered into
darkness. Not until the remotest chance of a mistake was past did the
old chief rise, trembling with rage, to his feet.
"See'st thou now what I meant, my daughter? The English pale-faces know
not the meaning of honor, - no, nor of gratitude either!"
He lifted his long spear from the ground and shook it fiercely.
"The words of the Mariposa are few," he cried, "but their revenge is
sure. Let but an Englishman set foot again on Punagwandah and, swifter
than the arrow leaves the bowstring, he dies!"
And at once, without answer, in the silence of suffering which only the
wild things of the earth understand, Wildenai crept from the lodge, her
heart heavy with its own bitter disappointment.
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