"Of course," answered I, as I laid hold of the light craft and ran her afloat; "I quite understand that. But, Ama, you speak of `we,' as though you intended to accompany me. That must not be, my dear girl; you have already done nobly in freeing me, and in providing me with the means of flight, and I must now do the best I can for myself; I cannot consent to implicate you by permitting you to accompany me. Therefore let me now bid you adieu, with my warmest and most grateful thanks, not only for what you have done for me to-night, but also for the friendship which you have shown me from the moment when I first came to know you. Now, hasten back to your own quarters as quickly as possible, I pray you; I think you can be trusted to find your way back to them without permitting your share in this night's doings to be discovered. Farewell, dear Ama, and may God bless and keep you! I shall never forget you, or your goodness to me. Good-bye!" And, in the fulness of my gratitude, I took her in my arms and kissed her. For a moment the gentle girl resigned herself to my embrace; then, freeing herself, she said, "Thank you, Dick, for thinking of my safety at such a moment, dear, but I cannot return; I _must_ go with you, not only for your own sake but for mine also. You do not understand the ways of my people, as I do, and therefore without my help you could never make good your escape. As for me, my father knows that there is only one person--myself--who would dare to do what I have done for you to-night; and even were I to succeed in returning to my own quarters undetected--which is exceedingly doubtful--his anger at your loss will be so great that he would assuredly condemn me to take your place at the stake. Therefore, Dick," she concluded pleadingly, "I must either go with you, or undergo the tortures that were destined for you." "But surely,"--I protested, and was about to argue that, she being her father's favourite daughter, he would never be so inhuman as to sacrifice her to his anger, when a sound of distant shouting came faintly to our ears. "Hark!" exclaimed Ama, "do you hear that, Dick? It means that your absence has been discovered, and that the hunt for you has already begun. We must not waste another moment. Will you take me with you; or must I go back to face a cruel and lingering death?" "Not the last, certainly," answered I. "Jump in, little one, and let us be off without further parley." Giving her my hand to steady her in entering the crank little craft, I waited until she had seated herself aft and taken the steering paddle in her hand, then, with a powerful push that sent the canoe, stern-first, far out into the rapidly flowing stream, I sprang in over the bows, seized a paddle, and proceeded to force the craft off-shore into the strength of the current. CHAPTER NINETEEN. THE TRAGIC DEATH OF AMA.