Those faithful French servants who loved Elysee and Pierre so much, they didn't give a damn about Raoul's whore and his bastard sons. After all, he had thwarted Pierre's dying wishes. And he had struck his aged father with his fist in front of all those Victoire people. Still, they'd have been human enough to try to do _something_. If they'd had time. They'd holler and bang on the door. Try to wake them up. But there wouldn't have been time. A hundred or more Indians galloping down on the chateau. The servants who saw them coming would barely have time to get away. Some of them hadn't made it. Some of them had died with Clarissa and the boys; maybe the ones who'd stayed behind to try to warn them. That was how it must have been. Frank's article in the _Visitor_ said that some of the people in the distant farms had saved themselves by hiding in root cellars or in nearby woods. The Indians were in too much of a hurry to get to Victor to bother searching carefully. One family, the Flemings, had ridden to the shut-down lead mine. Some Indians pursued them to the mine but didn't follow them in. The Flemings hid so deep in the mine they had trouble finding their way out again, but they did survive. But one person had neither hidden nor been killed: While the body of the Reverend Philip Hale, D.D., was found in the burnt wreckage of his house, his daughter, Miss Nancy Hale, has not been found. It is feared Miss Hale may have been kidnapped by the Indians. Both the church and the house Reverend Hale built on the prairie were burned down. As Raoul read aloud the list of the dead, he thought of Nancy and then of his sister Helene. Did they do _that_ to Nancy? The red devils! Probably did. Horrible! He saw the naked, slashed, violated body lying on the prairie. Nancy Hale's body. Just like Helene's. But it could be, too, she was alive. And if he kept after Black Hawk, he might be the one to rescue her. There was comfort in that. A little comfort. And then a black bile of hatred for himself trickled up into his throat. Great God in Heaven, this man he was sitting with--he'd had this man's daughter in his bed for six years. And now she was murdered. And already he was figuring how to replace her. _Maybe I am as bad a man as Papa said I was._ _That's what Nicole meant by "All happens as God ordains." This was to punish me._ He took a drink to wash that thought away. He winced when he came to the name Marchette Perrault on the list of dead. Maybe she had died trying to help Clarissa. Did Armand know yet? Eli stood up. "Well, poor Clarissa. Poor little boys. It was a black day in our lives when Clarissa and me met up with you, Raoul de Marion." The words tore at a wound that was fresh and bleeding. "Look here, now, Eli. Don't you know that I feel as bad as you do?"