The words were yet in his mouth, when a light footstep was heard, and the next instant a rare vision burst upon him. She did not appear to be over twenty years of age at the most, and she was as beautiful as an Oriental dream. Her cheeks had the tint of the pearl, her hair was abundant, of glossy blackness, confined by a red band at the neck; her features were faultlessly regular, her eyes dark and lustrous, her form rounded and perfect, while the half-Indian dress, with its brilliant and varied colors, set her figure off to the best advantage. Over all there was that indescribable charm of perfect physical health--that charm which makes the homely handsome, without which the most perfect features lack fascination, and which, when added to the handsome woman, places her upon the very pinnacle of female loveliness. She came forward somewhat timidly, while Hammond, his face aglow with happiness, hurried forward to meet her. Seizing one of her hands in both of his, he pressed it warmly, and exclaimed, in the low, sweet voice of fervent love: “Lamora, you have granted my prayer; you have come again; you have allowed me to see you.” “Yes,” she replied, in a low, sweet voice, “you know that Lamora is your friend.” “I hope she is more than that.” “No, no.” Her eyes were upon the ground and she shook her head with an indescribable sadness in her manner. She was a white woman; she spoke the English language fluently, and she seemed to understand her own race. She was modest and reserved, and although one might reasonably suspect that she felt no little interest in Hammond, yet it was no blind, reckless passion, such as an ignorant person sometimes shows, but a pure, maidenly emotion. “Lamora,” said the lover, still holding her hand and looking tenderly down in her face, “you are a white person of the same blood as myself; you live among the Indians; do you not wish to return to your own kindred?” “Why should I?” she returned, in the same sorrowful voice. “I do not know that I have any relations living; I have almost forgotten their names. I have no one but a father, and he has long since forgotten that he had a child stolen by the Indians.” “How old were you when you were taken away?” “I could not have been more than five years.” “How is it that you speak English so well?” Lamora looked up in surprise. “My tribe use the language, more than their own tongue.” “Was it the Meagans that stole you?” “No; _they_ would not do such a thing. I was stolen by the Sioux, shortly after my father had emigrated to the West. They killed my mother and sisters and brothers, but father escaped, and I was carried away captive.” “How did you learn all this.” “Kipwan, who is the chief of our tribe, and who is my adopted father, ransomed me of the Sioux who claimed me as his booty, and from him he got the particulars of my misfortune.” Hammond was silent a moment, as if in doubt to ask the question trembling upon his tongue, but he uttered it.