"I knew that my captive daughter was in the hands of the Navajoes. I had heard so at various times from prisoners whom I had taken; but I was always crippled for want of strength in men and means. Revolution after revolution kept the states in poverty and civil warfare, and our interests were neglected or forgotten. With all my exertions, I could never raise a force sufficient to penetrate that desert country north of the Gila, in which lie the towns of the savage Navajoes." "And you think--" "Patience! I shall soon finish. My band is now stronger than ever. I have received certain information, by one just escaped from a captivity among the Navajoes, that the warriors of both tribes are about to proceed southward. They are mustering all their strength, with the intention of making a grand foray; even, as we have heard, to the gates of Durango. It is my design, then, to enter their country while they are absent, and search for my daughter." "And you think she still lives?" "I know it. The same man who brought me this news, and who, poor fellow, has left his scalp and ears behind him, saw her often. She is grown up, and is, he says, a sort of queen among them, possessed of strange powers and privileges. Yes, she still lives; and if it be my fortune to recover her, then will this tragic scene be at an end. I will go far hence." I had listened with deep attention to the strange recital. All the disgust with which my previous knowledge of this man's character had inspired me vanished from my mind, and I felt for him compassion--ay, admiration. He had suffered much. Suffering atones for crime, and in my sight he was justified. Perhaps I was too lenient in my judgment. It was natural I should be so. When the revelation was ended, I was filled with emotions of pleasure. I felt a vivid joy to know that she was not the offspring of the demon I had deemed him. He seemed to divine my thoughts; for there was a smile of satisfaction, I might say triumph, on his countenance, as he leaned across the table to refill the wine. "Monsieur, my story must have wearied you. Drink!" There was a moment's silence as we emptied the glasses. "And now, sir, you know the father of your betrothed, at least somewhat better than before. Are you still in the mind to marry her?" "Oh, sir! she is now, more than ever, to me a sacred object." "But you must win her, as I have said, from me." "Then, sir, tell me how. I am ready for any sacrifice that may be within my power to make." "You must help me to recover her sister." "Willingly." "You must go with me to the desert." "I will." "Enough. We start to-morrow." And he rose, and began to pace the room. "At an early hour?" I inquired, half fearing that I was about to be denied an interview with her whom I now more than ever longed to embrace. "By daybreak," he replied, not seeming to heed my anxious manner.