“Can you ask me such a question, Ross Douglas? You _know_ I love you—have loved you ever since you saved my life. But do you really love _me_?” In answer he kissed her ripe lips and murmured: “I worship you, dear—love you better than I love anyone else on earth. I’ve loved you ever since I first met you. But I was betrothed to another; and I wouldn’t admit to myself, even, that I loved you. But to-day I am free. I have come to take you from this place—from this life. Will you go with me, La Violette?” “To the ends of the earth,” she whispered. Holding her from him at arm’s length, he asked playfully: “Violet Brownlee, will you be my wife?” “Ah! you know all,” she returned smilingly. “I know all,” he returned soberly. “My father has told me.” “Your father?” she remarked wonderingly. “Yes, my father—Scar Face, Hiram Bradford, John Douglas.” Again she nestled in his arms, and for a moment was silent. Presently she murmured musingly: “I used often to wonder why Hiram Bradford took so great an interest in me. A few months ago he told me my history. Then I fell to wondering why he had kept you a prisoner against your will, yet was anxious for your welfare. Nor could I understand why he was so worried over your escape and the fact that he could not find you. Now all is plain.” He stroked her red-gold hair, but made no reply. He would have been content to hold her thus for hours. Suddenly she lifted her head from his shoulder, and whispered: “Ross.” “Well, darling?” “Let me see your hand. No, the other. Ah! you still wear Tenskwatawa’s ring. You carried off the Sign of the Prophet; now you come to carry off his daughter.” He bent his head and breathed in reply: “I valued the Sign of the Prophet; it assured my safety. I value his daughter much more; she assures my happiness.” Standing upon tiptoe and pulling him down, she fondly kissed him and answered: “This is a fit reward for your pretty speech. But Tenskwatawa will be here presently; your father has gone for him. Do not let him see the ring. He has lost much of his power; and it is better so. He and Tecumseh have deceived their people and led them astray. I see it all now. The wisest of them are but ignorant savages. And the English—my own people—have made tools of them——” She stopped speaking and hastily withdrew from her lover’s embrace. He turned to discover the cause of her action, and observed Tenskwatawa entering the door. Not deigning to notice the young man, the Prophet walked up to La Violette and, laying his hands upon her shoulders, murmured gutturally: “My daughter, Scar Face has told me that you mean to leave the tribe—your father, forever. Is it so?” “Tenskwatawa, my father, it is true.” “Has Fleet Foot stolen your heart, my daughter?” “He has, my father,” she replied in a voice hardly audible. “And La Violette will accompany him to his lodge and dwell there?”