It was too late now, Sansuta had heard the fated name. Casting from her the flowers she had been trifling with, she uttered shriek upon shriek, running wildly and beseechingly, backwards and forwards, from her brother to her cousin, who both stood spell-bound with surprise and grief. "Where have you hid him? Give him to me. You shall not kill him; no-- no--no! I say you shall not hurt him! Warren! Warren! 'tis Sansuta calls. Murderers! He never injured you. Take nay life--not his! Warren! Warren! Oh, do not keep him from me. See, that is his blood upon your hands--his eyes are closed in death! It is you, wretches, that have murdered him. No, no--stand back--I would not have you touch me whilst your hands are red with his blood. Back! back! I will find him!--No, you shall kill me first!--I will find Warren Rody! Help, help! save me from his murderers!" With renewed screams of agony that struck horror into the listeners' hearts, the girl, eluding their grasp, darted away into the forest. At a signal from Wacora, Nelatu started in pursuit. "May the lightnings blast all who have brought about this! Fool that I was just now to feel pity for the pale-faces; nothing that revenge can accomplish will make up for this. Here I swear to take vengeance far more terrible--vengeance to which that of last night shall be but a mockery!" With these words the young chief hastened away from the spot, followed by Maracota and the messenger. CHAPTER THIRTY TWO. "SPARE HER! SPARE HER!" The opportunity of this vengeance was already close at hand. Within the space enclosed by the Indian tents, under guard of some warriors, stood a group of pale-face prisoners. It consisted of several men, and among them a young girl. Wacora stopped on perceiving the group. His features were illumined with a savage joy. One of the chiefs, advancing, reported their having been captured while attempting to escape through the adjoining forest. "What's to be done with them?" he asked. "They shall die by torture!" "The girl?" "She, too, shall die. Who is she?" "I don't know." Turning to Maracota, he propounded a similar question. Maracota was equally ignorant of the person of the captive. The chief ordered her to be brought before him. With an undaunted step, although evidently suffering from debility and sorrow, the girl allowed herself to be led along. Once in Wacora's presence, with a modest courage, she gazed into his face. "Who are you?" he asked. "Your prisoner." "When where you captured?" "About two hours ago." "You were trying to escape?" "I was." "Your companions--who are they?" "I know nothing of them, except that they are people belonging to the settlement. They were kind to me, and endeavoured to help me in my escape." "You know your doom?" She answered, sadly-- "I expect no mercy." Wacora, struck with this reply, felt an interest in the courageous girl, which he could not account for.