"Thank Heaven! Thank Heaven for one true heart, and one true hand when all the world is against me! Carrie, I could die now content. The bitterness of my heart passes away, and the wild, mad nature that made me an Ishmaelite, with every man's hand against me, and my hand against all, is gone. I am another being. I could die now content;" and he bows his head. "But you must not, you shall not die! You must go--go far away; why hover about this place?" "I do not know. But yonder lies the only being who ever befriended me; and somehow I get lonesome when I get far away from her grave. And I go round and round, like the sun around the world, and come back to where I started from." "But you must go--go far away--go now." "Do you know what you are saying? I was never outside of this. All would be strange. I would be lost, lost there. And then, do you not imagine they are waiting for me there--everywhere? Look at my face! This tinge of Indian blood, that all men abhor and fear, and call treacherous and bloody. Across my brow at my birth was drawn a brand that marks me forever--a brand--a brand as if it were the brand of Cain." The man bows his head, and turns away. Slowly and timidly Carrie approaches him, and she lays her hand on his arm and looks in his face. The boy still watches by the door. "But you will fly from here?" His arm drops over her hair, down to her shoulder, and he draws her to his breast, as she looks up tenderly in his face, and pleads: "You will go now--at once? For you will die here." "Ah, I will die here." He says this with a calm and dogged determination. "Carrie, I have one wish, one request--only one. I know you are weak and helpless yourself, and can't do much, and I ought not to ask you to do anything." Stumps has left the door as he hears the man mention that there is something to be done, and stands by their side. "Whatever it is you ask, John Logan, we will do it--we will do it." The girl says this with a firmness that convinces him that it will be done. "We will do it! we will do it! so help me, we will do it!" blubbers Stumps. "What is it, John Logan, we can do?" "I will not fly from here." He looks down tenderly into their faces. Then he lifts his face. It is dark and terrible, and his lips are set with resolution. "I will die here. It may be to-night, it may be to-morrow. It may be as I turn to go out at that door they will send their bullets through my heart; it may be while I kneel in the snow at my mother's grave. But, sooner or later, it will come--it will come!" "But please, John Logan, what is it we can do?" Her voice is tremulous, and her eyes stream with tears.