For the first time since they had met the young man
blanched. The savage was alive in the giant.
"Speak. Tell all," Druse said, with hands clenching.
Swiftly the young man told all he had seen, and described how he had run
all the way--four miles--from Carillon, arriving before Fleda and her
Indian escort.
He had hardly finished his tale, shrinking, as he told it, from the
fierceness of his chief, when a voice called from the direction of the
house.
"Father--father," it cried.
A change passed over the old man's face. It cleared as the face of the
sun clears when a cloud drives past and is gone. The transformation was
startling. Without further glance at his companion, he moved swiftly
towards the house. Once more Fleda's voice called, and before he could
answer they were face to face.
She stood radiant and elate, and seemed not apprehensive of disfavour or
reproach. Behind her was Tekewani and his braves.
"You have heard?" she asked reading her father's face.
"I have heard. Have you no heart?" he answered. "If the Rapids had
drowned you!"
She came close to him and ran her fingers through his beard tenderly. "I
was not born to be drowned," she said softly.
Now that she was a long distance from Ingolby, the fact that a man had
held her in his arms left no shadow on her face.
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