There was no longer bravery or adornment in her dress. There
was no more of queen--of chieftain's daughter--in this downcast child
of the desert.
He called again, "Natzie," and held forth his hand. Her head had
drooped upon her breast, but, once again, she looked upon him, and
then, with one slow, hesitant, backward glance about her, stepped
forward, her little, moccasined feet flitting from rock to rock across
the murmuring shallows until she stood before him. Then he spoke, but
she only shook her head and let it droop again, her hands passively
clasping. He knew too little of her tongue to plead with her. He knew,
perhaps, too little of womankind to appreciate what he was doing.
Finding words useless, he gently took her hand and drew her with him,
and passively she obeyed, and for a moment they disappeared from
Angela's view. Then presently the tall, white form came again in
sight, slowly leading the unresisting child, until, in another moment,
they stepped within the little open space among the willows. At the
same instant Angela arose, and the daughter of the soldier and the
daughter of the savage, the one with timid yet hopeful welcome and
greeting in her lovely face, the other with sudden amaze, scorn,
passion, and jealous fury in her burning eyes, stood a breathless
moment confronted.
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