"I ask--nothing--except that
you believe me."
Lee did not grant this, nor was there any softening of his cold
face.
"I would like to ask you a few questions," he said. "General Lodge
here informed me that you saved my--my daughter's life long ago....
Can you tell me what became of her mother?"
"She was in the caravan--massacred by Sioux," replied Neale. "I saw
her buried. Her grave is not so many miles from here."
Then a tremor changed Allison Lee's expression. He turned away an
instant: his hand closed tight; he bit his lips. This evidence of
feeling in him relaxed the stony scrutiny of the watchers, and they
shifted uneasily on their feet.
Allie stood watching--waiting, with her heart at her lips.
"Where did you take my daughter?" queried Lee, presently.
"To the home of a trapper. My friend--Slingerland," replied Neale,
indicating the buckskin-clad figure. "She lived there--slowly
recovering. You don't know that she lost her mind--for a while. But
she recovered.... And during an absence of Slingerland's--she was
taken away."
"Were you and she--sweethearts?"
"Yes."
"And engaged to marry?"
"Of course," replied Neale, dreamily.
"That cannot be now."
"I understand. I didn't expect--I didn't think...."
Allie Lee had believed many times that her heart was breaking, but
now she knew it had never broken till then.
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