"Something warns me I shall never see that country, Peter," she said to
me one night with a sigh, "but I like to hear you speak of it. It must
be a happy land where there are no black men to frighten a poor girl
and make her weep. But I shall not see it. The white spirits would not
welcome me to their country if they knew of the sights I had seen and
the pain I had caused to be inflicted on those whom Ackbau hated."
"It was not your will, but Ackbau's, Melannie, which caused such
suffering," I answered. "None could blame you for being the mouthpiece
of his villainy."
But Melannie shook her head.
"The white man's country is not for me, Peter," she declared
sorrowfully. "I am too steeped in blood to take the white girls' hands
in friendship."
Then she clung to me weeping, with her head upon my breast, and so she
would sob herself to sleep like a child disappointed in play.
But, knowing her history, I could not find it in my heart to blame her
for what had been done at the dictation of others. I pictured her a
queen, among the whites, by reason of her wealth from the sale of her
jewels, who would doubtless have many noble suitors at her feet.
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