with black circles under her
glittering eyes; with lines of suffering around the rigid mouth and with
that strange pinched look about the nostrils that tells of anguish,
bodily and mental, Nanette stood at the doorway, looking straight at the
chief. She had no eyes for lesser lights. All her thought, apparently,
was for him,--for him whose power it was, in spite of vehement
opposition, to deal as he saw fit with the prisoner in his hands. Appeal
on part of Friends Societies, Peace and Indian Associations had failed.
The President had referred the matter in its entirety to the general
commanding in the field, and the general had decided. One moment she
studied his face, then came slowly forward. No hand extended. No sign of
salutation,--greeting,--much less of homage. Ignoring all others
present, she addressed herself solely to him.

"Is it true you have ordered him in irons and to Fort Rochambeau?" she
demanded.

"It is."

"Simply because he took part with his people when your soldiers made war
on them?" she asked, her pale lips quivering.

"You well know how much else there was," answered the general, simply.
"And I have told you he deserves no pity--of yours."

"Oh, you say he came back here a spy!" she broke forth, impetuously.
"It is not so! He never came near the post,--nearer than Stabber's
village, and there he had a right to be. You say 'twas he who led them
to the warpath,--that he planned the robbery here and took the money. He
never knew they were going, till they were gone. He never stole a penny.
That money was loaned him honestly--and for a purpose--and with the hope
and expectation of rich profit thereby."

"By you, do you mean?" asked the general, calmly, as before.

"By me? No! What money had I? He asked it and it was given him--by
Lieutenant Field."

A gasp that was almost a cry following instantly on this insolent
assertion--a sound of stir and start among the officers at whom she had
not as yet so much as glanced, now caused the girl to turn one swift,
contemptuous look their way, and in that momentary flash her eyes
encountered those of the man she had thus accused. Field stood like one
turned suddenly to stone, gazing at her with wild, incredulous eyes. One
instant she seemed to sway, as though the sight had staggered her, but
the rally was as instantaneous. Before the general could interpose a
word, she plunged on again:--

"He, at least, had a heart and conscience. He knew how wrongfu