The conviction that this young woman was white, educated, refined, the daughter of good blood--no fleeing negress, cursed with the black stain of an alien race, a nameless slave--brought to me a sudden joy in discovery I made no attempt to conceal.

"Eloise Beaucaire, Eloise Beaucaire"-- the name repeated itself on my lips, as though it were a refrain.

I knew instantly what it all meant--that some divine, mysterious hand had led from the very hour of my leaving Fort Armstrong, and would continue to lead until the will of God was done.

It was not in the stars of Fate that such villainy should succeed; such sacrifice as hers fail of its reward.

I might not know where to turn, or what to do; yet it was with far lighter heart, a heart stimulated by new hope, the gleam of love, that I faced the task before me..