Edward was reminded of that time a year ago when they were alone in
the storm. Again the Indian girl bent reverently to the ground,
exclaiming in awed accents, "The Great Spirit is angry." "He has need
to be angry," muttered the young man, hurrying his companion to a
denser part of the forest, where the thickly intermingled boughs might
form a roof above them. But before they reached it a terrific burst of
thunder broke upon their ears, and a tree beside them was suddenly
snapped by the wind, and flung to the ground. The girl, with the quick
instinct of a savage, stepped aside, pulling hard as she did so upon
the arm of Edward. But he, walking as one in a dream, was scarcely
less unconscious of what was going on around him than when, a moment
later, he lay, felled to the earth by the fallen tree.
Wanda uttered an ejaculation of horror and alarm, and exerting all her
strength she dragged the inanimate figure away from its enshrouding
coverlet of leaves. The rain beat heavily upon the bloodless, upturned
face. "What can I do for you?" she cried in despair, taking his
handkerchief and binding tightly the deep wound on his head.
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