After many moments, Cora roughly wiped her eyes and nose on the hem of her dress, her credo on ladylike behavior long forgotten.

She continued her story anew, looking up at the Indian with steely reserve: "And, so, you see Alice was…ruined as well. Beyond ruined! Branded with disgrace," she exclaimed. "Who could believe that she was innocent? She let him into the room after all, well past nightfall. And so many of us had seen her flirting with him. Like all the other girls, she was enamored with him. She longed for his attention and often spoke of his handsome ways."

Chingachgook said nothing.

"None of them believed her. But I—I knew her to be innocent. I knew Alice would not have done something so rash, so vulgar…she was so child-like. She knew nothing of such things. And, yet, yet, I was so angry with her. I felt she had brought this shame upon herself, upon the family. How could she be so stupid as to let him into her room late at night? And, then, afterwards…She just sank into despair. She said nothing, nothing at all, for weeks at a time. She gave no defense. She offered no case."

"And what happened to the young man?" asked Chingachgook, after Cora had been silent for a long while.

"He was transferred. Father was furious with him, of course. Wanted him hanged. But he was a fine solider. His superiors valued him. They protected him," groaned the dark-haired woman, "Protected them the way I ought to have protected Alice. But I…I did not. I raged at her silences. Her helplessness. It was I who told Father she ought to be sent away. That she had no chance in society now. That a convent would give her the care and respite she needed. He could not disagree. He always deferred to me when it came to her, and besides he was miles away. He only had my word to go by."

Chingachgook nodded in understanding.

"And, so…so I took her there," she said, "The convent. A haven for unwed mothers and other disgraced women. I told her a falsehood, that it would only be for a few days. But, of course, it was meant to be for many years…possibly forever. I planned to visit often, and I did, at first. But then she refused to see me. Many months past and I did not see her. I was in a state of grief and shock. Very few families would accept me into their home. I was as disgraced as she. I knew not what to do or where to turn.

"In the end, my conscience plagued me beyond reason. I felt I had to see Alice and ascertain she was alright. The nuns would not allow it. They told me she was ill. Finally, I had the idea to send my maid in, to pretend she was looking for work so she could bring me news of Alice."

Here Cora stumbled. "The—the news she gave me was terrible. She said the place was hellish. Filled with bugs and rats. The girls weren't given enough to eat, and what they were given was rotten. They were beaten for small infractions or no infractions at all. They were forced to work past the point of exhaustion. Some…some had their heads shaved. Others died from the poor conditions and because they were not permitted to see a doctor though they were terribly ill."

Chingachgook's face clouded with anger and disgust.

"I knew then I had to get her out," she said, "I wrote to Father and told him of the news, but he was already halfway to the New World. So I did the only thing I knew how."

She stopped and caught a shaky breath, then continued:

"I crept into the convent late at night. My maid helped me enter. She told me where Alice was but I did not permit her to accompany me. I took nothing but Father's revolver. I moved like a mouse, as quietly as I could. The smell of the place! And the sounds of the women. The crying and moaning," Cora shuddered, "I can't bear to remember it. All I know is that I got to Alice as quickly as I could. She was cloaked in nothing but a dirty white sheet. Her hair hadn't been brushed in weeks. Her face was dirty and her fingers bloodied down to the bone. It wasn't until later I realized that was from scratching the stone wall."

A new wave of horror broke over Cora's face as she recalled that memory. "At first, she did not trust me. I was almost afraid she would cry out. She seemed not to know me. She struggled…she looked at me with such a strange expression, as if I were her executioner and not her savior. But, finally, finally I reasoned with her. I told her…I told her, 'Alice, Alice, follow me. Mama is waiting. Mama wants to meet you, dear girl. You must follow me if you want to meet your Mama.'"

The girl broke out in exhausted sobs. This time Chingachgook did move towards her, stroking her back and speaking soft words of comfort.

"She came…she came. She really believed me," cried Cora. "It was terrible. When she learned I had tricked her again. But there was no other way. I got her in our carriage and took her home. I cleaned her up. I tried to fix it. But, sir, there was no fixing it. So I brought her here…to Father…I hoped he could repair the damage I did…"

…And now?" Cora continued, "Now I walk here gladly, not just because I am excited to be free from a crushing civilization, but because I am relieved. Relieved to be away from her. My broken sister. Oh! I have been cruel to her. I wanted her to wake out of this daze, I wanted her to get better, to be Alice again. I felt as though her madness was my punishment—her unending madness—and so these past few days without her, without that empty look in her eyes…I feel like a prisoner released!"

She cried for a great while on the old Indian's shoulder. She did not stop when Nathaniel came seeking them. She did not stop when the sun set. She did not stop when the moon rose high in the sky. Finally, she stopped only when Nathaniel stilled her, gathering her into his arms and holding her until she fell asleep.

"What say you, Father?" he asked, over her finally slumbering head.

Chingachgook cleared his throat quietly, then said, "These white men do dark deeds. I hear of their stories and my blood turns to ice. If this is how they treat their own people, how shall they treat us?"

Nathaniel grunted in angry approval.

"And, too, I think of my son," said Chingachgook. "My son and this poor girl. I hope he does nothing foolish…I hope he does not try to fix what the white man broke."

The two men met eyes. Each knew that such hope was futile, that somewhere Uncas was out there in the dark, out there with a gray-eyed girl who looked for ghosts and spoke to shadows, her fingers bloody from the very exertion of living.