The Chronicles of the Natchez

These pages have been poorly written if he who reads has not discovered that I am of a nature not easily discouraged by events, or disheartened by misfortune. God had sufficiently armored me with hope; so that in the midst of much darkness I sought for whatever light of guidance there might be, making the most of it. Yet the intense, unanticipated loneliness of that bare hut chilled my blood, and I scarcely recall a more wretched time than while I waited, stung and tortured by fears, for the return of De Noyan.

In truth the rough conclusions voiced by the angry sectary merely confirmed my own fear. I had marked within the eyes of Naladi--dreamy as they appeared beneath the shading of long lashes--no promise of tenderness of heart. I believed it was seldom she inclined to mercy, seldom she would step between her warriors and their revenge. I acknowledge freely I felt to some degree the strange spell of her power, the magic influence of her soft, sinuous beauty, which I doubt if any man could utterly resist. Yet I recognized her from the first, even as she stood wrapped in the sun's rays on the rock summit, as one who, by instinct and nature, was scarce less a savage than her most desperate follower, although she possessed the rare gift of masking her cruelty beneath the pleasing smile of a woman not entirely unacquainted with the courtesies of refinement.