"I hoped he would, because the Indians are kind, but he didn't.

He took her to his den." Just then Young raised his face.

The despair in it would have melted a heart of stone.

It had become the face of an old man.
"If only you'd told me she had died," he said to Jim, "I'd have been man enough to stand it, but--this--this kills me--I can't breathe!" He staggered into the adjoining room, where he flung himself upon a bed.
"It's hard, and he won't be able to stand up under it, for he's not strong," whispered Jim.
Heckewelder was a mild, pious man, in whom no one would ever expect strong passion; but now depths were stirred within his heart that had ever been tranquil.

He became livid, and his face was distorted with rage.
"It's bad enough to have these renegades plotting and working against our religion; to have them sow discontent, spread lies, make the Indians think we have axes to grind, to plant the only obstacle in our path--all this is bad; but to doom an innocent white woman to worse than death! What can I call it!" "What can we do ?" asked Jim.
"Do?
That's the worst of it.