There is no
stone to point out the grave of the Indian princess, who lies--as
becomes, too, in our boasted land of liberty, entitled to her boast in
an equality at length, which even pride cannot deny--among the humble
artisans and cottars of Lochee. Did Fletcher Read, on that after day,
when Panmure blew the white iron trump, not expect to see Kalee rise up
and seek judgment on the house of Logie? The blood was hereditary, and
the heart that is fed by the blood, and which impels it.
If it had not been that Aminadab married the portly Janet, we might have
heard no more of the fortunes of this man. But how true Aminadab's
quotation, that God's vengeance never sleeps! Where, in all the scathed
corpses of heaven's lightning, was there ever one that told its tale
like that of Fletcher of Balinsloe, Lindertes, and Logie? He was
recalled to India again.
"Ay, Aminadab, he was forced to go by the Government; but maybe the
Government was only like a thing that is moved by the storm, and cuts in
twain, where its own silly power could do nothing. Before he went, he
married a beautiful little woman,[*] perhaps the most spirited in the
shire, white as Kalee was black, and come, too, of gentle blood.
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