tinsel and veneer of civilization which she
has acquired doesn't change her and can't endure. She is still a savage
in spite of it, the product of savage ancestry living close to the soil.
The simplicity and glamour and freedom of this life casts a spell over
one and attracts one of your adventurous nature, sated with the
pleasures and luxuries of our world, but will the spell last? Once you
have exhausted the simple, elemental joys of such a life, it must become
irksome, mere animal existence, unbearable, positive boredom to you.
That in her which attracts you now must inevitably become commonplace in
time and repel you. You could not endure that, Jack; you who are evolved
through thousands of generations from a higher, superior race. Your
reason and instinct must tell you that.

"Jack!" she cried in a fresh outburst, "we were made for one another!
How can she, an Indian, the product of savagery, understand you who are
of a different race, the product of civilization? Your soul can never
find the full response in hers that it can in mine. I know I was
foolish--call it willful rather than foolish--the instinct that is born
in me to command. I should not have let you go. I should have consented
to share the life you proposed, but I did not believe you were in
earnest; I did not think it would last. Besides, how could you have
expected me to understand? It was too much; you had no right to ask it
of me then. I thought, of course, you would come back to me again, Jack;
I waited for that. Can't you understand? But you didn't come back, and I
repented of my mistake a thousand times. We all make mistakes, Jack!"

His manhood revolted against being compelled to listen to her
confession, her pleading. It was undignified, cowardly. It disgusted him
and he hated himself for it, but what could he do?

"Don't say that, Blanch," he answered gently. "It is I who should ask
forgiveness. I know it was too much to ask you to share such a life with
me, but I did not realize it at the time. I wronged you, I know. I would
gladly make reparation if I knew how."

"Oh! none of that virtuous, good-humored acquiescence, Jack! I want you
to forget everything, all but the days before it happened, when you
loved me--when you swore that your love was as constant as the stars!
Have you forgotten your oath? To be true to yourself, Jack, you must
forget!" She paused. It was the first frank utterance she had made since
her coming; and, for the time