nning and
desperate end of these encounters. Would they--would Low ever realize
it, and forgive her? Her small, dark hands went up to her eyes and she
sank upon the ground. She looked through tear-veiled lashes upon the
mute and giant witnesses of her deceit and passion, and tried to draw,
from their immovable calm, strength and consolation as before. But even
they seemed to stand apart, reserved and forbidding.

When Low returned she hoped to gather from his eyes and manner what had
passed between him and her former lover. But beyond a mere gentle
abstraction at times he retained his usual calm. She was at last forced
to allude to it herself with simulated recklessness.

"I suppose I didn't get a very good character from my last place?" she
said, with a laugh.

"I don't understand you," he replied, in evident sincerity.

She bit her lip and was silent. But as they were returning home, she
said gently, "I hope you were not angry with me for the lie I told when
I spoke of 'your plan.' I could not give the real reason for not
returning with--with--that man. But it's not all a lie. I have a
plan--if you haven't. When you are ready to go to Sacramento to take
your place, dress me as an Indian boy, paint my face, and let me go
with you. You can leave me--there--you know."

"It's not a bad idea," he responded gravely. "We will see."

On the next day, and the next, the _rencontre_ seemed to be forgotten.
The herbarium was already filled with rare specimens. Teresa had even
overcome her feminine repugnance to "bugs" and creeping things so far
as to assist in his entomological collection. He had drawn from a
sacred _cache_ in the hollow of a tree the few worn textbooks from
which he had studied.

"They seem very precious," she said, with a smile.

"Very," he replied gravely. "There was one with plates that the ants
ate up, and it will be six months before I can afford to buy another."

Teresa glanced hurriedly over his well-worn buckskin suit, at his
calico shirt with its pattern almost obliterated by countless washings,
and became thoughtful.

"I suppose you couldn't buy one at Indian Spring?" she said innocently.

For once Low was startled out of his phlegm. "Indian Spring!" he
ejaculated; "perhaps not even in San Francisco. These came from the
States."

"How did you get them?" persisted Teresa.

"I bought them for skins I got over the ridge."

"I didn't mean that--but no matter. Then you mean to sell that
be