and won. Nanca begged the young foreigner to
divorce her, which he did. The Seminole divorce custom is lenient when
the marriage is childless. The artist, I fancy, was merely a wild,
reckless, inconstant sort of chap who did not regard the simple
Seminole marriage tie as binding. After the birth of his daughter, a
tiny little elf whom Nanca has named "Red-winged Blackbird," he tried
to run away, and the Indians killed him.

Red-winged Blackbird! Keela then was the child of the artist!

The old Spaniard in his gruff and haughty way has been kind to Grant
and me. He's not well--some obscure cardiac trouble from which he
suffers at times most horribly. He has confided to me a singular
secret. The young foreigner who divorced Nanca is the crown prince of
some obscure little mountain kingdom called Houdania. His name is
Theodomir. He had wild revolutionary notions, hated royalty and fled
at the death of his father. But America and its boasted liberty had
cankers and inequalities too, and heartsick, Theodomir roamed about
until at length on a hunting trip he came into the village of the
Seminoles. Here was the communistic organization of which this
aristocratic young socialist had dreamed--tribal ownership of lands,
cooeperative equality of men and women--no jails, no poor-houses, no
bolts or bars or locks--honorable old age and perfect moral order
without law. What wonder that he lingered? Now that he is divorced
from Nanca he wanders about from tribe to tribe. I'd like to see him.

* * * * * *

Ann, I must write the truth. The face of this Spanish girl haunts me
day and night. There is a madness in my blood. I wish you were here!
I am tormented by terrible doubts and misgivings. If Dad were not so
intolerant!

* * * * * *

Nanca has fled from the Indian village with Grant and me. Oh, Ann, it
had to come! I lost my head. The old Spaniard died three days ago.
That was the cause of it. Nanca's grief was wild and terrible. Her
wailing dirge was all Indian, yet immediately she cried out that the
Indian way of life for her was impossible without her father. She
begged me to take her away. And yet--Oh, Ann, Ann! How could I take
that other man's child? We left her outside the old chief's wigwam.

Much as I have scoffed at marriage, I have married Nanca. Grant
insisted. He was a little bitter. I do not know what makes him so.

I have seen