fatherly kiss on the little brown hand, but
this parting was too much. He dropped her hand, and, turning abruptly
away with a final "Farewell--God bless you," quickly left the spot, in a
sort of bewildered amazement that a heartless Indian girl should ever
have been able to obtain, even for a time, so powerful an influence over
him.

CHAPTER TWENTY.

IS CUMULATIVELY ASTONISHING.

There are, we suppose, in the lives of all men, critical periods--
testing-points, as it were--when their faith in everything true is
shaken almost, if not quite, to the foundation, and when they are
tempted to ask with more or less of bitterness, "Who will show us any
good?"

Well is it for such when, in the hour of trial, they can look up to the
Fountain of all good and, in the face of doubt, darkness, difficulty,
ay, and seeming contradiction, simply "believe" and "trust."

When Lawrence Armstrong slowly sauntered back to the inn after his final
interview with Manuela, it surprised even himself to find how strong had
been his feelings, how profound his faith in the girl's goodness of
heart, and how intensely bitter was his disappointment.

"But it's all over now," he muttered, thrusting his hands deep into the
pockets of his coat, and frowning ferociously at some imaginary wrong,
though he would have been puzzled, if required, to state exactly what
the wrong was. "All over," he repeated, and then continued with an
affected air of indifference, "and what of that? What matters it to me
that I have been mistaken? I never was in love with the girl. How
could I be with a black--well, a brown squaw. Impossible! It was only
admiration--strong admiration I admit--of what I had fancied were rarely
fine qualities, especially in a sav--an Indian; and I've been mistaken;
that's all. That's all. But," (after a pause), "_have_ I been
mistaken? Does this unaccountably callous indifference at saying
good-bye to one who is nothing to her--who never can be anything to
her--argue that all the good qualities I have admired so much are
non-existent, or _bad_ qualities? Surely not! Let me consider. Let me
look this perplexing matter straight in the face, and see what is to be
made of it. What _are_ the good qualities that I seem to have been so
mistaken about?"

Frowning still more ferociously, as if with a view to constrain himself
to the performance of a deed of impartial justice, our hero continued to
mutter--

"Earnest simplicity