ar."

"Won't you tell me?" she persisted. "You see, I am dull at these
things."

"Well, what if they do?" he conceded. "You more than make it up to
me--you outweigh a thousand families."

"And would your marriage to a--a--to me destroy your army career?"

"Well, it will really be much easier for both of us if I resign from
the Service," he finally admitted. "In fact, I've decided to do so at
once."

"No, no! You mustn't do that. To-night you think I am worth the price,
but a day will come--"

He leaned forward and caught her hands in his.

"--Meade, I can't let you do it."

"I'd like to see you help yourself," he said, banteringly.

"I can and I will. You must not marry me, Meade--it's not right--it
can't be." She suddenly realized what this renunciation would mean, and
began to shiver. To think of losing him now, after he had come to her
freely--it would be very hard! But to her, too, there had come the
revelation that love means sacrifice, and she knew now that she loved
her soldier too well to let her shadow darken his bright future, too
well to ruin him.

"It will be over before you know it," she heard him saying, in a lame
attempt at levity. "Father Barnum is an expert, and the operation won't
occupy him ten minutes."

"Meade, you must listen to me now," she said, so earnestly that it
sobered him. "Do you think a girl could be happy if she knew a good man
had spoiled his life for her? I would rather die now than let you do
such a thing. I couldn't bear to see myself a drag on you. Oh, I know
it would be wonderful, this happiness of ours, for a time, and then--"
She was finding it more and more difficult to continue. "A prisoner
grows to hate the chains that bind him; when that day came for you, I
should hate myself. No, no! Believe me, it can't be. You're not of my
people, and I'm not of yours."

At that moment they heard the voices of the trader and his squaw
outside, approaching the house. The girl's breath caught in her throat,
she flung herself recklessly upon her lover's breast and threw her arms
around his neck in an agony of farewell.

"Meade! Meade! my soldier!" she sobbed, "kiss me good-bye for the last
time!"

"No," he said roughly.

But she dragged his face down to her burning lips.

"Now you must go," she said, tearing herself away, "and, for my sake,
don't see me again."

"I will! I will! I'll ask your father for you to-night."

"No, no! Don't; please don't! Wait till--till to-