r his slave as he did. But the
spell was on her, of his darkness and unfathomed handsomeness. And
he killed her. He simply took her and assassinated her. How she
suffered no one can tell. Yet all the time, his lustrous dark
beauty, unbearable.

When later she pressed her face on his chest and cried, he held her
gently as if she was a child, but took no notice, and she felt in
the darkness that he smiled. It was utterly dark, and she knew he
smiled, and she began to get hysterical. But he only kissed her, his
smiling deepening to a heavy laughter, silent and invisible, but
sensible, as he carried her away once more. He intended her to be
his slave, she knew. And he seemed to throw her down and suffocate
her like a wave. And she could have fought, if only the sense of his
dark, rich handsomeness had not numbed her like a venom. So she was
suffocated in his passion.

In the morning when it was light he turned and looked at her from
under his long black lashes, a long, steady, cruel, faintly-smiling
look from his tawny eyes, searching her as if to see whether she
were still alive. And she looked back at him, heavy-eyed and half
subjected. He smiled slightly at her, rose, and left her. And she
turned her face to the wall, feeling beaten. Yet not quite beaten
to death. Save for the fatal numbness of her love for him, she could
still have escaped him. But she lay inert, as if envenomed. He
wanted to make her his slave.

When she went down to the Natcha-Kee-Tawaras for breakfast she found
them waiting for her. She was rather frail and tender-looking, with
wondering eyes that showed she had been crying.

"Come, daughter of the Tawaras," said Madame brightly to her. "We
have been waiting for you. Good-morning, and all happiness, eh?
Look, it is a gift-day for you--"

Madame smilingly led Alvina to her place. Beside her plate was a
bunch of violets, a bunch of carnations, a pair of exquisite bead
moccasins, and a pair of fine doeskin gloves delicately decorated
with feather-work on the cuffs. The slippers were from Kishwegin,
the gloves from Mondagua, the carnations from Atonquois, the violets
from Walgatchka--all _To the Daughter of the Tawaras, Allaye_, as it
said on the little cards.

"The gift of Pacohuila you know," said Madame, smiling. "The
brothers of Pacohuila are your brothers."

One by one they went to her and each one laid the back of her
fingers against his forehead, saying in turn:

"I am your brother Mon