r is terrible to me."

His countenance grew harsher, his hand ceased to stroke her hair.

"And has Multnomah, chief of the Willamettes and war-chief of the
Wauna, lived to hear his daughter say that war is terrible to her?
Have you nothing of your father in you? Remember the tales of the
brave women of Multnomah's race,--the women whose blood is in your
veins. Remember that they spoke burning words in the council, and went
forth with the men to battle, and came back with their own garments
stained with blood. You shudder! Is it at the thought of blood?"

The old wistful look came back, the old sadness was on the beautiful
face again. One could see now why it was there.

"My father," she said sorrowfully, "Wallulah has tried to love those
things, but she cannot. She cannot change the heart the Great Spirit
has given her. She cannot bring herself to be a woman of battle any
more than she can sound a war-cry on her flute," and she lifted it as
she spoke.

He took it into his own hands.

"It is this," he said, breaking down the sensitive girl in the same
despotic way in which he bent the wills of warriors; "it is this that
makes you weak. Is it a charm that draws the life from your heart? If
so, it can be broken."

Another moment and the flute would have been broken in his ruthless
hands and its fragments flung into the lake; but Wallulah, startled,
caught it from him with a plaintive cry.

"It was my mother's. If you break it you will break my heart!"

The chief's angry features quivered at the mention of her mother, and
he instantly released the flute. Wallulah clasped it to her bosom as
if it represented in some way the mother she had lost, and her eyes
filled with tears. Again her father's hand rested on her head, and she
knew that he too was thinking of her mother. Her nature rose up in
revolt against the Indian custom which forbade talking of the dead.
Oh, if she might only talk with her father about her mother, though it
were but a few brief words! Never since her mother's death had her
name been mentioned between them. She lifted her eyes, pathetic with
three years' hunger, to his. As their glances met, it seemed as if the
veil that had been between their diverse natures was for a moment
lifted, and they understood each other better than they ever had
before. While his look imposed silence and sealed her lips as with a
spoken command, there was a gleam of tenderness in it that said, "I
understand, I too r