emember; but it must not be spoken."

There came to her a sense of getting closer to her father's heart,
even while his eyes held her back and bade her be silent.

At length the chief spoke, this time very gently.

"Now I shall talk to you not as to a girl but as to a woman. You are
Multnomah's only child. When he dies there will be no one but you to
take his place. Are your shoulders strong enough to bear the weight of
power, the weight that crushes men? Can you break down revolt and read
the hearts of plotters,--yes, and detect conspiracy when it is but a
whisper in the air? Can you sway council and battle to your will as
the warrior bends his bow? No; it takes men, men strong of heart, to
rule the races of the Wauna. Therefore there is but one way left me
whereby the line of Multnomah may still be head of the confederacy
when he is gone. I must wed you to a great warrior who can take my
place when I am dead and shelter you with his strength. Then the name
and the power of Multnomah will still live among the tribes, though
Multnomah himself be crumbled into dust."

She made no reply, but sat looking confused and pained, by no means
elated at the future he had described.

"Have you never thought of this,--that some time I must give you to a
warrior?"

Her head drooped lower and her cheek faintly flushed.

"Sometimes."

"But you have chosen no one?"

"I do not know," she faltered.

Her father's hand still rested on her head, but there was an
expression on his face that showed he would not hesitate to sacrifice
her happiness to his ambition.

"You have chosen, then? Is he a chief? No, I will not ask that; the
daughter of Multnomah could love no one but a chief. I have already
selected a husband for you. Tear this other love from your heart and
cast it aside."

The flush died out of her cheek, leaving it cold and ashen; and her
fingers worked nervously with the flute in her lap.

He continued coldly,--

"The fame of your beauty has gone out through all the land. The chief
of the Chopponish[2] has offered many horses for you, and the chief of
the Spokanes, our ancient foes, has said there would be peace between
us if I gave you to him. But I have promised you to another. Your
marriage to him will knit the bravest tribe of the confederacy to us;
he will take my place when I am dead, and our people will still be
strong."

She made no reply. What could she do against her father's granite
will? All the gra