a bower of richness. Silken
tapestries draped and concealed the bark walls; the floor of trodden
earth was covered with a superbly figured carpet. It was like the hall
of some Asiatic palace. Cecil looked at Wallulah, and her eyes
sparkled with merriment at his bewildered expression. "I knew you
would be astonished," she cried. "Is not this as fair as anything in
your own land? No, wait till I show you another room!"

She led the way to an inner apartment, drew back the tapestry that
hung over the doorway, and bade him enter.

Never, not even at St. James or at Versailles, had he seen such
magnificence. The rich many-hued products of Oriental looms covered
the rough walls; the carpet was like a cushion; mirrors sparkling
with gems reflected his figure; luxurious divans invited to repose.
Everywhere his eye met graceful draperies and artistically blended
colors. Silk and gold combined to make up a scene that was like a
dream of fable. Cecil's dazzled eyes wandered over all this splendor,
then came back to Wallulah's face again.

"I have seen nothing like this in my own land, not even in the King's
palace. How came such beautiful things here among the Indians?"

"They were saved from the vessel that was wrecked. They were my
mother's, and she had them arranged thus. This was her lodge. It is
mine now. I have never entered any other. I have never been inside an
Indian wigwam. My mother forbade it, for fear that I might grow like
the savage occupants."

Cecil knew now how she had preserved her grace and refinement amid her
fierce and squalid surroundings. Again her face changed and the
wistful look came back. Her wild delicate nature seemed to change
every moment, to break out in a hundred varying impulses.

"I love beautiful things," she said, drawing a fold of tapestry
against her cheek. "They seem half human. I love to be among them and
feel their influence. These were my mother's, and it seems as if part
of her life was in them. Sometimes, after she died, I used to shut my
eyes and put my cheek against the soft hangings and try to think it
was the touch of her hand; or I would read from her favorite poets and
try to think that I heard her repeating them to me again!"

"Read!" exclaimed Cecil; "then you have books?"

"Oh, yes, I will show you all my treasures."

She went into another apartment and returned with a velvet case and a
richly enchased casket. She opened the case and took out several rolls
of parch