nd as if to ward off a blow, her features
quivering with pain. She tried to reply, but for an instant the words
faltered on her lips. He saw it, and a fierce delight leaped up in his
heart. "She does not love him, it is I whom she cares for," he
thought; and then he thrust the thought down in indignant
self-reproach.

"I do not care for Snoqualmie; I once thought I did, but--"

She hesitated, the quick color flushed her face; for the first time
she seemed in part, though not altogether, aware of why she had
changed.

For an instant Cecil felt as if he must speak; but the consequences
rose before him while the words were almost on his lips. If he spoke
and won her love, Multnomah would force her into a marriage with
Snoqualmie just the same; and if the iron despot were to consent and
give her to Cecil, the result would be a bloody war with Snoqualmie.

"I cannot, I must not," thought Cecil. He rose to his feet; his one
impulse was to get away, to fight out the battle with himself.
Wallulah grew pale.

"You are going?" she said, rising also. "Something in your face tells
me you are not coming back," and she looked at him with strained, sad,
wistful eyes.

He stood hesitating, torn by conflicting emotions, not knowing what to
do.

"If you do not come back, I shall die," she said simply.

As they stood thus, her flute slipped from her relaxed fingers and
fell upon the floor. He picked it up and gave it to her, partly
through the born instinct of the gentleman, which no familiarity with
barbarism can entirely crush out, partly through the tendency in time
of intense mental strain to relieve the mind by doing any little
thing.

She took it, lifted it to her lips, and, still looking at him, began
to play. The melody, strange, untaught, artless as the song of a
wood-bird, was infinitely sorrowful and full of longing. Her very life
seemed to breathe through the music in fathomless yearning. Cecil
understood the plea, and the tears rushed unbidden into his eyes. All
his heart went out to her in pitying tenderness and love; and yet he
dared not trust himself to speak.

"Promise to come back," said the music, while her dark eyes met his;
"promise to come back. You are my one friend, my light, my all; do not
leave me to perish in the dark. I shall die without you, I shall die,
I shall die!"

Could any man resist the appeal? Could Cecil, of all men, thrilling
through all his sensitive and ardent nature to the music, t