is delivery and the vividness
from his imagination. His eloquence was not what it had been; his
heart was no longer in his work, and his oration was a failure.

Even the Indians noticed that something was lacking in his oratory,
and it no longer moved them as it had done. Cecil realized it, and
strove to speak with more energy, but in vain; he could not arouse
himself; and it was with a consciousness of failure that he brought
his speech to a close and resumed his seat.

To a man of his morbid conscientiousness only one conclusion was
possible.

"God sent me to proclaim salvation to these children of darkness," he
thought, "and I have turned aside to fill my heart with a woman's
love. His wrath is on me. He has taken his spirit from me. I am a
thing rejected and accursed, and this people will go down to death
because I have failed in my mission."

While he sat absorbed in these bitter, self-accusing thoughts, the
speaking went on. Wau-ca-cus the Klickitat made a strong "talk,"
picturesque in Indian metaphor, full of energy. But the chief that
followed surpassed him. Orator caught fire from orator; thoughts not
unworthy a civilized audience were struck out by the intensity of the
emulation; speakers rose to heights which they had never reached
before, which they were destined never to reach again. In listening to
and admiring their champions, the tribes forgot the smoking mountains
and the feeling of apprehension that had oppressed them. At length
Snoqualmie made a speech breathing his own daring spirit in every
word. It went immeasurably beyond the others; it was the climax of all
the darkly splendid eloquence of the day.

No, not of all. From his place among the chiefs rose a small and
emaciated figure; the blanket that had muffled his face was thrown
aside, and the tribes looked on the mis-shapen and degraded features
of Tohomish the Pine Voice. He stood silent at first, his eyes bent on
the ground, like a man in a trance. For a moment the spectators forgot
the wonderful eloquence of the man in his ignoble appearance. What
could he do against Wau-ca-cus the Klickitat and Snoqualmie the
Cayuse, whose sonorous utterances still rang in their ears, whose
majestic presence still filled their minds!

"The Willamettes are beaten at last,--the Willamette speakers can no
more be called the best," was the one exultant thought of the allies,
and the Willamettes trembled for the fame of their orators. Back in
the shadow o