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THE WHITE WOMAN IN THE WOOD. l6l

He went on, his eager eves drinking in the welcome sight, yet scarcely believing what he saw.

She had not yet observed him. The profile of her half- averted face was very sweet and feminine; her form was rounded, and her hair fell in long black ringlets to the shoulders. He was in the presence of a young and beautiful woman, a white woman! All this he noted at a glance; noted, too, the drooping lashes, the wistful lines about the lips, the mournful expression that shadowed the beauty of her face.

Who was she? Where could she have come from?

She heard the approaching footsteps and turned toward him. Absolute bewilderment was on her face for a moment, and then it glowed with light and joy. Her dark, sad eyes sparkled. She was radiant, as if some great, long-looked for happiness had come to her. She came eagerly toward him, holding out her hands in impetuous welcome; saying something in a language he did not understand, but which he felt could not be Indian, so refined and pleasing were the tones.

He answered he knew not what, in his own tongue, and she paused perplexed. Then he spoke again, this time in Willamette.

She shrank back involuntarily.

"That language? " she replied in the same tongue, but with a tremor of disappointment in her voice. "I thought you were of my mother s race and spoke her language. But you are white, like her people? "

She had given him both her hands, and he stood holding them; looking down into her eager, lifted face, where a great hope and a great doubt in min gled light and shadow strove together. ii