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were clasped around her beloved flute, pressing it closely, as if seeking help from its mute companion ship. The chief gave her hand into Snoqualmie s; a shudder passed through her as she felt his touch, and she trembled from head to foot; then she controlled herself by a strong effort. Snoqualmie s fierce black eyes searched her face, as if looking through and through her, and she flushed faintly under their penetrating gaze.

"She is yours," said the war-chief. "Be kind to her, for though she is your wife she is the daughter of Multnomah." So much did the Indian say for love of his child, wondering at her strange, sad look, and feeling vaguely that she was unhappy. She tried to withdraw her fingers from Snoqualmie s clasp the moment her father was done speaking. He held them tightly, however, and bending over her, spoke in a low tone.

"My band starts for home at mid-day. Be ready to go when I send for you."

She looked up with startled, piteous eyes.

"To-day?" she asked in a choked voice.

"To-day," came the abrupt reply; too low for the others to hear, yet harsh enough to sting her through and through. "Do you think Snoqualmie goes back to his illahee and leaves his woman behind?"

Her spirit kindled in resentment. Never had the chiefs daughter been spoken to so harshly; then all at once it came to her that he knew, that he must have followed Cecil and witnessed one of their last interviews. Jealous, revengeful, the Indian was her master now. She grew pale to the lips. He released her hand, and she shrank away from him, and left the