"I am a white man. I came from a land far to the East. But who are you, and how came you here?"
She did not seem to hear the last words, only the first.
"No, no," she protested eagerly, "you came not from the East but from the West, the land across the sea that my mother came from in the ship that was wrecked." And she withdrew one hand and pointed toward the wooded range beyond which lay the Pacific.
He shook his head. "No, there are white people in those lands too, but I never saw them. I came from the East," he said, beginning to surmise that she must be an Asiatic. She drew away the hand that he still held in his, and her eyes filled with tears.
"I thought you were one of my mother s people," she murmured; and he felt that the pang of an ex ceeding disappointment was filling her heart.
"Who are you? " he asked gently.
"The daughter of Multnomah."
Cecil remembered now what he had heard of the dead white wife of Multnomah, and of her daughter, who, it was understood among the tribes, was to be given to Snoqualmie. He noticed, too, for the first time the trace of the Indian in her expression, as the light faded from it and it settled back into the despondent look habitual to it. All that was chival rous in his nature went out to the fair young crea ture; all his being responded to the sting of her disappointment.
"I am not what you hoped I was, but your face is
