She went into another apartment and returned
with a velvet case and a richly enchased casket.
She opened the case and took out several rolls of
parchment.
"Here they are, my dear old friends, that have told me so many beautiful things."
Cecil unrolled them with a scholar s tenderness. Their touch thrilled him; it was touching again some familiar hand parted from years ago. The parch ments were covered with strange characters, in a lan guage entirely unknown to him. The initial letters were splendidly illuminated, the margins ornamented with elaborate designs. Cecil gazed on the scrolls, as one who loves music but who is ignorant of its technicalities might look at a sonata of Beethoven or an opera of Wagner, and be moved by its suggested melodies.
"I cannot read it," he said a little sadly.
"Sometime I will teach you," she replied; " and you shall teach me your own language, and we will talk in it instead of this wretched Indian tongue."
"Tell me something about it now," asked Cecil, still gazing at the unknown lines.
"Not now, there is so much else to talk about; but I will to-morrow."
To-morrow! The word pierced him like a knife. For him, a missionary among barbarians, for her, the betrothed of a savage chief, the morrow could bring only parting and woe; the sweet, fleeting present was all they could hope for. For them there could be no to-morrow. Wallulah, however, did not observe his dejection. She had opened the casket, and now placed it between them as they sat
