the dead
were spoken, even in conversation, it would bring them back; so they alluded to their lost ones only in directly, and always reluctantly and with fear.
"Come back!" said he, repeating the name he had not spoken for six years. "You are my own, you are my woman. Hear me, speak to me, you whom I love; you who, living or dead, are still the wife of Multnomah."
No expression flitted over the changeless calm of the face beneath him : no sound came back to his straining ears except the low intermittent roar of the far-off volcano.
A sorrowful look crossed his face. As has been said, there was an indefinable something always be tween them, which perhaps must ever be between those of diverse race. It had been the one mystery that puzzled him while she was living, and it seemed to glide, viewless yet impenetrable, between them now. He rose to his feet.
"It comes between us again," he thought, looking down at her mournfully. "It pushed me back when she was living, and made me ieel that I stood outside her heart even while my arms were around her. It comes between us now and will not let her speak. If it was only something I could see and grapple with!"
And the fierce warrior felt his blood kindle within him, that not only death but something still more mysterious and incomprehensible should separate him from the one he loved. He turned sadly away and passed on to the interior of the hut. As he gazed on the crumbling relics of humanity around him, the wonted look of command came back to his brow. These should obey; by iron strength of
