No painter could have done justice to the varying expressions that alternately lighted and clouded the Madonna-like face of Le-Le, as she strained every nerve to comprehend the conversation. And when at last every vestige of her awakening hope had settled into a conviction of failure, she buried her face in her hands, and, bending forward, shook her black abundant hair over her face and body to the floor, and uttered a piercing wail, making Jean’s blood curdle. “Le-Le’s cold!” cried the girl, crouching lower, till the embers singed the ends of her straying locks. “Don’t cry, Le-Le dear. You have come to spend the night with me,” exclaimed Jean, seizing her gently by the arm. “Nika wake cumtux,” cried the girl. “You have come to sleep,” pointing to the bed in the corner. “Nowitka! sleep! Nika cumtux.” “She understands,” said Jean, rising and turning to Siwash. “Good-night.” Jean was too full of contending emotions for sleep. She lingered long upon the hearth. “I could stay here always,” she exclaimed in a low voice, but loud enough to awaken the wary maiden from her slumbers on the bed. But the mutual vocabulary of the twain did not admit of satisfactory conversation, and the Indian girl sank back into unconsciousness. As she sat there thinking, a pair of kindly eyes seemed watching her every movement with a tender devotion that made her heart beat wildly. “I wish I’d never teased or laughed at Mame,” she sighed, as the Reverend Thomas Rogers flitted past her inner vision. “What is Life but Love? And who and what is Love but God? And what is God but the wonderful Mystery that is both Life and Love?” Le-Le was away in dreamland, on the enchanted shores of Whulge,—the Indian name for the magnificent body of water known to the civilized world as Puget Sound. “This is holy ground,” cried Jean, so softly to herself that none but Cupid heard. “These lowly walls will be a sacred memory to me through all the rest of my life. But life will mean worse than nothing to me without my one hero. Must I go away to-morrow? Oh, my God! can I ever live again, away from this lodge in the wilderness? Guard and guide my love, O Spirit of Life, and shield him with Thine everlasting arms!” Then, recollecting that she had not prayed, as usual, for the dear ones in camp, she lovingly invoked divine protection for each and all, and was soon in a sound, refreshing sleep. * * * * * “Yes, daddie dear, I’m safe and sound,” she cried, as she awoke to consciousness, to find that the sun was shining and her father’s familiar voice was calling her name in vigorous tones at the door. Jean hastily donned her clothing, which, simple as it was, excited the envy of Le-Le. “Mika klosh, cultus potlatch?” she said inquiringly, as she fondled a blue-and-white neck-ribbon, which was not over clean. “Cultus potlatch?” she asked again.