When Low returned she hoped to gather from his eyes and manner what had passed between him and her former lover. But beyond a mere gentle abstraction at times he retained his usual calm. She was at last forced to allude to it herself with simulated recklessness. "I suppose I didn't get a very good character from my last place?" she said, with a laugh. "I don't understand you," he replied, in evident sincerity. She bit her lip and was silent. But as they were returning home, she said gently, "I hope you were not angry with me for the lie I told when I spoke of 'your plan.' I could not give the real reason for not returning with--with--that man. But it's not all a lie. I have a plan--if you haven't. When you are ready to go to Sacramento to take your place, dress me as an Indian boy, paint my face, and let me go with you. You can leave me--there--you know." "It's not a bad idea," he responded gravely. "We will see." On the next day, and the next, the _rencontre_ seemed to be forgotten. The herbarium was already filled with rare specimens. Teresa had even overcome her feminine repugnance to "bugs" and creeping things so far as to assist in his entomological collection. He had drawn from a sacred _cache_ in the hollow of a tree the few worn textbooks from which he had studied. "They seem very precious," she said, with a smile. "Very," he replied gravely. "There was one with plates that the ants ate up, and it will be six months before I can afford to buy another." Teresa glanced hurriedly over his well-worn buckskin suit, at his calico shirt with its pattern almost obliterated by countless washings, and became thoughtful. "I suppose you couldn't buy one at Indian Spring?" she said innocently. For once Low was startled out of his phlegm. "Indian Spring!" he ejaculated; "perhaps not even in San Francisco. These came from the States." "How did you get them?" persisted Teresa. "I bought them for skins I got over the ridge." "I didn't mean that--but no matter. Then you mean to sell that bearskin, don't you?" she added. Low had, in fact, already sold it, the proceeds having been invested in a gold ring for Miss Nellie, which she scrupulously did not wear except in his presence. In his singular truthfulness he would have frankly confessed it to Teresa, but the secret was not his own. He contented himself with saying that he had disposed of it at Indian Spring. Teresa started, and communicated unconsciously some of her nervousness to her companion. They gazed in each other's eyes with a troubled expression. "Do you think it was wise to sell that particular skin, which might be identified?" she asked timidly. Low knitted his arched brows, but felt a strange sense of relief. "Perhaps not," he said carelessly; "but it's too late now to mend matters."