He caught the girl to him fiercely as he spoke, irritated by the hardening of the elders’ minds against that very touch of wildness and rebellion by which he urged the disregard of custom. Whatever advantage he had with Persilope because of the precedent, he had lost by the hint of its insufficiency. “If,” said the chief, holding the bowl before him, “there had arisen any occasion, which I do not allow: _if_ there had arisen such an occasion for doubting the wisdom of our former breach, it would be greater cause for our not admitting it now. Do you propose”—forestalling the rising thought—“to bring it to Council? Look around you and see that we who make the Council are already agreed.” The eyes of the young couple traveled about the group, they saw regret, but no relenting. “If she forgets you,” said the chief more kindly, “she forgets also the pain of her forgetting, and you shall teach her to love again.” “Girl,” said her father, “if you shame me there is no forgetfulness deep enough for that.” I suppose that the mere acknowledgment of their love had eased the tension of dread, had waked, perhaps, that foolish human certainty of passion to survive the loss even of its own identity. Perhaps they had never had any real hope of avoiding the issue; insensibly, too, as the matter had increased in gravity, the young listeners had melted from the circle, leaving a ring of older, sterner faces, before which they felt their resolution fail. We saw the girl turn piteously in her lover’s arms. “You,” she said, “at least will not forget me.” “I will not forget.” “See,” Persilope smiled faintly, and shaking a little of the pale green liquid from the bowl, “I have made it light for you.” The girl kept her eyes on the young man. “And I am yours,” she urged; “whether or not I remember, I am yours.” “Knowing or unknowing,” the young lover assured, “I call these to witness that you are mine.” Daria put out her hand and took the bowl from Persilope, but her lover put his hand upon it over hers, holding it back until he charged her soul again. She lifted the Cup and shuddered as she drank; once she faltered, but he pressed it firmly to her lips. No one moved in the listening circle. The wind was busy with the forest boughs; we saw the redwoods bend and the curdling of the water at the falls. We saw Daria’s head bowing on its slender stalk, like the wild white columbine which the wind shook behind her. “You will remember,” still her lover warned her. “I will remember.” She drooped, all her body lax with sleep, but still he propped her on his bosom. Her mother took up the girl’s flaccid hand in hers and fondled it softly; she did not urge her claim. “Daria, Daria,” pleaded the lover, “say you will remember.” She could not answer now except by the turning of her head upon his bosom; color, drained away by the drug, forsook her, the lips were open and a little drawn. He would have gathered her up then, but a motion from the elders stayed him.