She was waiting for him in the living-room. Seating herself at the piano her fingers unconsciously sought the strain of _Mon Desir_, and in a soft, tender voice she sang. The dark, silent man entered unnoticed and stood in the center of the room, his hands clenched, his eyes half closed, listening. When she finished she brushed away her unbidden tears and turned to discover her listener. Rising abruptly she walked to him extending her hand. “I am sorry—for—for—Can you forgive me for wounding you so deeply? I did not understand then; now I do.” “Never mind little—Bess. I richly deserve it all. Let’s not say any more about it.” Then he added, “If you prefer to ride Mauchacho to Selish I will accompany you. Your trunks can go on the stage. It will be our last—ride—together, you know.” “Yes—yes—one more ride! But we must start within an hour. I’ll go and dress,” answered the girl, and she hurried to her room. It seemed when Bess bade Mrs. West good-bye that both their hearts were being wrung asunder. Twice, thrice the girl re-entered the house to kiss the little mother, to feel a mother’s embrace again, to know a mother’s love once more. Although the little Mother stood at the window, blinding tears hid the departing loved ones long before the turn in the road was reached. During the long ride both were silent. Bess was looking with all her eyes at the familiar scenes along the road, as if she would impress them indelibly upon her mind and heart. Whenever West did speak it was to ask some question regarding James, or perhaps to make some suggestion concerning her journey. At last the summit of the hill near Selish was reached. Bess drew rein and turned in the saddle to view again the scene which had first met her gaze more than a year ago. It still lay the same, all unchanged, all inspiring. She gave a sigh as she hurried on to overtake Henry West, nearly at the foot of the hill. When every detail of her journey had been attended to he came to Bess to say good-bye. “Oh, let me go to the top of the hill and say good-bye there to you—to Mauchacho—to the West!” Reaching the summit they dismounted. Bess threw her arms about her horse’s neck and buried her face against his cheek. What was it she heard—what! “Good-bye—dear—good-bye, hope—life—love! Oh! little one; if you could have only loved me! Some day—some time, will you come back—when you can forget that tragedy—when you can forget—_that I am an Indian_?” His voice swayed her soul as a wind sways a fire. He loved her and she had not even dreamed it! How could she have been so blind? She felt her heart fill to bursting with a delicious joy which had never possessed it before. Love it was—_love_—she knew now! Lifting her face gently to his, her eyes soft with a new tenderness and lips parted in wonderment at the fullness, the richness of the new sense, she said, “When—I—can—forget—forget!” Henry understood. He bowed and turned.