"Now I shall talk to you not as to a girl but as to a woman. You are Multnomah's only child. When he dies there will be no one but you to take his place. Are your shoulders strong enough to bear the weight of power, the weight that crushes men? Can you break down revolt and read the hearts of plotters,--yes, and detect conspiracy when it is but a whisper in the air? Can you sway council and battle to your will as the warrior bends his bow? No; it takes men, men strong of heart, to rule the races of the Wauna. Therefore there is but one way left me whereby the line of Multnomah may still be head of the confederacy when he is gone. I must wed you to a great warrior who can take my place when I am dead and shelter you with his strength. Then the name and the power of Multnomah will still live among the tribes, though Multnomah himself be crumbled into dust." She made no reply, but sat looking confused and pained, by no means elated at the future he had described. "Have you never thought of this,--that some time I must give you to a warrior?" Her head drooped lower and her cheek faintly flushed. "Sometimes." "But you have chosen no one?" "I do not know," she faltered. Her father's hand still rested on her head, but there was an expression on his face that showed he would not hesitate to sacrifice her happiness to his ambition. "You have chosen, then? Is he a chief? No, I will not ask that; the daughter of Multnomah could love no one but a chief. I have already selected a husband for you. Tear this other love from your heart and cast it aside." The flush died out of her cheek, leaving it cold and ashen; and her fingers worked nervously with the flute in her lap. He continued coldly,-- "The fame of your beauty has gone out through all the land. The chief of the Chopponish[2] has offered many horses for you, and the chief of the Spokanes, our ancient foes, has said there would be peace between us if I gave you to him. But I have promised you to another. Your marriage to him will knit the bravest tribe of the confederacy to us; he will take my place when I am dead, and our people will still be strong." She made no reply. What could she do against her father's granite will? All the grace and mobility were gone from her face, and it was drooping and dull almost to impassiveness. She was only an Indian girl now, waiting to learn the name of him who was to be her master. "What is the name of the one you love? Speak it once, then never speak it again." "Snoqualmie, chief of the Cayuses," faltered her tremulous lips. A quick change of expression came into the gaze that was bent on her. "Now lift your head and meet your fate like the daughter of a chief. Do not let me see your face change while I tell you whom I have chosen." She lifted her face in a tumult of fear and dread, and her eyes fastened pathetically on the chief.