But the "goods" are not delivered over in the ordinary manner. A thought seems to strike the fair huckster; and she stands for a moment gazing upon the face of the handsome purchaser. Is it curiosity? Or is it, perhaps, some softer emotion that has suddenly germinated in her soul? Her hesitation lasts only for an instant. With a smile that seems to solicit, she approaches nearer to the hunter. The pouch is held aloft, with the strap extended between her hands. Her design is evident--she purposes to adjust it upon his shoulders. The young hunter does not repel the proffered service--how could he? It would not be Frank Wingrove to do so. On the contrary, he leans his body forward to aid in the action. The attitude brings their faces almost close together: their lips are within two inches of touching! For a moment the girl appears to have forgotten her purpose, or else she executes it in a manner sufficiently _maladroit_. In passing the strap over the high coon-skin cap, her fingers become entangled in the brown curls beneath. Her eyes are not directed that way: they are gazing with a basilisk glance into the eyes of the hunter. The attitude of Wingrove is at first shrinking; but a slight smile curling upon his lip, betokens that there is not much pain in the situation. A reflection, however, made at the moment, chases away the smile. It is this:--"'Tarnal earthquakes! were Marian to see me now! She'd never believe but that I'm in love with this young squaw: she's been jealous o' her already." But the reflection passes; and with it, for an instant, the remembrance of "Marian." The sweetest smelling flower is that which is nearest--so sings the honey-bee. Human blood cannot bear the proximity of those pretty lips; and the kindness of the Indian maiden must be recompensed by a kiss. She makes no resistance. She utters no cry. Their lips meet; but the kiss is interrupted ere it can be achieved. The bark of a dog--followed by a half-suppressed scream in a female voice--causes the interruption. The hunter starts back, looking aghast. The Indian exhibits only surprise. Both together glance across the glade. Marian Holt is standing upon its opposite edge! Wingrove's cheek has turned red. Fear and shame are depicted upon his face. In his confusion he pushes the Indian aside--more rudely than gently. "Go!" he exclaims in an under voice. "For God's sake go!--you have ruined me!" The girl obeys the request and gesture--both sufficiently rude after such sweet complaisance. She obeys, however; and moves off from the spot--not without reproach in her glance, and reluctance in her steps. Before reaching the path she pauses, turns in her track, and glides swiftly back towards the hunter.