And so, the first delirious joy-month over, they both began to awaken--the man to the fact that to him his wife was a “very pretty doll,” the woman that her husband was--a brute, whose soul slept soundly beneath the coverlets of sense, and herself its victim and minister. It was horrible; she lost heart, she despised this surface man, and sunk and lost bloom beneath the terrible weight of the discovery and its fearful results. Married, she had expected to move in a sphere very far above that which, by the laws of moral and mental gravity, she was compelled to occupy. Her horizon was henceforth to be bounded by that of her master and his associates. Her husband was vain of his conquest, and one of his greatest joys was found in parading and showing off her beauty to the best advantage, like a jockey does a fine horse--and feeling, jockey-like the while, “all this is _mine_!” Neither himself nor his associates in life could appreciate that more than royal loveliness which dwells within the breasts of educated and refined women--a beauty which eye hath never seen, which eye can never see, but which, like soft and delicate perfume, radiates from such to all who are fine enough to perceive it. As a matter of course, she soon grew weary and disgusted with this surface-life. Feeling that she was unappreciated by the living thousands around her, she, with the true instinct of the Indian, spurned their contact, fell back upon herself, and then, with every tendril of her soul, turned and yearned toward the teeming millions of the dead. She invoked them to her aid, and religiously believed her prayers answered--as I do--and delivering herself up wholly to their weird care and guidance, thenceforward lived a double life--a shadow-life in the world, a real life in the phantom land. True to the natural instinct of the human heart, just in proportion as she withdrew from the world, so did she approach that awful veil which is only uplifted for the sons and daughters of sorrow and the starbeam. She became a seeress, a dreamer, and, in what to her was an actual, positive communion with the lordly ghosts of the dead nations, whereof, in both lines, her forefathers had been chiefs, she sought that sympathy in her sorrows, and in her strange internal joys--that mysterious balm of healing, which the red man in his religion--or superstition, if you will--believes can only thus and there be had. And she found what she sought, or what to the spontaneous and impulsive soul amounts to the same thing, believed that she had found it. At first she had some difficulty in correctly translating into her human language of heart and word that which she took to be the low whisperings of the aërial dwellers of the viewless kingdom of MANATOU. She ardently longed for a more open intercourse with the dead, and, as herein stated, as well as in “Dhoula Bel,” was gratified.