"Because I trusted you, Bess." Silence again. Surreptitiously, swiftly, the girl's brown eyes glanced up; but he was not looking at her, and again her glance fell. A longer pause followed, a pause wherein the girl could not have spoken if she would. A great preventing lump was in her throat, an obstacle that precluded speech. Many things had happened in the short time since she had last been with this man, some things of which she was not proud; and beside such a trust as this Bess Landor was speechless. Without volition upon her part, the cup of life had been placed to her lips and, likewise without knowledge of what it contained, she had tasted. The memory of that draught was with her now. Under its influence she spoke. "You are better than I am, How," she said. If the man understood he gave no evidence of the knowledge. He did not even look at her. Time was passing, time which should have found them upon their way, but he showed no impatience. It was his day, his moment, his by right; but no one looking at him would have doubted that he himself would never first suggest the fact. Conditions had changed very rapidly in the recent past, altered until, from his view-point, it was impossible for him to make the move toward the old relation, to even intimate its desirability. With the patience of his race he waited. In the fulness of time he was rewarded. "How," of a sudden initiated a voice, withal an embarrassed voice, "will you do me a favour?" "What is it, Bess?" The girl coloured. Instinctively the man knew that at last the recall had come, and for the first time he was looking at her steadily. "Promise me, please," temporised the girl. "I promise." Even yet Elizabeth Landor found it difficult to say what she wished to say. "You won't be--offended or angry, How?" "No, Bess. You could hurt me, but you couldn't make me angry." "Thank you, How. It's a little thing, but I'd like to have you humour me." She met his look directly. "It's when we are married to-day you'll be dressed--well, not the way you usually dress." Her colour came and went, her throat was a-throb. "Dressed like--You understand, How." Of a sudden the Indian was upon his feet; then as suddenly he checked himself. Characteristically, he now ignored the immaterial, went, as ever, straight to fundamentals without preface or delay. Scarce one human in a generation would have held aloof at that moment. It was his, his by every right; but even yet he would not take it, not until--.