mingled with flashes of desperation, at the remembrance of his rash
imprudence. His recollection of extravagant frontier chivalry to
womankind, and the swift retribution of the insulted husband or
guardian, alternately filled him with abject fear or extravagant
recklessness. At times prepared for flight, even to the desperate
abandonment of himself in a canoe to the waters of the Pacific: at times
he was on the point of inciting his braves to attack the Indian agency
and precipitate the war that he felt would be inevitable. As the days
passed, and there seemed to be no interruption to his friendly relations
with the agency, with that relief a new, subtle joy crept into Elijah's
heart. The image of the agent's wife framed in the leafy screen behind
his lodge, the perfume of her hair and breath mingled with the spicing
of the bay, the brief thrill and tantalization of the stolen kiss still
haunted him. Through his long, shy abstention from society, and his two
years of solitary exile, the fresh beauty of this young Western wife, in
whom the frank artlessness of girlhood still lingered, appeared to him
like a superior creation. He forgot his vague longings in the inception
of a more tangible but equally unpractical passion. He remembered her
unconscious and spontaneous admiration of him; he dared to connect it
with her forgiving silence. If she had withheld her confidences from her
husband, he could hope--he knew not exactly what!

One afternoon Wachita put into his hand a folded note. With an
instinctive presentiment of its contents, Elijah turned red and
embarrassed in receiving it from the woman who was recognized as his
wife. But the impassive, submissive manner of this household drudge,
instead of touching his conscience, seemed to him a vulgar and brutal
acceptance of the situation that dulled whatever compunction he might
have had. He opened the note and read hurriedly as follows:--