"You took a great freedom with me the other day, and I am justified in
taking one with you now. I believe you understand English as well as I
do. If you want to explain that and your conduct to me, I will be at the
same place this afternoon. My friend will accompany me, but she need not
hear what you have to say."

Elijah read the letter, which might have been written by an ordinary
school-girl, as if it had conveyed the veiled rendezvous of a princess.
The reserve, caution, and shyness which had been the safeguard of his
weak nature were swamped in a flow of immature passion. He flew to the
interview with the eagerness and inexperience of first love. He was
completely at her mercy. So utterly was he subjugated by her presence
that she did not even run the risk of his passion. Whatever sentiment
might have mingled with her curiosity, she was never conscious of a
necessity to guard herself against it. At this second meeting she was
in full possession of his secret. He had told her everything; she had
promised nothing in return--she had not even accepted anything. Even
her actual after-relations to the denouement of his passion are still
shrouded in mystery.

Nevertheless, Elijah lived two weeks on the unsubstantial memory of this
meeting. What might have followed could not be known, for at the end of
that time an outrage--so atrocious that even the peaceful Minyos were
thrilled with savage indignation--was committed on the outskirts of the
village. An old chief, who had been specially selected to deal with the
Indian agent, and who kept a small trading outpost, had been killed
and his goods despoiled by a reckless Redwood packer. The murderer had
coolly said that he was only "serving out" the tool of a fraudulent
imposture on the Government, and that he dared the arch-impostor
himself, the so-called Minyo chief, to help himself. A wave of