h to them."
While he was forming his resolution, there came the recollection that Wallulah would look for him, would be expecting him to come to her.
"I cannot," he thought, though he yearned to go to her. "I cannot go; I must be faithful to my mission."
Many chiefs came that night to his lodge; among them, to his surprise, Tohomish the seer. Long and animated was Cecil s talk; beautiful and full of spir itual fervor were the words in which he pointed them to a better life. Tohomish was impassive, listening in his usual brooding way. The others seemed inter ested; but when he was done they all rose up and went away without a word, all except the Shoshone renegade who had helped him bury the dead Ban nock. He came to Cecil before leaving the lodge.
"Sometime," he said, "when it will be easier for me to be good than it is now, I will try to live the life you talked about to-night."
Then he turned and went out before Cecil could reply.
"There is one at least seeking to get nearer God," thought Cecil, joyfully. After awhile his enthusiasm faded away, and he remembered how anxiously Wal lulah must have waited for him, and how bitterly she must have been disappointed. Her face, pale and stained with tears, rose plainly before him. A deep remorse filled his heart.
"Poor child! I am the first white person she has seen since her mother died; no wonder she longs for my presence! I must go to her to-morrow. After all, there is no danger of my caring for her. To me my work is all
