Fawnie—to take her away—and keep her safely where she'd never trouble you—you could get a divorce—and be free—as though nothing had happened."
"Oh," said Derek, sarcastically. "And am I to pay you well for this? Where do you come in?"
"I don't ask a cent," he cried with vehemence. "You think Indians care for nothing but money! Don't you think we can love? It would be all I'd ask—just having Fawnie! She's no wife for you. You're no husband for her. She's like an animal trapped in your fine house yonder." His eyes burned with scorn; he pressed his supple hand against his heart as though its throbbing hurt him.
"Why," asked Derek, "if you were so fond of her, did you scheme to get her married to me?"
"It was because I was so fond of her. I wanted to see her a lady. And I'd nothing to do with her having your child, did I? That started things going. . . . The old woman thought they could all sponge on you. The girl was crazy to marry you. I didn't know then what it would be like to live away from her."
"Had you never thought of marrying her yourself?"
"Not me. I knew too well what the old woman was. She'd have never let me out of her clutches. Mr. Vale, she's the worst old devil that ever lived, and Beulah is going to be just like her. Now Esther and Fawnie are like the old man. There was something noble about him, a regular old chief he was." Silence fell between the two men, broken only by the volleying of the stream as it rushed under the bridge and into the lake. The fog closed upon them more heavily; a hoarse whistle from some ploughing steamer vibrated across the lake. Jammery drummed nervously on the gate with his fingres.
"You wouldn't believe," he said, "how I've loved that girl. I didn't seem to realize it when she was always in my
