She made no reply, but sat looking confused and pained, by no means elated at the future he had described.
"Have you never thought of this,--that some time I must give you to a warrior?"
Her head drooped lower and her cheek faintly flushed.
Her father's hand still rested on her head, but there was an expression on his face that showed he would not hesitate to sacrifice her happiness to his ambition.
"You have chosen, then? Is he a chief? No, I will not ask that; the daughter of Multnomah could love no one but a chief. I have already selected a husband for you. Tear this other love from your heart and cast it aside."
The flush died out of her cheek, leaving it cold and ashen; and her fingers worked nervously with the flute in her lap.
"The fame of your beauty has gone out through all the land. The chief of the Chopponish[2] has offered many horses for you, and the chief of the Spokanes, our ancient foes, has said there would be peace between us if I gave you to him. But I have promised you to another. Your marriage to him will knit the bravest tribe of the confederacy to us; he will take my place when I am dead, and our people will still be strong."
She made no reply. What could she do against her father's granite will? All the grace and mobility were gone from her face, and it was drooping and dull almost to impassiveness. She was only an Indian girl now, waiting to learn the name of him who was to be her master.
"What is the name of the one you love? Speak it once, then never speak it again."
"Snoqualmie, chief of the Cayuses," faltered her tremulous lips.
A quick change of expression came into the gaze that was bent on her.
"Now lift your head and meet your fate like the daughter of a chief. Do not let me see your face change while I tell you whom I have chosen."
She lifted her face in a tumult of fear and dread, and her eyes fastened pathetically on the chief.
"His name is--" she clasped her hands and her whole soul went out to her father in the mute supplication of her gaze--"the chief Snoqualmie, him of whom you have thought."
Her face was bewilderment itself for an instant; the next, the sudden light, the quick flash of expression which transfigured it in a moment of joy or surprise, came to her, and she raised his hand and kissed it. Was that all? Remember she had in her the deep, mute Indian nature that meets joy or anguish alike in silence. She had early learned to repress and control her emotions. Perhaps that was why she was so sad and brooding now.