ow he could have found them," he said at last, more to
himself than to her. But she answered him with a quiet reassurance, yet
not understanding why it was necessary.

"She only think," she said.

"But he must have given her some cause to think," he said testily. "I'm
afraid you're not as cute as I thought."

Wanaha turned away. His words had caused her pain, but he did not heed.
Suddenly his face cleared, and he laughed a little harshly.

"Never mind," he said; "I doubt if he'll lose her through that."

The ambiguity of his remark was lost upon the Indian. She heard the laugh
and needed no more. She rose and began to clear the table, while Nevil
stood in the open doorway and gazed out into the night.

Standing there, his face hidden from Wanaha, he took no trouble to
disguise his thoughts. And from his expression his thoughts were pleasant
enough, or at least satisfactory to him, which was all he could reasonably
expect.

His face was directed toward White River Farm, and he was thinking chiefly
of Seth, a man he hated for no stronger reason than his own loss of caste,
his own degeneracy, while the other remained an honest man. The deepest
hatreds often are founded on one's own failings, one's own obvious
inferiority to another. He was thinking of that love which Wanaha had
assured him Seth entertained for Rosebud, and he was glad. So glad that he
forgot many things that he ought to have remembered. One amongst them was
the fact that, whatever he might be, Wanaha was a good woman. And honesty
never yet blended satisfactorily with rascality.

CHAPTER XIV

THE WARNING

"Ma," exclaimed Rosebud, after a long and unusual silence while she was
washing up the breakfast things, and Mrs. Sampson was busy with some
cleaning at the other side of the kitchen, "do you ever get tired of your
work here? Your life, I mean?"

It was early morning. Already the heat in the kitchen was intense. Ma
looked hot, but then she was stooping and polishing, and the flies were
provoking. Rosebud, in linen overall, still looked cool. Her face was
serious enough, which seemed to be the result of some long train of
thought. Ma suddenly stopped working to look up, and waved a protesting
hand at the swarming flies. She found the girl's violet eyes looking
steadily into hers. There was an earnestness in their depths as unusual as
the seriousness of her face. The old woman had been about to answer
hastily, but she changed her mind.