rry me?" asked Jim, softly. Low though it was, he
had heard Mr. Wells' whisper.

Nell stretched a little trembling hand over her uncle to Jim, who
inclosed it in his own. Her eyes met his. Through her tears shone
faintly a light, which, but for the agony that made it dim, would
have beamed radiant.

"Find the place," said Mr. Wells, handing Jim a Bible. It was the
one he always carried in his pocket.

With trembling hand Jim turned the leaves. At last he found the
lines, and handed the book back to the old man.

Simple, sweet and sad was that marriage service. Nell and Jim knelt
with hands clasped over Mr. Wells. The old missionary's voice was
faint; Nell's responses were low, and Jim answered with deep and
tender feeling. Beside them stood Wingenund, a dark, magnificent
figure.

"There! May God bless you!" murmured Mr. Wells, with a happy smile,
closing the Bible.

"Nell, my wife!" whispered Jim, kissing her hand.

"Come!" broke in Wingenund's voice, deep, strong, like that of a
bell.

Not one of them had observed the chief as he stood erect,
motionless, poised like a stag scenting the air. His dark eyes
seemed to pierce the purple-golden forest, his keen ear seemed to
drink in the singing of the birds and the gentle rustling of leaves.
Native to these haunts as were the wild creatures, they were no
quicker than the Indian to feel the approach of foes. The breeze had
borne faint, suspicious sounds.

"Keep--the--Bible," said Mr. Wells, "remember--its--word." His hand
closely clasped Nell's, and then suddenly loosened. His pallid face
was lighted by a meaning, tender smile which slowly faded--faded,
and was gone. The venerable head fell back. The old missionary was
dead.

Nell kissed the pale, cold brow, and then rose, half dazed and
shuddering. Jim was vainly trying to close the dead man's eyes. She
could no longer look. On rising she found herself near the Indian
chief. He took her fingers in his great hand, and held them with a
strong, warm pressure. Strangely thrilled, she looked up at
Wingenund. His somber eyes, fixed piercingly on the forest, and his
dark stern face, were, as always, inscrutable. No compassion shone
there; no emotion unbefitting a chieftain would ever find expression
in that cold face, but Nell felt a certain tenderness in this
Indian, a response in his great heart. Felt it so surely, so
powerfully that she leaned her head against him. She knew he was her
friend.

"Come," said the