y not be closed."

"I care nothing for the treasure, unless I may share it with him," she
returned. "Since we spoke together beside the fountain, I have seen him.
He looked upon me doubtfully, being, perhaps, perplexed because of these
features of the child Miriam, which I am compelled to wear."

"Truly, princess, what is he, that you should think of him?" muttered
Kamaiakan.

"He satisfies my heart," was the reply.

"And I am resolved never again to give up this mortal habitation to her
you call its rightful owner. I will never again leave this world, which
I enjoy, for the unknown darkness out of which you called me."

"Princess, the gods do not permit such dealings. They may, indeed,
suffer you to live again; but you must return as an infant, in flesh and
bones of your own."

"The gods have permitted me to return as I have returned; and you well
know, Kamaiakan, that, except you use your art to banish me and restore
Miriam, there is nothing else that can work a change."

"Murder is not lawful, Semitzin; and to do as you desire would be an act
not different from murder."

"On my head be it, then!" exclaimed the princess. "Would it be less a
murder to send me back to nothingness than to let her remain there? Mine
is the stronger spirit, and has therefore the better right to live.
I ask of you only to do nothing. None need ever know that Miriam has
vanished and that Semitzin lives in her place. I wear her body and her
features, and I am content to wear her name also, if it must be so."

Kamaiakan was silent. He may well be pardoned for feeling troubled in
the presence of a situation which had perhaps never before confronted a
human being. Two women, both tenants of the same body, both in love with
the same man, and therefore rivals of each other, and each claiming a
right to existence: it was a difficult problem. The old Indian heartily
wished that a separate tenement might be provided for each of these two
souls, that they might fight out their quarrel in the ordinary way. But
his magic arts did not extend to the creation of flesh and blood. At
the same time, he could not but feel to blame for having brought this
strenuous spirit of Semitzin once more into the world, and he was fain
to admit that her claim was not without justification. His motives had
been excellent, but he had not foreseen the consequences in which the
act was to land him. Yet he more shrank from wronging Miriam than from
disappointing Semi