ere in the morning. And the old chief will know. His memory's good
for half a century." Philip flung away his match. "But I can't for
the life of me see which is the lesser of the two evils. If her mother
wasn't married, it was bad enough, of course. But with Theodomir a
crown prince--it's worse if she was!"

And a little later with a sigh--

"A princess! God bless my soul, with my spread-eagle tastes I
shouldn't know in the least what to do with her!"

Huddled in the Indian wagon, the Baron and his secretary talked until
daybreak.

CHAPTER XLVII

"THE MARSHES OF GLYNN"

For the rides over the sun-hot plains, the poling of cypress canoes,
the days of hunting and the tanning of hides, there was now a third of
fearless strength and endurance. Keela had come with the Mulberry Moon
to the home of her foster father, a presence of delicate gravity and
shyness which pervaded the lodge like the breath of some vivid wild
flower.

"Red-winged Blackbird," said Carl, one morning, laying aside the flute
which had been showering tranquil melody through the quiet beneath the
moss-hung oaks, "why are you so quiet?"

"I am ever quiet," said Red-winged Blackbird with dignity. "Mic-co
says it is better so."

"Why?"

"Mic-co only understands, and even to him I may not always talk." She
went sedately on with the modeling of clay, her slender hands swift,
graceful, unfaltering. Mic-co's lodge abounded in evidences of their
deftness.

"You have more grace," said Carl suddenly, "than any woman I have ever
known."

"Diane!" said Keela with charming and impartial acquiescence.

"Yes, Diane has it, too," assented Carl, and fell thoughtful, watching
Mic-co's snowy herons flap tamely about the lodge.

"Play!" said Keela shyly.

Carl drew the flute from his pocket again and obeyed.

"Like a brook of silver!" said the Indian girl with an abashed
revealment of the wild sylvan poetry with which her thoughts were rife.

"The one friend," said Carl, "to whom I have told all things. The one
friend, Red-winged Blackbird, who always understood!"

"I," said Keela with majesty, "I too am your friend and I understand."

Carl reddened a little.

"What do you understand, little Indian lady?" he asked quietly.

He was totally unprepared for the keenness of her unsmiling analysis.

"That you have been very tired in the head," she nodded, her delicate,
vivid face quite grave. "So tired that you might not see as you
s