, taken aback,
bristled at the words and tone.

"To whom do you refer?" she asked.

"Captain McTavish. Ha, you start and blush! Then, there are two
sides of the matter. It's a pity! It's a pity!"

Jean, now thoroughly angered, both by the woman's temerity and her
own involuntary coloring at the mention of Donald McTavish's name,
turned on her visitor sharply.

"You will kindly keep to the matter that brought you here, Maria,"
she said, "and leave both myself and Captain McTavish out of it."

"I can leave you out of it, but not McTavish," was the stolid reply.

"What do you mean?"

"Ha, ha! That's it. What do I mean? Sometimes I hardly know myself,
but at others it conies back to me clearly enough. But I warn you,
pretty miss," and the squaw suddenly pointed a shaking finger at
the girl. "Never marry him, this McTavish. Never marry him!

"I haven't the slightest intention of doing so," returned the girl
coldly; "but I would like to know why you say what you do, and why
you wanted to see my father and tell him all this nonsense."

"Nonsense, you say!" The old woman chuckled. "No, it ain't nonsense.
Your father knows something already, but probably he won't tell
you; such things aren't for the ears of young girls, particularly
when they blush and grow angry at the mention of a man. But he'll
marry you if he can, stain or no stain. That's a man's way."

Jean Fitzpatrick's hands wandered to her throat as though to ease
her dress. Her eyes were wide with wonder and her fear of something
half-hinted, and the color had gone out of her face. Here they were
again, these rumors that had disturbed her mind from time to time.
But, now, they were almost definite--and they were not pleasant!

And her father knew I She had suspected the fact, and yet he had
not told her anything, even denying his knowledge when forced to
the point.

What was it, this thing that was the prized property of a
glittering-eyed Indian hag? She dared hear no more from the crafty,
insinuating creature. She would go to her father himself, and find
out. She turned to the old woman, who was watching her closely.

"Maria," she said, "I will do what I can to have my father see you
before you leave this afternoon. If he will not, then you may know
that everything possible has been done. If he will see you, I'll
send a boy to find you."

The squaw knew enough of white etiquette to realize that this was
a dismissal, and started toward the door.

"H