astly as that of a
corpse, and he came into the council walking in a dull lifeless way,
as if hardly aware of what he was doing. Those nearest to him shrank
away, whispering to one another that the seer looked like a dead man.

Cecil came last. The severe mental conflict of the past night had told
almost fatally on a frame already worn out by years of toil and
sickness. His cheek was pale, his eye hollow, his step slow and
faltering like one whose flame of life is burning very low. The pain
at his heart, always worse in times of exhaustion, was sharp and
piercing.

He looked agitated and restless; he had tried hard to give Wallulah
into the hands of God and feel that she was safe, but he could not.
For himself he had no thought; but his whole soul was wrung with pain
for her. By virtue of his own keen sympathies, he anticipated and felt
all that the years had in store for her,--the loneliness, the
heartache, the trying to care for one she loathed; until he shrank
from her desolate and hopeless future as if it had been his own. All
his soul went out to her in yearning tenderness, in passionate desire
to shield her and to take away her burden.

But his resolution never wavered. Below the ebb and flow of feeling,
the decision to make their separation final was as unchanging as
granite. He could not bear to look upon her face again; he could not
bear to see her wedded to Snoqualmie. He intended to make one last
appeal to the Indians this morning to accept the gospel of peace; then
he would leave the council before Wallulah was brought to it. So he
sat there now, waiting for the "talk" to begin.

The bands gathered around the grove were smaller than usual. Many had
fled from the valley at dawn to escape from the dreaded vicinity of
the smoking mountains; many hundreds remained, but they were awed and
frightened. No war could have appalled them as they were appalled by
the shaking of the solid earth under their feet. All the abject,
superstition of their natures was roused. They looked like men who
felt themselves caught in the grasp of some supernatural power.

Multnomah opened the council by saying that two runners had arrived
with news that morning; the one from the sea-coast, the other from up
the Columbia. They would come before the council and tell the news
they had brought.

The runner from the upper Columbia spoke first. He had come thirty
miles since dawn. He seemed unnerved and fearful, like one about to
ann