She sat reclining on a heap of furs, her elbows sunk in them, her cheek resting on her hand, her eyes turned back toward her island home. Between it and her the expanse of waters grew ever broader, and the trail the canoe left behind it sparkled in a thousand silvery ripples. The island, with its green prairies and its stately woods, receded fast. She felt as she looked back as if everything was slipping away from her. Lonely as her life had been before Cecil came into it, she had still had her music and her beautiful rooms in the bark lodge; and they seemed infinitely sweet and precious now as she recalled them. Oh, if she could only have them back again! And those interviews with Cecil. How love and grief shook the little figure as she thought! How loathingly she shrunk from the presence of the barbarian at her side! And all the time the island receded farther and farther in the distance, and the canoe glided forward like a merciless fate bearing her on and on toward the savagery of the inland desert.
Snoqualmie sat watching her with glittering, triumphant eyes. To him she was no more than some lovely animal of which he had become the owner; and ownership of course brought with it the right to tantalize and to torture. A malicious smile crossed his lips as he saw how sorrowfully her gaze rested on her old home.
“Look forward,” he said, “not back; look forward to your life with Snoqualmie and to the lodge that awaits you in the land of the Cayuses.”
She started, and her face flushed painfully; then without looking at him she replied,—
“Wallulah loves her home, and leaving it saddens her.”
A sparkle of vindictive delight came into his eyes.
“Do the women of the Willamette feel sad when they go to live with their husbands? It is not so with the Cayuse women. They are glad; they care for the one they belong to. They love to sit in the sun at the door of the wigwam and say to the other women, ‘My man is brave; he leads the war party; he has many scalps at his belt. Who is brave like my man?’”
Wallulah shuddered. He saw it, and the sparkle of malice in his eyes flashed into sudden anger.
“Does the young squaw tremble at these things? Then she must get used to them. She must learn to bring wood and water for Snoqualmie’s lodge, too. She must learn to wait on him as an Indian’s wife ought. The old wrinkled squaws, who are good for nothing but to be beasts of burden, shall teach her.”