“You are better than I am, How,” she said.

If the man understood he gave no evidence of the knowledge.  He did not even look at her.  Time was passing, time which should have found them upon their way, but he showed no impatience.  It was his day, his moment, his by right; but no one looking at him would have doubted that he himself would never first suggest the fact.  Conditions had changed very rapidly in the recent past, altered until, from his view-point, it was impossible for him to make the move toward the old relation, to even intimate its desirability.  With the patience of his race he waited.  In the fulness of time he was rewarded.

“How,” of a sudden initiated a voice, withal an embarrassed voice, “will you do me a favour?”

“What is it, Bess?”

The girl coloured.  Instinctively the man knew that at last the recall had come, and for the first time he was looking at her steadily.

“Promise me, please,” temporised the girl.

“I promise.”

Even yet Elizabeth Landor found it difficult to say what she wished to say.

“You won’t be—­offended or angry, How?”

“No, Bess.  You could hurt me, but you couldn’t make me angry.”

“Thank you, How.  It’s a little thing, but I’d like to have you humour me.”  She met his look directly.  “It’s when we are married to-day you’ll be dressed—­well, not the way you usually dress.”  Her colour came and went, her throat was a-throb.  “Dressed like—­You understand, How.”

Of a sudden the Indian was upon his feet; then as suddenly he checked himself.  Characteristically, he now ignored the immaterial, went, as ever, straight to fundamentals without preface or delay.  Scarce one human in a generation would have held aloof at that moment.  It was his, his by every right; but even yet he would not take it, not until—.

“Bess,” he said slowly.  “I want to ask you a question and I want you to answer me—­as you would answer your mother were she alive.”  Once again, unconsciously, he fell into pose, his arms across his breast, his great shoulders squared.  “I have seen Mr. Landor’s will.  He has left you nearly everything.  You are rich, Bess; I won’t tell you how rich because you wouldn’t understand.  You are young and can live any life you wish.  You know what marrying me means.  I am as I am and cannot change.  You know what others, people of your own race, think when you are with me.  They have shown you to-day.  Answer me, Bess, have you thought of all this?  Was it duty that brought you back, or did you really wish to come?  Don’t take me into consideration at all when you answer.  Don’t do it, or we shall both live to regret.  Tell me, Bess, as you know I love you, whether you have thought of all this and still wish to marry me.  Tell me.”  He was silent.  Once again it was a climax, and once again came oblivion of passing time.  For minutes passed, minutes wherein, with wide open eyes, the girl made her choice.  Not in hot blood was the decision made, not as before in ignorance of what that decision meant.  Deliberately, with the puerile confidence we humans feel in our insight of future, she chose; as she believed, honestly.