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She lifts her luminous eyes to his, and regards him fixedly as she speaks, full of hopeful excitement. Her eyes have always a peculiar fascination of their own, apart from the rest of her face. Once looking at her, as though for the first time impressed with this idea, Geoffrey had said to her, "I never look at your eyes that I don't feel a wild desire to close them with a kiss." To which she had made answer in her little, lovable way, and with a bewitching glance from the lovely orbs in question, "If that is how you mean to do it, you may close them just as often as ever you like." Three Bulls had several wives and many children, some of them grown and married. Gray hairs were now many in his head. His face wrinkles showed that old age was not far distant. No one supposed that he would ever take another wife; so when the news spread through the camp that he had asked the old medicine man for his daughter Mā-mĭn´, every one was surprised. When Red Robe heard the news his heart nearly broke. The old medicine man agreed to let the chief have the girl. He dared not refuse, nor did he wish to, for many good presents were to be given him in three days' time. When that was done, he told his daughter, she would be taken to the chief's lodge; let her prepare for the change. "I think you needn't be unkinder to me than you can help!" he says, reproachfully. "However, to continue. There's a way of doing things, you know, and the time Violet took to arrange that flower is worthy of mention; and when at last it was settled to her satisfaction, Jack suddenly took her hands in his, just like this, Mrs. Geoffrey," going on his knees before Mona, and possessing himself of both her hands, "and pressed them against his heart, like this and said he——".
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Early next morning the man set out to hunt, and as soon as he was out of sight his wives went up on top of the butte where he used to sit. There they dug a deep hole and covered it over with light sticks and grass and earth, so that it looked like the other soil near by, and placed the buffalo skull on the sticks which covered the hole. "Is there no hope?" asks Geoffrey, gravely. "You look like Marguerite. A very lovely Marguerite," says Geoffrey, idly, gazing at her rather dreamily. "Your wife?" repeats she, in soft, lingering tones, and a little tender seraphic smile creeps into her eyes and lies lightly on her lips. "But I am not fit to be that, and——".
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