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"It is worse," says Lady Rodney, in a stifled tone, coming out for a brief instant from behind the deluged handkerchief. "He has married a common farmer's niece!" "Yet answer me," persists he, very earnestly. "I am Paul Rodney," he now volunteers,—"your husband's cousin, you know. I suppose," with a darkening of his whole face, "now I have told you who I am, it will not sweeten your liking for me.".

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"Don't ask me to flatter you. You will get plenty to do that by and by," says Geoffrey, rather jealously, rather bitterly. In the camp was a beautiful girl named Mā-mĭn´—the Wing—whom all the young men wished to marry, but perhaps Red Robe loved her more than all the rest. Her father was a rich old medicine man who never invited any except chiefs and great warriors to feast with him, and Red Robe seldom entered his lodge. He used to dress as well as he could, to braid his hair carefully, to paint his face nicely, and to stand for a long time near the lodge looking entreatingly at her as she came and went about her work, or fleshed a robe under the shelter of some travois over which a hide was spread. Then whenever they met, he thought the look she gave him in passing was friendly—perhaps more than that. CHAPTER II. "Yes, of course," she says, dejectedly. A cloud seems to have fallen upon her happy hour. "When did you hear that—that last singer?" she asks, in a subdued voice..