"
The wind, wafting from the rain which splashed in the pool of Mic-co's
court, might have told, but the wind, with the business of rain upon
its mind, was reticent.
"And Ronador?"
"I have not forgotten."
"He is waiting."
"Yes. Day by day I have put off the thought of the inevitable
reckoning. It is another reason why presently I must hurry away."
"A singular trio of suitors!" sighed the rain. "A prince--an Indian
warrior--and a spy!"
"Not that!" cried the girl's heart. "No, no--not that!"
"You breathed it but a minute ago!"
"I know--"
"And of the three, Sho-caw, bright copper though he is, is perhaps
braver--"
"No!"
"Taller--"
"He is not so tall as Philip."
"To be sure Philip is brown and handsome and sturdy and very strong,
but Ronador--ah!--there imperial distinction and poise are blended with
as true a native grace as Sho-caw's--"
"Humor and resource are better things."
"Sho-caw's grace is not so heavy as Ronador's--and not so sprightly as
Philip's--"
"It may be."
"One may tell much by the color and expression of a man's eye.
Sho-caw's eyes are keen, alert and grave; Ronador's dark, compelling
and very eloquent. What though there is a constant sense of
suppression and smouldering fire and not quite so much directness as
one might wish--"
"Philip's eyes are calm and steady and very frank," said the girl, "and
he is false.
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