"But I shall teach thee to forget, Annadoah."

"I cannot forget. Even as the ravens in their winter shelter dream of
the summer sun, so my soul grows warm, in all my loneliness, in the
memory of Olafaksoah."

Ootah groaned with an access of misery. Frenziedly he caught her hands
and pressed them. Annadoah struggled. His words beat hotly in her
ears:

"But I want thee. My blood burns at the thought of thee. It is
against the custom of the tribe that thou shouldst be alone. Thou must
take a husband."

"No--no," she shook her head.

"But some one must care for thee. I love thee. Thou wilt forget
Olafaksoah. Thy hurt will heal."

Annadoah shook her head piteously.

"Do the gulls that freeze to death in winter fly in springtime?" she
asked, simply.

Ootah did not reply.

"He was strong," she murmured. "His hands bruised me. He was cruel.
He hurt me. Yet he gave my heart joy. My heart is dying--dying as the
birds die. I feel the teeth of the wolves in my heart."