But she pressed her hands outward. "No, no!" she cried. "Why tell me?" Then she sobered. "I know that you are brave and kind," she said, with her eyes down. "Beyond that--I do not think that I am interested, monsieur."

I felt angered. "You should be interested," I said bluntly. "Well, the night is slipping away. Let me lead you to the fire and bid you good-night."

Her finger tips met mine as we walked back together, but the touch was as remote as the brushing of the pine boughs on my cheek. Yet when I would have handed her her blanket and turned away, she detained me.

"Sit with me a little longer, monsieur," she begged. "I--I think I am afraid of the woods to-night. Let us sit here a while."

I could not grasp her mood, but there was nothing for me but to yield to it. I made her as comfortable as possible, and saw that the fire was kept alight; then I sat near her. I was tired, but time went swiftly. My mind would not have given my body rest, even had I lain down.

In time the woman leaned toward me. "There is--there is no woman who will suffer from this?" she asked slowly.

I stirred the fire. "I have no wife, mademoiselle."

"I did not mean that. There is no woman who--who cares for you?"

"Not to my knowledge."

"And you--and you, monsieur? There is no one whom you are giving up?"

I answered slowly. "Mademoiselle," I said, "you are a strangely wise woman. You know the value of reticence,--something few women seem to know. We have talked of many things, of ambition, of justice, of generosity, but never, never of love. Are you wise to open the past in that one matter? I have asked you no questions."

She hid her face in her hands. "But I will tell you. I was betrothed to my cousin,--to Benjamin Starling. I would not marry him now, I would not marry him now to save him from the rack. I have nothing more to tell you, monsieur."

I let the moments slip. The east was brightening, and in an hour it would be dawn. I knew we needed rest. I rose, and, standing behind the woman, bent over her.

"Mademoiselle Starling," I whispered, "tomorrow, at this time, you will be Madame Montlivet." She did not stir, and I laid my hand on her shoulder where it rose slim and sinewy as a boy's from the low neck of her squaw's dress. I bent lower. "You strange woman," I went on, marveling at her calm. "You strange woman, with the justice of a man and the tempers of a child. Have you a woman's heart, I wonder? I do not talk to you of love, but it may be that it will come to us. I will try to be good to you, Mary Starling. Carry that promise with you when I say good-night."

And then she trembled. "Wait, wait, monsieur! There is one word first. I have tried--I have tried to say it."

I knelt beside her. "What would you say to me, mademoiselle?"

But she turned away. "Monsieur, monsieur! I will marry you, yes. But it is to save your hopes,--your future. We have--we have no love.

Monsieur, will you not hold me as your guest, your sister? It is I who would kneel to you, monsieur."

I pushed her down. "Sit still," I commanded. I turned my back to her, for I had no speech. She did not plead, but I could feel her tremble.

I forced words out of me.

"You are a Protestant?"

"Yes, monsieur."

I picked up the corner of her blanket. "I am a Catholic," I said, drawing away the woolen folds that I might look at her. "In our church marriage is a sacrament, mademoiselle."

She lifted her great eyes. "Monsieur, our marriage will be no sacrament. It will be a political contract. A marriage--a marriage of convenience--in name only---- Surely when we reach home it can be annulled. Must I--must I beg of you, monsieur?"

I rose and looked down at her. "A strange woman of a strange race," I said. "No, you need not beg of me. I have never had a captive in my life,--not even a bird. Mademoiselle, you shall bear my name, if you are willing, for your protection, but you shall go as my guest to Montreal." And I left her in her red blanket and went away.

CHAPTER XIII

WE REACH THE ISLANDS

The dawn came with an uprush of unclouded light showing burnished green leaves and dancing water. I bowed my head to the woman's hand to bid her good-morning, and I served her with meal cakes and sweet water from a maple tree. I was reckless of Pierre's eyes, though I knew them to be weasel sharp for certain sides of life. The woman answered me but scantily, and when we were embarked sat quiet in the bottom of the canoe. I forbore to look at her.

The men feared my mood that day, so paddled well. I charged them not to speak nor sing, for I would have no wasted breath, and the sombre sh.o.r.e, pine and tamarack and savage rock, pa.s.sed before us like pictures dropping from a roll. Toward sunset I sighted a canoe full of warriors, and when we drew near I saw that they were Pottawatamies.

"Are we near your islands?" I hailed.

The men bowed toward the southwest. "The s.p.a.ce of the star rising, and you will reach them if you travel," spoke the tallest. "You ride fast.

I have seen you come like the white squall on the water."

I called again. "Does Father Nouvel tarry with you?" I cried.

I thought that they looked at the maid in the canoe. "He tarries,"

they answered.

I gave the signal and we slipped away. "To the sh.o.r.e," I commanded, and the two canoes took new vigor. The men, like stall-fed beasts, spurred themselves by the prospect of eating and idleness, and we were soon at the beach. I bent over the woman.

"Be prepared," I whispered. "I must tell the men. If I play the clown it is but to impress them, mademoiselle."

She met my glance with a look of entire understanding, and rising gave me her finger tips and stepped from the canoe. I do not know how she turned all in one instant from a sun-burned stripling to a great lady, but that was what occurred. The men, stretching themselves as they stepped to the sh.o.r.e, stopped and stared. I saw that I must speak quickly.

"Let the canoes alone," I said. "We will stop here but a moment.

Go--all of you--and gather green twigs and young ferns, and flowers if you can find them. Then bring them to me here. Go."

The men stood as jointless as tin images. But I saw that they were not only dumfounded but afraid, so I laid my hand on my sword, to give them better cause for their stupefaction. "Go!" I shouted again, and so perverse is my nature that, though I knew well I had no cause for merriment, I swallowed hard to keep back a smile.

The woman and I stood alone while the men jerked their way like automatons from bush to tree. The chaos of their minds had numbed their muscles, and they stripped the young boughs clumsily like a herd of browsing moose. I did not look at the woman. I knew that she needed all my courtesy, but it was hard to speak to her just then.

The men wandered for perhaps five minutes, then ranged themselves before me. They bore a curious collection of gra.s.ses, mutilated tamarack boughs, and crushed brakes. They eyed my sword hilt, and looked ready for flight. Yet I was master, and they remembered it.

Had I ordered them to eat the fodder that they bore, they would not have spoken, and I think that they would have endeavored to obey.

I pointed to the canoe where the woman was accustomed to sit. "Place the greens there," I said. "Make a carpet of them where the red blanket is lying. Work quickly,--then come here. No talking."

They obeyed. They dressed the canoe like a river barge on a fete day, and again they lined themselves before me. I took the woman by the hand.

"You have decked the canoe for my wedding journey," I said, and all my perverse inner merriment suddenly died. "This traveler, whom you have known as a man, is Mademoiselle Marie Starling and my promised wife.

We are to be married when we reach the Pottawatamie Islands. She is your future mistress, and you may come and touch her hand and swear to serve her as faithfully as you have served me. Pierre, you may come first."

A man who has seen battle knows that the pang of a bullet can clear even a peasant's clogged brain. The churls took this blow in silence and tried to make something out of it. What they made I could not fathom, but it lifted them out of themselves, for after a moment they raised their eyes and came forward like men. I had never seen them in an equal guise; I could have grasped them by the hand had it been wise.

The woman extended her palm to them, and gave them each a word as they pa.s.sed in review. She was gracious, she was smiling, yet somehow she was negligent. I was not prepared that she should be used to homage.

Perhaps I had thought that this bit of va.s.salage would give her pleasure. She treated it like an old tale.

"Enough," I ordered. "Pierre, you may draw a portion of brandy all around and drink to the health of your mistress. Then we shall get under way."

Pierre's portions were always ample, and the western red was dulling by the time we were again afloat. I did not paddle, but seated myself beside the woman on the crushed leaves and watched in inactivity and silence while the starlight came. As the dusk deepened we slipped by strange islands, but I held the canoes straight in advance till a limestone headland rose white out of the blurred, violet water. The star shine showed a deep bay and wavering lights among the trees. I touched the woman's shoulder.