"I take your gauge," I said. "But I find it a small and delicate gauntlet for so warlike a purpose. May I wear it next my heart, madame?"

She looked at me proudly. "I am serious," she said.

"And I take you seriously," I rejoined. I stepped to her and let my hand touch hers. "You wrong me. I find that I take you very seriously indeed. Believe me. But I have always lived in the present. Come, we have been grave long enough. Let us be children and take the pa.s.sing moment. Madame, Montreal is very far away."

CHAPTER XVII

AFTER THE STORM

We slept at that place that night, and the stars came out clear, and the water on the sand sang like a harp played by the wind. I slept, but I dreamed. I thought that Lord Starling came to me, and that the woman went away. And then the dream shifted, and I stood in a strange, barren mist-world, and I was alone. I saw the awful loneliness of creation, and immensity stretched around me. I traveled through infinite s.p.a.ces of void and blackness, and found no sound of voice or life, yet all the time, welling high within me, was a tide, the fullness of which I had never known in my waking hours. All the strength that I had h.o.a.rded, all the desire for love that I had pushed aside, all of the fierce commotions of unrest that mark us from the brute, stirred in me till I felt as if I were suffocating, and cried out for a helping hand. But I was alone, and gray wastes surrounded me, and my surge of feeling beat itself out against desolation. I woke with sweat on my forehead.

I woke to a black night. The stars looked cold, and the men beside me lay as if dead. I looked up and watched the roll of the planets. The mystery of infinity which lies naked at midnight in the wilderness drives some men mad. Heretofore I had been untouched by it except with delight. Now I crept cautiously to my feet and went softly to the woman.

I know that I stepped without sound, but as I stood for a moment looking down at the couch of boughs where she lay I heard a guarded whisper.

"Monsieur, monsieur."

I bent over her. Her eyes were not only open, but wakeful, and her small face looked white against the dark blanket.

"What is it, monsieur?" she whispered.

I knelt that I might answer softly. "I woke, and thought you were in danger. I came to look at you and be sure that all was well. You do not sleep, madame?"

She shook her head. "I slept, but I dreamed. And you, monsieur?"

"I, too, have dreamed."

I thought that she smiled at me, though her face, when I leaned to see it clearly, blurred into the dark.

"Will you sleep the rest of the night within sound of my voice?" she asked, with a little tremble in her whisper. "The wilderness tonight is like that storm. Its greatness terrifies me. Do you think that all is well, monsieur?"

I was glad that she could not see my face. "Yes, I think that all is very well," I answered. "Blessedly well. Sleep, now, madame. I shall stay here, and your whisper would wake me. Is there terror in the wilderness now?"

Again she shook her head. "No," she whispered.

I lay beside her couch and cushioned my head in my arm. I had answered her truly. All was very well with me, for at last I saw clearly; I knew myself. The dream, the night, and something that I could not name, had stripped me naked to my own understanding. I felt as if, man that I had thought myself, I had played with toys until this moment, and that now, for the first time, I was conscious of my full power for joy or suffering. I looked up through the star s.p.a.ces and was grateful for knowledge, for knowledge even if it brought pain.

I had not lain this way long when I heard her stir.

"Monsieur," came her whisper.

I lifted myself to my knees. "Yes, madame."

"You were not asleep?"

"No, madame."

"Monsieur, I was loath to disturb you, but I cannot sleep. Tell me.

Suppose that Lord Starling should find us. Will he have power to take me?"

"Away from your husband? How could he, madame?"

She stirred, and turned her face from me, even though I could not see it in the dark.

"But he has a warrant," she whispered. "The letter said that you must deliver me to my cousin if we were found. What will be done with you, monsieur, if you refuse to obey?"

Then I bent close and let her hear me laugh softly.

"I know of no warrant that applies to you," I murmured. "Cadillac's letter mentioned an Englishman. I know of none such. I travel with a woman, my wife, and commandants have naught to do with us. Was that what was troubling you, madame?"

She bowed, and her breath came unevenly. Her right hand lay outside the blanket, and I bent and touched it with my lips.

"How you hate Lord Starling! How you hate him!" I whispered. "I wonder, can you love as singly? Can you love with as little care for self and comfort and for all the fat conveniences of life? Madame, you are a willful child to lie here and tilt at shadows when you should be garnering strength by sleep. I promised you my sword and my name, and I agreed that they should both be yours till of your own wish you should send me away. Had you forgotten that I promised? I had not."

I had slipped to my knees again and rested with my forehead on her hand. I could feel her other hand stray toward me.

"No," she whispered. "No, I had not forgotten, but the dark and a sudden loneliness made me a coward. Thank you. It is over now and I will sleep. Monsieur, my partner, I will say good-night, and this time I will not call you."

But I rested a moment longer on my knees with my head against her palm.

Then I rose.

"Partners, perhaps," I said softly. "Yet more than that. Madame, are we not like pilgrims groping our way together on a dark road? We cannot see far ahead, but there is a light in the distance. I think that we shall reach it. Good-night. We shall both sleep now, madame."

But she slept and I did not. It was nearly day when I closed my eyes again, yet I did not find the moments long.

The next morning was quiet and the sky clear. I had read my maps rightly, and once embarked, an hour of paddling brought us to Sturgeon Cove. It opened before us suddenly, a wedge of flecked turquoise laid across the shaded greens of the peninsula. As we entered it a flock of white gulls rose from the rocky sh.o.r.e and flew before us. The air, rain washed, was so limpid that it seemed a marvel that it could sustain the heavy-pinioned birds, but they moved in sure curves and seemed to bear us with them. I pointed the woman's glance toward them.

"An omen. We shall follow them and rest here. It is our home."

We nosed our way, with leisurely paddles, close to the northern sh.o.r.e.

The land sloped gently from the beach, and the quivering water, a faded green from the tree shadows, crawled over gravel that was patterned with the white of quartz and with the pomegranate of carnelian. It was a jeweled pavement, and it led to forest aisles where cathedral lights splashed through the trees. But I would not stop. The gulls were still leading.

The bay narrowed, and the sh.o.r.es pressed close to us, with compact ranks of cedars held spearwise. Yet we pushed on, and the water path spread out once more, a final widening. We saw before us the rounded end of the bay, and the neck of land that formed the Sturgeon portage.

The woman looked at me.

"What now, monsieur?"

But I smiled at her with my conceit untroubled. I had seen reeds close to the northern sh.o.r.e. "Halt!" I cried to the canoes.

We lay quiet a moment, and the birds glancing back at us found us suddenly harmless. The reeds under them were swarming with young fish.

The gulls looked down and squawked in a hungry chorus. In a moment they lighted, balancing their great wings like reefing sails.

I laughed as I looked at the woman. It was a small triumph, but intoxication breeds easy laughter. I had been drinking deep that morning of a sparkling happiness more disturbing than any wine.

We sent the canoes sh.o.r.eward into the curve where the reeds lay. The stiff green withes rattled against our canoes like hail, and gave warning of our approach for a half mile distant. I nodded my inner approval.