wetting would not be to his mind.

As she answered not, but went on her way, silent now, and with her slender
figure bending with the motion of the pole, he frowned and shrugged; then
took up his pilgrimage, and with his light and swinging stride kept
alongside of the boat. The ribbon lay across his arm, and he turned it in
the sunshine. "If you come not and get it," he wheedled, "I will throw it
in the water."

The angry tears sprang to Audrey's eyes. "Do so, and save me the trouble,"
she answered, and then was sorry that she had spoken.

The red came into the swarthy cheeks of the man upon the bank. "You love
me not," he said. "Good! You have told me so before. But here I am!"

"Then here is a coward!" said Audrey. "I do not wish you to walk there. I
do not wish you to speak to me. Go back!"

Hugon's teeth began to show. "I go not," he answered, with something
between a snarl and a smirk. "I love you, and I follow on your path,--like
a lover."

"Like an Indian!" cried the girl.

The arrow pierced the heel. The face which he turned upon her was the face
of a savage, made grotesque and horrible, as war-paint and feathers could
not have made it, by the bushy black wig and the lace cravat.

"Audrey!" he called. "Morning Light! Sunshine in the Dark! Dancing Water!
Audrey that will not be called 'mademoiselle' nor have the wooing of the
son of a French chief! Then shall she have the wooing of the son of a
Monacan woman. I am a hunter. I will woo as they woo in the woods."

Audrey bent to her pole, and made faster progress down the creek. Her
heart was hot and angry, and yet she was afraid. All dreadful things, all
things that oppressed with horror, all things that turned one white and
cold, so cold and still that one could not run away, were summed up for
her in the word "Indian." To her the eyes of Hugon were basilisk
eyes,--they drew her and held her; and when she looked into them, she saw
flames rising and bodies of murdered kindred; then the mountains loomed
above her again, and it was night-time, and she was alone save for the
dead, and mad with fear and with the quiet.

The green banks went by, and the creek began to widen. "Where are you
going?" called the trader. "Wheresoever you go, at the end of your path
stand my village and my wigwam. You cannot stay all day in that boat. If
you come not back at the bidden hour, Darden's squaw will beat you. Come
over, Morning Light, come over, and take me in your boa