e another half-hour," I answered,
almost inclined to smile at the queer figure he cut, with his long, wet
hair hanging down his shoulders. Then I added, "What journey do you
contemplate?"

He gazed at me, his face full of undisguised amazement.

"What journey? Why, Mon Dieu! to the eastward, of course! Surely you
have no wish to linger in this pleasant spot?"

"And is that the way of a French soldier?" I asked, almost angrily. "I
thought you made the journey westward, Monsieur, for the sake of one
you professed greatly to admire; and now you confess yourself willing
to leave her here to the mercy of these red wolves. Is this the way of
it?"

I spoke the words coolly, and they cut him to the quick. His face
flushed and his eyes flashed with anger; yet I faced him quietly,
though I doubt not I should have felt his hand upon me had we been
better circumstanced for struggle.

"How know you she lives?" he asked sullenly, eying the rifle I still
held across my shoulder.

"I do not know, Monsieur, except that her body is not upon the field
yonder; but I will know before I leave, or give my life in the search.
And if you really loved her as you professed to do, you would dream of
nothing less."

"Love her?" he echoed, his gaze upon the sand, now partially obscured
in the descending twilight. "_Sacre_! I truly thought I did, for the
girl certainly has beauty and wit, and wove a spell about me in
Montreal. But she has become as a wild bird out here, and is a most
perplexing vixen, laughing at my protestations, so that indeed I hardly
know whether it would be worth the risk to stay."

Hateful and selfish as these words sounded, and much as I longed to
strike the lips that uttered them so coolly, yet their utterance
brought a comfort to my heart, and I stared at the fellow, biting my
tongue to keep back the words of disgust I felt.

"So this is the measure of your French gallantry, Monsieur! I am
sincerely glad my race holds a different conception of the term. Then
you will leave me here?"

"Leave you? _Sacre_! how could I ever hope to find my way alone
through the wilderness? 'T would be impossible. Yet why should we
stay here? What can you and I hope to accomplish in so mad a search
amid all these savages? You speak harsh words,--words that under other
conditions I should make you answer for with the sword; but what is the
good of it all? You know I am no coward; I can fight if there be need;
yet to