What further have I to do with
you, Mr. Renault? You have used me, you have used my kin, my friends.
Not that I blame you--nay, Mr. Renault, I admire, I applaud, I
understand more than you think. I even count him brave who can go out
as you have done, scornful of life, pitiless of friendships formed,
reckless of pleasure, of what men call their code of honor; indifferent
to the shameful death that hovers like a shadow, and the scorn of all,
even of friends--for a spy has no friends, if discovered. All this,
sir, I comprehend, spite of my few years which once--when we were
friends--you in your older wisdom found amusing." She turned sharply
away, brushing her eyelashes with gloved fingers.

Presently she looked straight ahead again, a set smile on her tight
lips.

"The puppets in New York danced to the tune you whistled," she said,
"and because you danced, too, they never understood that you were
master of the show. Oh, we all enjoyed the dance, sir--I, too, serving
your designs as all served. Now you have done with us, and it remains
for us to make our exits as gracefully as may be."

She made a little salute with her riding-whip--gracious, quite free of
mockery.

"The fortune of war, Mr. Renault," she said. "Salute to the conqueror!"

"Only a gallant enemy admits as much," I answered, flushing.

"Mr. Renault, am I your enemy?"

"Elsin, I fear you are."

"Why? Because you waked me from my dream?"

"What dream? That nightmare tenanted by Walter Butler that haunted you?
Is it not fortunate that you awoke in time, even if you had loved him?
But you never did!"

"No, I never loved him. But that was not the dream you waked me from."

"More than that, child, you do not know what love means. How should you
know? Why, even I do not know, and I am twenty-three."

"Once," she said, smiling, "I told you that there is no happiness in
love. It is the truth, Mr. Renault; there is no joy in it. That much I
know of love. Now, sir, as you admit you know nothing of it, you can
not contradict me, can you?"

She smiled gaily, leaning forward in her saddle, stroking her horse's
mane.

"No, I am not your enemy," she continued. "There is enough of war in
the world, is there not, Mr. Renault? And I shall soon be on my way to
Canada. Were I your enemy, how impotent am I to compass your
destruction--impotent as a love-sick maid who chooses as her gallant a
gentleman most agreeable, gently bred, faultless in conduct and
address