this matter by night and day," I replied slowly.
"I cannot send you to Montreal, for I cannot trust these men. If I
take you myself I shall lose six weeks out of the summer. Then it will
be too late to accomplish anything. No, I cannot afford so much time.
The summer is all too short as it is."

"You would marry me--marry me to get me out of the way--rather than
lose six weeks of time!"

I rose. "Spare your scorn, mademoiselle. This is no joust of wits. I
would sell everything--except the honor of my sword--rather than lose
six weeks of time."

"Then you have a mission?"

"A self-sent one, mademoiselle."

"But you can come again next year."

"Next year will be too late."

She threw out her hands. "Monsieur, try me. Let me travel with you as
a man. I will be a man. I will be Monsieur Starling in truth. Try me
once more."

I took her hand. "Mademoiselle, mademoiselle," I said, "think a
moment. Would I force you to this marriage--would I suggest it
even--if it did not seem a necessity, a necessity for my own ends? For
I must have my head and hands clear. It is a selfish view. I know
that. It is crushingly selfish. But it is for a large purpose. I am
a small man fitted to a great undertaking, and I can permit no divided
interests. I need an unhampered mind."

She walked a few steps. "And if I should travel with you as a woman
and yet not marry you," she asked over her shoulder, "what then?"

I looked away. "I should be obliged to fight every man of my company
first, then every white man that we might meet. It would hardly leave
me with an unhampered mind, mademoiselle."

She made no comment with word or eye, and going back to the place where
we had been sitting, she dropped upon the sand. I covered her
shoulders with the red blanket, and again sat beside her. I would be
silent till she chose to speak. After a time I went back into the
forest to search fresh fuel for our fire.

When I returned with my arms laden, she turned her face toward me; her
sorrowful eyes looked as if she could never again know sleep or
forgetfulness. "I am a coward," she said, "yet I thought that
cowardice and my desire for life had both died together. I did not
draw back from the knives of the Indians, but now I am afraid of a
loveless marriage. We are young. We may live many years. Oh,
monsieur, I have not the courage!"

I piled the wood on the fire and did not answer. I stirred the red
coals and ma