. "The Indians called me by a name that meant bitter waters,"
he said hesitatingly. "But my baptismal records say Starling. I am
telling you the truth, monsieur."

I wrote the name so that he could see. "You give me your word as a
gentleman," I said, "that your name is Benjamin Starling."

He stopped a moment. "Can a yeoman swear himself a gentleman?" he
asked. "I think not. I will be more explicit. I give you my oath as
a truth-loving person that my name is Starling."

I put up the paper. "Thank you," I said. "And now. Monsieur
Starling, we will say good-by. I am only a chance wayfarer here, and
leave in an hour. I cannot wish you success, since you are my foe, but
I can wish you a safe return to your own kind. I hope that we shall
meet again. When I am dealing with a foe that I respect, I prefer him
with his hands unbound. Good-day, monsieur."

But he was before me at the door. I saw that my news troubled him.

"You mean," he asked, "that you are leaving here for several days?"

I laid my hand on the latch. "No," I answered. "I leave for several
months, monsieur."

"For months! Oh no!" he cried, and he drew back and looked at me.
"Then I am like never to see you again," he said thoughtfully. "You
have been kind to me." He suddenly thrust out his hand. "Monsieur, I
will be more generous than you. I wish you success."

But I would not take his hand on those terms.

"Don't!" I said roughly. "You cannot wish me success. It will mean
failure to you--to your people. No, we are foes, and let us wear our
colors honestly. Again, I wish you good-day," and, bowing, I raised
the latch, and made my way out of the commandant's door.

CHAPTER IV

IN THE OTTAWA CAMP

Chance was disposed to be in a good humor. I had scarcely stepped into
the crowd when I saw Pierre.

I went to him knowing that I should find opportunity for reproof, but
should probably lack the will. For Pierre was my harlequin, and what
man can easily censure his own amusements even when he sees their harm?
Then there was more to make me lenient. The man's family had served my
own for as many generations as the rooks had builded in our yews, and
so, on one side at least, he inherited blind loyalty to my name. I say
on one side, for his blood was mixed; his father had married a vagrant,
a half-gypsy Irish girl who begged among the villages. It was the
union of a stolid ox and a wildcat, and I had much amusement watc