eur." And before I could check him, he raised my hand
to his lips.

I was greatly disturbed. "Stop! Stop! Stop!" I expostulated, too
much stirred to think what I was saying. "This is not the end. You
are to go west with me."

He drew away. "With you? Who are you? What is the west? You
said--you said that I had to die."

I felt unsteady, and ill at ease. "Let us discuss this like sane men!"
I exclaimed, angry at myself. "You jump at conclusions. That is a
woman's foible. Who am I? A trader, Armand de Montlivet, from
Montreal. I am going west for peltries. It will be a hard trip, and
you will suffer; but it is your only chance. I will get you to the
canoe in some fashion soon after dusk. I have not made my plans. I
must reconnoitre. Hold yourself ready to do what I ask."

Still he drew away. "I shall be a burden. Tell me the truth, shall I
be a burden?"

"Yes."

He did not look angered. Indeed, his eyes softened till I thought him
near tears. "And you will do this for me! Run all this risk! And yet
you never saw me before to-day!" He touched his hand to mine.

Somehow this again annoyed me. The man was concealing something from
me, yet affected to be moved to open emotion by his gratitude. I was
not at the bottom of him yet. I removed his hand.

"Monsieur, you forget," I corrected. "You said we were foes, and we
are. I never embraced an Englishman, and I shall not begin now--now
that our nations are at war. You may be a spy."

"You think me a spy!"

I sighed from exasperation, and pointed to the window. "Monsieur
Starling, wake up to this situation. What does it matter what you are,
or what I think? We waste time. Say that you will follow me, and I
shall go and make my plans."

But still he looked at me. "Then you encumber yourself with me from
abstract duty. Personally you distrust me."

The truth seemed best. I bowed.

He thought this over. "Then I refuse to go," he decided quietly. "I
refuse." And he bowed toward the door to put a period to our interview.

But here my patience broke. I took him by the arm, and held him
ungently. "Words! Words! Words!" I mocked at him. "What would you
have me say? That I love you? In faith, I don't. You irritate me;
annoy me. But save you I will, if only for my peace of mind. Look at
me. Look at me, I say."

He obeyed. All his hard nonchalance had returned.

"Do you trust me?" I demanded.

"Yes, monsieur."