The men who come on business leave wives
behind. There is no one to marry."

"You found some one," he returned good-naturedly, smoothing her fair
hair.

"Can you find another?"

"She is but a child. There need to be no hurry."

"She has outgrown childhood. To be sure, there is Pierre Gaudrion, who
hangs about awkwardly, now and then."

"She will never marry Pierre Gaudrion. She is of too fine stuff."

"A foundling! Who knows aught about her? Most Frenchmen like a well-born
mother for their children."

"She is in no haste for a husband. But do not let us dispute about her.
You excite yourself too much. Think seriously of this project. The Sieur
will see you safely housed when once you are there."

He turned and went out. She fell into a violent fit of weeping. She
could coax anything out of Laurent, poor Laurent, who might have been
alive to-day but for the friendship he thought he owed M. Destournier.
And they might now be in Paris, where there were all sorts of gay
goings-on. This life was too stupid for a woman, too cold, too lonely.
And a wife should be a husband's first thought. Ralph was cold and
cruel, and had grown stern, almost morose.

He walked over to the plantation. By one of the log huts Rose stood
talking to an Indian woman. Yes, she was no longer a child. She was tall
and shapely, full of vigor, glowing with health, radiant in coloring,
yes, beautiful. There was much of the olden time about her in the smiles
and dimples and eagerness, though she was grave in miladi's presence.

Yet neither was she a woman. The virginal lines had not wholly filled
out, but there was a promise of affluence that neither my lady nor the
Madame possessed. For the lovely Helene had devote written in every line
of her face, a rapt expression, that seemed to lift her above the
ordinary world. The souls of those she came in contact with were the
great thing. And though the Sieur was a good Catholic, he was also of
the present world, and its advancement, and had always been inspired
with the love of an explorer, and of a full, free life. He could never
have been a priest. He had the right view of colonization, too. Homes
were to be made. Men and women were to be attached to the soil to make
it yield up the bountiful provision hidden in its mighty breast.

And miladi! There had been so few women in his life that he knew nothing
of contrast, or analysis. Some of the men took Indian wives for a year
or so: that had never