“Yet you were—­you were a woman all the time.”

“Not in your eyes, monsieur.”

I gripped her hand.  “Did the Indians suspect?”

“Never for a moment.”

“Yet when they captured you”—­

“I was in man’s dress.  I—­I was trying to defend the blockhouse.  The men had—­had—­had”—­

I seized her in my arm, and made her drink from my brandy flask.  In a moment the color came back to her lips, and she drew away.

“I have never done this before,” she explained unsteadily.  “Never since my capture.  I suppose it is because—­because you know.  And so I cannot play the man.  Monsieur, believe me.  I would never have come with you, never, if I had not felt sure of myself.  Sure that I could play my part, and that you would not know.  I—­I—­tried, a little, to make you understand there at the commandant’s, and when I saw that you were really blind I thought that I was safe.  Believe me, monsieur.”

I handed her my flask.  “Drink more,” I commanded.  I took the blanket and wrapped it around her though the air was still warm.  “You must not let yourself have chills in this fashion if you would save your strength.  Madame, I believe nothing about you that is not brave and admirable.  Are you Madame Starling, and is Benjamin your husband that you took his name to shield you, and even repeated the name in your dreams?”

She looked at me, and I felt rebuked for something that had been in my tone.  “I am unmarried,” she said steadily.  “Benjamin Starling is a cousin.  Monsieur, there is nothing left either of us but to let me go.  Oh, if I could live this day over and be more careful!  How was it, how was it that I let you know?”

I walked away.  A frightened mink ran across my feet, and I cursed at it.  Then I walked back.

“You did not let me know,” I said, and I stooped to pick up her bundle.  “I know nothing.  I was always the blindest of men.  Come, Monsieur Starling, let us go back to camp.”

Again she put her hands to her throat.  “You mean that?”

I took the bundle in my arm.  “It is the only way.  Come, monsieur.”

“I cannot.”

“I think that you must.”

“And can we go on as before?”

I shrugged my shoulders.  “We can try.  Come, Monsieur Starling, the men are growling, for you should have made the fire.  Remember, you strayed into the woods and lost your way.  Come, come, you must do your part.”

She looked at me, and a sudden dry sob shook her.  “Forgive me, monsieur!” she cried.  “Yes, I will come.”  She tried to square her shoulders.  “I must get my spirit back before I can meet the men in camp.  Why am I such a coward!”