I dropped the bundle that I might take both her hands.  “Mademoiselle,” I said, “look at me.  We are puppets in this matter.  You have been thrown into my hands against my will and your own, and I swear to you that I will deal with you as fairly as I have strength.  But you must play your part.  So long as I treat you as a woman you will be a coward.  Therefore I must be harsh with you.  You have great will and can endure loneliness of soul.  I must thrust you back upon yourself.  There must be no woman in the camp.  Come, monsieur, let us not talk of this longer.  Are you ready?” And not waiting for assent, I led the way back to camp without word or look; I even kept myself from putting out a helping hand when I heard the steps behind me falter and almost fall.

As we came to the fire and met the men, I found myself fingering my sword.  But it was a useless motion.  The oafs saw nothing amiss, though to me the very air was shouting the secret.  We had a fat larder, broiled whitefish and bear-steak from the kill of the day before, and the men were thinking much of their stomachs and not at all of the Englishman, save when they turned their backs upon him to show that he was out of favor.  So we sat down to meat.  We sat a long time, while the twilight faded and the stars pricked out clear, and there was little talk between us.  I was sitting at meat with a woman, a woman of my own class, and I dared not offer her even the courtesy that one may show a serving maid.  Well, I would take what each day might bring and not look ahead.  I would think nothing about this person, as man or woman, but would fill my thought with the purpose that had brought me to the beaver lands.  I told the men to be early astir that we might make a longer day of travel on the morrow.

The morrow was gray.  The wind was in the east, and the sunrise watery and streaked with slate-colored bands.  The water was clammy and opaque, repellent to touch and sight.  The way looked dreary, and the woman carried her head high, as if in challenge to her courage.  She had risen early, and had gone through her trifling share in the preparations, and though she had avoided me, I could see that she was ready to play her part.

We paddled on our knees that morning, for the waves were choppy.  By ten o’clock the bands of cloud had merged into a dun canopy, and by noon a slow, cold rain was drizzling.  I dreaded a halt, but the necessity pressed.  I selected a small cove, well tree-grown, and we turned our canoes inland.

Fortunately the rain, though persistent, had been gentle, and had not penetrated far under the heavy foliaged pines.  We selected a clump of large trees, chopped the lower branches, and scraping away the surface layer of moss and needles found dry ground.  Here we piled the cargo in two mounds, which we hooded with tarpaulins and with our overturned canoes.  Our provisions were snug enough; it was ourselves who were in dreary estate.