She drew back, but she answered me fairly.  “Very clever,” she said quietly.  “It was a talent.  Why do you ask, monsieur?”

“I find myself thinking of him.”  I dropped the crayon.  “Listen, mademoiselle.  I must ask you some questions.  Believe me, I have reasons.  Now as to your cousin,—­is he alive?”

She looked off at the water.  “I do not know, monsieur.”

She had become another woman.  I hated Benjamin Starling that his name could so instantly sap the life from her tone.

“Please look at me,” I begged irritably.  “Mademoiselle, I think that I must ask you to tell me more,—­to tell me much more.”

She rose.  “Is it necessary?”

I bowed.  “Else I should not ask it.  Please sit, mademoiselle.”

She sat where my hand pointed.  “You know that we were Tories,” she began, in the quiet monotone I had learned to expect from her under stress, “and that our family followed King James to France.  My parents died.  I had no brothers or sisters, and so, a year ago, I came to the Colonies where I had friends.  Later, my cousin followed, and we were betrothed.  We had the same cause at heart, and our joint estates would give us some power.  We planned to use them for that purpose.”

“And your capture?  Did your cousin know of it?”

“Monsieur, you say that this is necessary?  My nurse had come to America, and married a settler, in a village on the frontier.  She was ill, and I went to see her, and stayed some days.  My cousin followed, and stayed at a neighboring house.  One night the Indians came.  The woman’s husband was away, and the little maid-servant ran at the first outcry.  I was alone with the woman, who could not leave her bed.  I cut my hair roughly, put on a suit of her husband’s clothing, and took a musket.  It was a blockhouse, and I hoped that I might hold the Indians off for a time if they thought me a man.”

“And your cousin?”

“He came to me.  He was running.  He said it was of no use.  He had seen men brained.  There were legions of Indians.  He said there was nothing left but flight.  He tried to take me with him.”

“And when you would not go?  When you would not desert?”

“Monsieur, he went alone.”

I laid myself down on the grass before her, and covered her hands with mine.  “I am not quite a brute,” I said.  “I had to ask it.  Look, look, mademoiselle, it is all over.  See, the sky is gentle, and the Indians are friendly, and my sword——­ Well, I will not leave you, mademoiselle, until you tell me to go.  But I must say more.  Your cousin——­ Is he Lord Starling?”

“Yes.”

“Lord Starling is probably alive.  If he is, he is searching for you.  Have you thought of that?”

“But the wilderness,—­the terrible leagues of wilderness!  He could not track me, monsieur.”

“When there is money and influence, even the wilderness has messengers.  He was close to the person of James.  Is he a Catholic?”