Still she looked down.  “Men say that it does, monsieur.”

“Then why are so many marriages unhappy?  No, madame, you know better than that.  And you know that if love should grow between us it would sweep away your toy barriers like paper.  Nearness or absence would not affect it.  Madame, let me have your hand.”

“No, no!  Monsieur, I do not know you.”

“You shall know me better.  Come, what is a hand?  There.  Madame, would you prefer, from now on, to travel in hardship with me rather than be left in comfort here?”

“I should indeed, monsieur.”

“Then you shall go with me.”

“But your work, monsieur!”

I released her hand and picked up my paddle.  “I see that Indian tribes are not my only concern,” I explained.  “I have other matters to conquer.  We shall not be separated from now on.”

She did not answer, and I paddled home in silence with my eyes on her face.  As we landed, she gave me her hand.

“I do not care for supper, and am going to my house.  Good-night, monsieur.”

I bowed over her hand.  “Are you glad that you are to travel with me and know me better?  Are you glad, madame?”

She smiled a little.  “I—­I think so, monsieur.”

“You are not sure?  Think of it to-night.  Perhaps you will tell me to-morrow.  Will you tell me to-morrow, madame?”

She drew back into the dusk.  “Perhaps—­to-morrow.  Good-night, monsieur.”

I walked through the meadow.  I would not eat supper and I would not work.  Finally I called Simon.  He was a strange, quiet man, not as strong as the others of the crew, but of use to me for his knowledge of woodcraft.  As a boy he had been held captive by the Mohawks, and he was almost as deft of hand and eye as they.

“Have you seen any sign or sound of Indian or white men in these three weeks?” I asked him.

He looked at me rather sullenly.  “Yes.  A canoe went through here one night about a week ago.”

“Who was in it?”

“I do not know.”

“You should have followed.”

“I did.”

“You should have reported to me.”

He glowered at me with the eye of a rebellious panther.  “I watched.  The master went away.”  Then he showed his teeth in open defiance.  “I watched every night on the beach.  The master slept or went away.”

I opened my mouth to order him under guard, but I did not form the words.  I thought of the way that he had spent his days working on the delicately fashioned canoe and his nights in keeping guard.  And all for the woman.  Women make mischief in the wilderness.  I grew pitiful.

“Watch again to-night,” I said kindly, “and you shall sleep to-morrow.  Simon, I thought that I heard the sound of an axe off the south shore to-day.  I shall take the small canoe at daybreak and see what I can find.  Tell the camp I have gone fishing.  I shall return by noon.  And, Simon”——­