“What a mortifying business was that at the Tioga fort,” he said under his breath.  “The entire garrison saw it, did they not, Loskiel?  Colonel Shreve and all?”

“Yes, I fear so,”

“It will be common gossip tomorrow,” he said bitterly.  “What a miserable affair to happen to an officer of Morgan’s!”

“A sad affair,” I said.

“It will come to her ears, no doubt.  Shreve’s batt-men will carry it down the river.”

I was silent.

“Rumour runs the woods like lightning,” he said.  “She will surely hear of this disgraceful scene.  She will hear of it at Easton....  Strange,” he muttered, “strange how the old truths hold!...  Our sins shall find us out....  I never before believed that, Loskiel—­ not in a wilderness, anyway....  I had rather be here dead and scalped than have had that happen and know that she must hear of it one day.”

He lay motionless for a while, then turned heavily on his side, facing me across the heap of dead leaves.

“Somehow or other,” he said, “she heard of that miserable business—­ heard of it even at Otsego....  That is why she would not marry me, Loskiel.  Did you ever hear the like!  That a man must be so utterly and hopelessly damned for a moment’s careless folly—­ lose everything in the world for a thoughtless moonlight frolic!  Where lies the justice in such a judgment?”

“It is not the world that judges you severely.  The world cares little what a man’s way may be with a maid.”

“But—­ Lana cares.  It has ended everything for her.”

I said in a low voice: 

“You ended everything for Dolly Glenn.”

“How was I to know she was no light o’ love—­ this camp tailoress—­ this silly little wench who—­ but let it go!  Had she but whimpered, and seemed abashed and unfamiliar with a kiss——­ Well, let it go....  But I could cut my tongue out that I ever spoke to her.  God!  How lightly steps a man into a trap of his own contriving!...  And here I lie tonight, caring not whether I live or die in tomorrow’s battle already dawning on the Chemung.  And yonder, south of us, in the black starlight, drift the batteaux, dropping down to Easton under the very sky that shines above us here....  If Lana be asleep at this moment I do not know....  She tells me I have broke her heart—­ but yet will have none of me....  Tells me my duty lies elsewhere; that I shall make amends.  How can a man make amends when his heart lies not in the deed?...  Am I then to be fettered to a passing whim for all eternity?  Does an instant’s idle folly entail endless responsibility?  Do I merit punishment everlasting for a silly amourette that lasted no longer than the July moon?  Tell me, Loskiel, you who are called among us blameless and unstained, is there no hope for a guilty man to shrive himself and walk henceforward upright?”