We have ever seen eye to eye save in that wherein we
should have. And I know of nothing dearer than this love you have given
me. If you would risk your life and more, M'sieu, I shall count your
going one of the gifts of God."
"I cannot ask you to return, Ma'amselle,--too well do I know you,--nor
to consider all you must risk for, this,--life and death and the
certain slander of the settlement,--though by all the standards of
manhood I should do so. The heart in me is faithful echo of your own.
This trail must be travelled,--therefore we travel it together. And,
oh, Ma'amselle! Think not of my love as that of a man! Rather do I
adore the ground beneath your foot, worship at the shrine of your pure
and gentle spirit! See!"
With all the prodigal fire of his wild French blood, the youth dropped
on his knee and, catching the fringe on the buckskin garment, pressed
it to his lips.
For once Maren, unused to tears, could speak no word.
She only drew him up, her grip like a man's upon his wrists, and turned
to the making of the fire.
Dupre drew up his canoe and took a snared wild hen from the bow.
* * * * * * * * *
"I think, Ma'amselle," said the youth when Maren awaked some hours
later from a heavy sleep, during which Dupre had killed the little
smoke of the fire and kept silent watch from the shore, "that we had
best leave your canoe here and take mine.
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