im now as he thought of Carterette in the light of Richambeau's coarse
jest.

For years he had known in a sort of way that Carterette preferred him to
any other man. He knew now that she had remained single because of him.
For him her impatience had been patience, her fiery heart had spilled
itself in tenderness for his misfortunes. She who had lightly tossed
lovers aside, her coquetry appeased, had to himself shown sincerity
without coquetry, loyalty without selfishness. He knew well that she had
been his champion in dark days, that he had received far more from her
than he had ever given--even of friendship. In his own absorbing love
for Guida Landresse, during long years he had been unconsciously blind
to a devotion which had lived on without hope, without repining, with
untiring cheerfulness.

In those three days spent on the top of the Perch Rock how blithe garcon
Carterette had been! Danger had seemed nothing to her. She had the
temper of a man in her real enjoyment of the desperate chances of life.
He had never seen her so buoyant; her animal spirits had never leapt
so high. And yet, despite the boldness which had sent her to the top
of Perch Rock with him, there had been in her whole demeanour a frank
modesty free from self-consciousness. She could think for herself, she
was sure of herself, and she would go to the ends of the earth for him.
Surely he had not earned such friendship, such affection.

He recalled how, the night before, as he sat by their little camp-fire,
she had come and touched him on the shoulder, and, looking down at him,
said:

"I feel as if I was beginning my life all over again, don't you, Maitre
Ranulph?"

Her black eyes had been fixed on his, and the fire in them was as bright
and full of health and truth as the fire at his feet.

And he had answered her: "I think I feel that too, garcon Carterette."

To which she had replied: "It isn't hard to forget here--not so very
hard, is it?"

She did not mean Guida, nor what he had felt for Guida, but rather the
misery of the past. He had nodded his head in reply, but had not spoken;
and she, with a quick: "A bi'tot," had taken her blanket and gone to
that portion of the rock set apart for her own. Then he had sat by the
fire thinking through the long hours of night until the sun rose. That
day Richambeau had sent his flag of truce, and the end of their stay on
Perch Rock was come.

Yes, he would marry Carterette. Yet he was not disloya