have not seen him?"

"Nothing has passed the cave door, not even a chipmunk."

He stretched his arms upward into the hollow, standing tall and well
made, his buckskin shirt turned back from his neck.

"I am again hungry."

"I also," said Marianson. "I have not eaten anything to-day."

Her companion dropped on his knees before her and took out of her hands
the food she had ready. His face expressed shame and compunction as he
fed her himself, offering bites to her mouth with gentle persistence.
She laughed the laugh peculiar to herself, and pushed his hand back to
his own lips. So they ate together, and afterwards drank from the same
cup. Marianson showed him where the drops came down, and he gathered
them, smiling at her from the depths of the cave. They heard the evening
cawing of crows, and the waters rushing with a wilder wash on the beach.

"I will bring more bread and meat when I come back," promised
Marianson--"unless the English have burned the house."

"No. When it is dark I will leave the cave myself," said the voyageur.
"Is there any boat near by that I can take to escape in from the
island?"

"There is my boat. But it is at the post."

"How far are we from the post?"

"It is not so far if one might cross the island; but to go by the west
shore, which would be safest, perhaps, in time of war, that is the
greater part of the island's girth."

They drew near together as they murmured, and at intervals he held the
cup to her lips, making up for his forgetfulness when benumbed with
sleep.

"One has but to follow the shore, however," said the boy. "And where can
I find the boat?"

"You cannot find it at all."

"But," he added, with sudden recollection, "I could never return it
again."

Marianson saw on the cave's rough wall a vision of her boat carrying him
away. Her own little craft, the sail of which she knew how to trim--her
bird, her flier, her food-winner--was to become her robber.

"When the war is over," she ventured, "then you might come back."

He began to explain difficulties like an honest lad, and she stopped
him. "I do not want to know anything. I want you to take my boat."

He put the cup down and seized her hands and kissed them. She crouched
against the cave's side, her eyes closed. If he was only grateful to
her for bread and shelter and means of escape, it was little enough she
received, but his warm touch and his lips on her palms--for he kissed
her palms--made her none th