ay, Missus."

She rose to her feet rather eagerly, and stood with one hand resting
against the trunk of a small tree. Her eyes met mine, and endeavored a
smile.

"I thank you for thinking of that," she said gratefully. "I--I really
am tired, and--and it will be rest just to be alone. You--you do not
mind if I go?"

"Certainly not. There is nothing for any of us to do, but just take
things easy until night."

"And then we are to go on, up the river?"

"Yes, unless, of course, something should occur during the day to
change our plan. Meanwhile Sam and I will take turns on guard, while
you can remain undisturbed."

She gave me her hand simply, without so much as a thought of any social
difference between us, and I bowed low as I accepted it, equally
oblivious. Yet the realization came to her even as our fingers met, a
sudden dash of red flaming into her cheeks, and her eyes falling before
mine.

"Oh, I forgot!" she exclaimed, drawing away. "It is so hard to
remember."

"I beg you not to try. I have but one aim--to serve you to the best of
my ability. Let me do it in my own way."

"Your own way?"

"Yes, the way of a gentleman, the way of a friend. You can look into
my face now by daylight. Please look; am I unworthy to be trusted?"

She did not answer at once, or even seem to hear my question, yet
slowly her downcast eyes lifted, until she gazed frankly into my own.
Beneath the shading lashes they were wistful, pleading, yet steadfastly
brave.

"I am at your mercy, Lieutenant Knox," she said quietly. "I must trust
you--and I do. Yes, you may serve me in your own way. We--we cannot
seem to play a part very well, either of us, so, perhaps, it will be
easier just to be natural."

I watched the two as they went down the steep bank together, and Sam
helped her over the rail into the cockpit. The narrow entrance leading
into the cabin forward was to the right of the engine, and she
disappeared through the sliding door without so much as glancing upward
toward where I remained standing. The negro left the door open, and
returned slowly, clambering up the bank.

"'Cuse me, sah," he said clumsily, as he paused before me, rubbing his
head, his eyes wandering below. "Did Ah hear right whut yer sed las'
night, 'bout how dat young woman was a nigger, a runaway frum Massa
Kirby? 'Pears like Ah don't just seem fer ter git dat right in my
head, sah."

"That is the truth, Sam, although it appears quit