manhood. If she had not
been bred in horror of Catholics, the cloister at this time would have
occurred to her as her only safe refuge.

These secret rites in her bedroom being ended, and Roxy diverted from
her movements, she slipped off into the woods path, sometimes running
breathlessly towards St. James.

The impetus which carried Emeline increased with each journey. At first
she was able to check it in the woods depths, but it finally drove her
until the village houses were in sight.

When this at last happened, and she stood gazing, fascinated, down the
tunnel of forest path, the King of Beaver spoke behind her.

Emeline screamed in terror and took hold of a bush, to make it a support
and a veil.

"Have I been a patient man?" he inquired, standing between her and her
uncle's house. "I waited for you to come to me."

"I am obliged to go somewhere," said Emeline, plucking the leaves and
unsteadily shifting her eyes about his feet. "I cannot stay on the
farm all the time." Through numbness she felt the pricking of a sharp
rapture.

The King of Beaver smiled, seeing betrayed in her face the very vertigo
of joy.

[Illustration: You will give yourself to me now 142]

"You will give yourself to me now?" he winningly begged, venturing
out-stretched hands. "You have felt the need as I have? Do you think
the days have been easy to me? When you were on your knees I was on
my knees too. Every day you came in this direction I came as far as I
dared, to meet you. Are the obstacles all passed?"

"No," said Emeline.

He was making her ask herself that most insidious question, "Why could
not the other have been like this?"

"Tell me--can you say, 'I hate you,' now?"

"No," said Emeline.

"I have grown to be a better man since you said you hated me. The
miracle cannot be forced. Next time?" He spoke wistfully.

"No," Emeline answered, holding to the bush. She kept her eyes on the
ground while he talked, and glanced up when she replied. He stood with
his hat off. The flakes of sun touched his head and the fair skin of his
forehead.

He moved towards Emeline, and she retreated around the bush. Without
hesitating he passed, making a salutation, and went on by himself to
St. James. She watched his rapid military walk furtively, her eyebrows
crouching, her lips rippling with passionate tremors. Then she took to
flight homeward, her skirts swishing through the woods with a rush like
the wind. The rebound was as viol