even that cloaked by brotherliness
would be but a sham, he knew. He had his own honor to satisfy, as well
as her guilelessness.

Now it was quite dark.

"Oh, I must go back. It has been so pleasant that I have loitered. Let
us run down this slope."

She held out her hand, and he took it. They skimmed over the ground like
children. Then there were the steps to climb, but she was up the first.

"Good-night." She waved her white hand, and he saw it in the darkness.

"The saints bless and keep you."

She ran over to the level and then up again toward the kitchen end.
There was a savory smell of supper. A moose had been killed and divided
around.

"Oh, how delightful! Is there enough for two bites? One will not satisfy
me. But I must see miladi."

"No," interposed Wanamee. "I took in a cup of broth, but she was soundly
asleep. Have some steak while it is hot. The saints be praised for a
mouthful of decent food."

Yes, it was good. Pani watched with eager, hungry eyes and lips aquiver.
Rose felt almost conscience-smitten that she should have been satisfied
first.

"Was there much to be divided?" she asked of him.

"He was a noble, big fellow. And they have gone up in the woods for
deer."

Miladi was still asleep when she entered the room. She held the lamp a
little close with a sudden fear, but she saw the tranquil movement of
her chest and was reassured. There was a young moon coming up, a golden
crescent in a sky of flawless blue. It was too small to light the savage
cliffs, but she could hear the plash of the incoming tide that swirled
along with the current of the river. If the English came, what then?

It was near ten when miladi woke.

"What time is it?" she asked. "Not quite morning, for it is dark. I have
had such a splendid sleep. Why, I feel quite well."

She sat up in the bed.

"Come and bathe my face, Rose. Do you know whether Madame Hebert has the
recipe of this fragrant water? Mine is nearly gone. It is so
refreshing."

"I am quite sure she has. You have had no supper. There is some tasty
meat broth."

"I'm tired of pease and greens, and make-believe things that don't
nourish you at all. And there was such nice fish. Why do they not get
some? The river certainly hasn't dried up."

"No, Madame," in almost a merry tone, as if it might take the edge off
of complaining. "But there is such a scarcity of hooks. Petit Gabou is
making a net of dried grass that he thinks will answer the purpose