bey," he said, and she
making no reply, they wandered homeward through level shafts of
sunlight, while fluttering overhead on wings of red and gold, the cupids
of the forest enjoyed the sport, and the young man murmured: "Thou and
thee," dreaming of a walk with her in his own Normandy among the
woodlands his boyhood knew.

"Thou art very silent," she said at last.

"No, I am talking; but not to you--of you, perhaps."

"Indeed," and she ceased to express further desire to be enlightened,
and fell to asking questions about irregular French verbs.

Just before they reached the house, Margaret said: "I have often meant
to ask thee to tell me what thou didst do in the city. Friend Schmidt
said to mother that Stephen Girard could not say too much of thee. Tell
me about it, please."

"No," he returned abruptly. "It is a thing to forget, not to talk
about."

"How secretive thou art!" she said, pouting, "and thou wilt never, never
speak of France." In an instant she knew she had been indiscreet as he
returned:

"Nor ever shall. Certainly not now."

"Not--not even to me?"

"No." His mind was away in darker scenes.

Piqued and yet sorry, she returned, "Thou art as abrupt as Daniel
Offley."

"Mademoiselle!"

"What have I said?"

"Daniel Offley is dead. I carried him into his own house to die, a brave
man when few were brave."

"I have had my lesson," she said. There were tears in her eyes, a little
break in her voice.

"And I, Pearl; and God was good to me."

"And to me," she sobbed; "I beg thy pardon--but I want to say--I must
say that thou too wert brave, oh, as brave as any--for I know--I have
heard."

"Oh, Pearl, you must not say that! I did as others did." She had heard
him call her Pearl unreproved, or had she not? He would set a guard on
his tongue. "It is chilly. Let us go in," for they had stood at the gate
as they talked.

It was their last walk, for soon the stripped trees and the ground were
white with an early snowfall and the autumn days had gone, and on the
first of December reluctantly they moved to the city.

XVI

Least of all did De Courval like the change to the busy life of the
city. A growing love, which he knew would arouse every prejudice his
mother held dear, occupied his mind when he was not busy with Schmidt's
affairs or still indecisively on the outlook for his enemy. Genet,
dismissed, had gone to New York to live, where later he married De Witt
Clinton's sister, bein