"I could cleave a man's skull in twain as easily as you can cut an apple. Would that we could meet a warlike Indian that I could show you how it merits my praise." "Goodness!" gasped Kate hopelessly. "You would not strike a--a--man with it, would you?" "If he were an enemy. For you, loved one, I could cut down an army." Their horses drew more closely side by side and the fierce, strong hand was gently laid upon her trembling fingers. Tenderly clasping the little one the big one raised it until it touched the lips of him who leaned across to kiss it. Their eyes met as he raised his head. His were full of love, hers with a pleading dread, the uncertain quiver between love and fear. Without a word he dropped the hand, suddenly sick at heart. "I could die for her and she despises me," he groaned to himself. "Oh, what have I--have we done?" she thought, a thousand fears gathering in her heart. "He is no coward and he will kill one of them! How can I tell him--how can I save their lives? He will despise me! That awful sword! A man's skull! Oh, dear! He called me loved one! How big and strong he is! He called me--how can I keep him from using the sword? The pistols I can manage and--perhaps they will not be there. He will kill them all--horror upon horror! What have I done? Oh!" the last exclamation was so loud and so sudden that the pale Captain turned quickly. "What is it? What is it?" She laughed wildly, even gleefully, almost in the face of her companion. "Nothing--nothing at all!" she cried. "I am glad to have afforded you amusement, Mistress Fortune. You may tear my heart to shreds." Her manner changed instantly. Tears flew to the blue eyes and her hand crept toward him. "Forgive me, pray, Captain Studdiford, I--I did not mean to hurt you. I--I--am very foolish, very unkind. You must hate me," she faltered. "Hate you! How could I? You do not love me--why should I have hoped? I can but blame myself." Her hand had fallen to her side because he had not touched it. "And it is our last afternoon together." "Last?" she repeated, faintly. "Yes; for I shall not see you again." "Oh--you--you--do not mean that!" "I have asked to be transferred to Willamsburg. I--I have not one friend in Jamestown; why should I stay here?" he cried bitterly. "But you have," she exclaimed, eagerly; "you have. I am your friend." "Friend! That is not what I ask of you," he said, almost gruffly. Silence, broken only by the clatter of the hoofs upon the road followed his words. In her confusion she had forgotten the terrible sword, but it recurred to her, and, with it, the thought which had given birth to her untimely mirth, the thought that was to lead her from the chief predicament into which she had been cast. She would ask the Captain to turn back to Jamestown at once, avoiding the possibility of conflict.