I could only shake my head at her. "I am not sure." Then I sat beside her and tried to explain. "Simon is dead, Pierre died saving me. Leclerc and Labarthe died under torture. I sacrificed them to enforce a belief. And now the belief is a phantom. It is very strange. Mary, we have traveled by different roads, but we have reached the same goal. My ambition for conquest is put away." She drew a long breath, and I saw splendid understanding of me in the look she gave. Yet she was unconvinced. "Perhaps this feeling may pass," she argued. "It may be temporary. Then you will regret your lost hold with the tribes." I smiled at her. "I love you," I murmured. "I love you. I love you. I am tired of talk of blood and war. Mary, you accepted me as I was, accept me, if you can, as I am now. I cannot analyze myself. I cannot promise what I will believe as time goes on. But this I know. I was born with a sword in my hand, but now I cannot use it--for aggression. I do not mean that I think it is wrong. I do not know what I believe. Time will tell." The strange light that made her seem all spirit flamed in the glance that thanked me. "Yet think well," she cautioned. "I--I am proud of you." Her voice sank to a whisper. "Sometimes even my love seems swallowed in my pride in you. I live on my pride in your power. Think of your unfinished work. No, no, you must go on." I took her by the shoulders. "You strange, double woman!" I cried, with my voice unsteady. "You command me to do something, the while you are trembling from head to foot for fear I will obey. Will you always play the martyr to your spirit? Mary, I shall not lead the tribes." "But your unfinished work!" "What was worth doing has been done. This crisis is past. The west will be safe from the Iroquois for some time. There is other work for me. We will go to France. I have business there. Then I would show the world my wife." Yet she held me away a moment longer. "You can do this without regret?" I folded her to me. "It is the only path I see before me," I answered her. And then, for the first time, she sobbed as she lay in my arms. A little later we stood together in the tent door. The sunset was lost in the woods behind and the shadows were long and cool. The camp was gay. All memory of death and conquest was put aside, and the men were living in the moment. French and Indians were feasting, and there were song and talk and the movement of lithe bodies, gayly clad. The water babbled strange songs upon the shore, and the forest was full of quiet and mystery. The wilderness, the calm, unfathomed wilderness, had forgotten sorrow and carnage. We forgot, too. I suddenly laughed as of old, and the sound did not jar. The woman on my arm laughed with me. A thrush was singing. Life was before me, and the woman of my love loved me. My blood tingled and I breathed deep. The wood smoke--the smoke of the pathfinder's fire--pricked keen in my nostrils.