He shook his head. "Small chance for me with that swarm outside. Well, what must come, will come." He was white, and his eyes grew even more sombre; but, though his blood might play him traitor, his will was unshaken. I saw that. I saw, too, that his manner had lost all bravado. He suddenly came to me, and laid his hand on my arm. "I am glad, monsieur, that it was you who came to tell me. It is much easier to hear it from you. All day you have been thoughtful for me; for me, a stranger and an enemy. I wish that my blessing might bring you happiness, monsieur." And before I could check him, he raised my hand to his lips. I was greatly disturbed. "Stop! Stop! Stop!" I expostulated, too much stirred to think what I was saying. "This is not the end. You are to go west with me." He drew away. "With you? Who are you? What is the west? You said--you said that I had to die." I felt unsteady, and ill at ease. "Let us discuss this like sane men!" I exclaimed, angry at myself. "You jump at conclusions. That is a woman's foible. Who am I? A trader, Armand de Montlivet, from Montreal. I am going west for peltries. It will be a hard trip, and you will suffer; but it is your only chance. I will get you to the canoe in some fashion soon after dusk. I have not made my plans. I must reconnoitre. Hold yourself ready to do what I ask." Still he drew away. "I shall be a burden. Tell me the truth, shall I be a burden?" "Yes." He did not look angered. Indeed, his eyes softened till I thought him near tears. "And you will do this for me! Run all this risk! And yet you never saw me before to-day!" He touched his hand to mine. Somehow this again annoyed me. The man was concealing something from me, yet affected to be moved to open emotion by his gratitude. I was not at the bottom of him yet. I removed his hand. "Monsieur, you forget," I corrected. "You said we were foes, and we are. I never embraced an Englishman, and I shall not begin now--now that our nations are at war. You may be a spy." "You think me a spy!" I sighed from exasperation, and pointed to the window. "Monsieur Starling, wake up to this situation. What does it matter what you are, or what I think? We waste time. Say that you will follow me, and I shall go and make my plans." But still he looked at me. "Then you encumber yourself with me from abstract duty. Personally you distrust me." The truth seemed best. I bowed. He thought this over. "Then I refuse to go," he decided quietly. "I refuse." And he bowed toward the door to put a period to our interview. But here my patience broke. I took him by the arm, and held him ungently. "Words! Words! Words!" I mocked at him. "What would you have me say? That I love you? In faith, I don't. You irritate me; annoy me. But save you I will, if only for my peace of mind. Look at me. Look at me, I say." He obeyed. All his hard nonchalance had returned. "Do you trust me?" I demanded.