"Never! I have had my fill of savaging. That we are left alive is mighty merciful. To go thither again--never!" "And if I go?" "As you like." "Meaning, Madam--?" "What you like." Law seated himself on the corded pack, bringing the tips of his fingers together. "Then my late sweetheart has somewhat changed her fancy?" "I have no fancy left. What I was once to you I shall not recall more than I can avoid in my own mind. As to what you heard from that lying man, Sir Arthur--" "Listen! Stop! Neither must you insult the dead nor the absent. I have never told you what I learned from Sir Arthur, though it was enough to set me well distraught." "I doubt not that he told you 'twas I who befooled Lady Catharine; that 'twas I who took the letter which you sent--" "Stay! No. He told me not so much as that. But he and you together have told me enough to show me that I was the basest wretch on earth, the most gullible, the most unspeakably false and cruel. How could I have doubted the faith of Lady Catharine--how, but for you? Oh, Mary Connynge, Mary Connynge! Would God a man were so fashioned he might better withstand the argument of soft flesh and shining eyes! I admit, I believed the disloyal one, and doubted her who was loyalty itself." "And you would go back into the wilderness with one who was as false as you say." "Never!" replied John Law, swiftly. "'Tis as you yourself say. 'Tis all over. Hell itself hath followed me. Now let it all go, one with the other, little with big. I did not forget, nor should I though I tried again. Back to Europe, back to the gaming tables, to the wheels and cards I go again, and plunge into it madder than ever did man before. Let us see if chance can bring John Law anything worse than what he has already known. But, Madam, doubt not. So long as you claim my protection, here or anywhere on earth--in the West, in France, in England--it is yours; for I pay for my folly like a man, be assured of that. The child is ours, and it must be considered. But once let me find you in unfaithfulness--once let me know that you resign me--then John Law is free! I shall sometime see Catharine Knollys again. I shall give her my heart's anguish, and I shall have her heart's scorn in return. And then, Mary Connynge, the cards, dice, perhaps drink--perhaps gold, and the end. Madam, remember! And now come!" CHAPTER XV THE GREAT PEACE Of the long and bitter journey from the Iroquois towns to Lake St. George, down the Richelieu and thence through the deep snows of the Canadian winter, it boots little to make mention; neither to tell of that devotion of Raoul de Ligny to the newly-rescued lady, already reputed in camp rumor to be of noble English family. "That _sous-lieutenant_; he is _tête montée_ regarding madame," said Pierre Noir one evening to Jean Breboeuf. "As to that--well, you know Monsieur L'as. Pouf! So much for yon monkey, _par comparaison_."