"I must not delay," he faltered. "My fire!" cried Madeleine, stretching out her hands. "It will not burn. Stranger"--she turned to him with a winsome glance--"will you _make_ my fire burn?" She hurried to the smoking pile. He was beside her instantly. "You shall not soil those hands." "They are already smoked and soiled. And see--a burn!" Because Geoffrey dared not look Madeleine pouted at his back. Then she kicked the smouldering wood, and exclaimed spitefully, "There!" "Your fire is too closely packed." "It is not," she snapped, daring him with her eyes. "You say it is not," he agreed; but loosening the heap. "I fear that it was," she sighed. "And the wood is damp." Geoffrey rebuilt the fire, placing the hot embers to face the wind, and fanned the sticks until they burst into flame. The daylight went out like a failing lamp, and a red glow flung about them as the fire increased. "I know that you are weary, sir," said the girl winningly. "Let me lead you into the house and present you to my mother." Seeing wonder upon the young man's face, she pointed her shapely hand through the smoke. "Down there my father lies," she explained in a hushed voice. "Deep in the hollow where the beavers bite the bark at night. There the Indians made his grave. French though we are, the Iroquois have been friendly, because my father, who was a skilled physician, used them well. Here my father hid from the world. He found a rest here, and yonder he rests still hidden. I am with my mother and one native servant, who loves us because my father saved his life. And I--I have never known a friend." "Lady," said Geoffrey suddenly, "I would serve you if I might." "Rest you here a few days," she said quickly, "and tell my mother what is doing in the world." "I must down to the coast." "Did you say Plymouth just now? Learn how ignorant I am. I did not know there was a town of that name in all the New World. I have been to the English Plymouth. There I saw the brave ships in her harbour, and the red and white flags, and the sailors looking over the sea for what might come sailing by, watching thus and hoping all the day. That was a happy time." "There are yet as good men in Plymouth as ever sailed westward from the Hoe," said the boy with eager pride. While he spoke the expression on Madeleine's face altered. She drew away, murmuring as she moved, "Here is Madame, my mother." She added hurriedly, and as he thought with fear, "I pray you be gracious to her." Viner turned, and there in the fire glow walked a little old woman in black, a white cap holding her thin grey hair, her face pale, her eyes sunken, and her colourless lips a tight line. She smiled coldly, and showed no amazement when her daughter presented the traveller.