"Yes, to-night, while we waited for you beside the ruins of the old factory. Oh, how far away it all seems now!" and she pointed backward across the waters. "Poor, poor girl! Poor Captain de Croix! Oh, it is all so sad, so unutterably sad to me! I knew them both so well, Monsieur," and she rested her bowed head upon one hand, staring out into the night, and speaking almost as if to herself alone; "yet I never dreamed that he was a nobleman of France, or that he had married Marie Faneuf. She was so sweet a girl then,--and now to be buried alive in that wilderness! Think you that he truly loved her?" "I almost have faith that he did, Mademoiselle," I answered gravely. "He was greatly changed from his first sight of her face, though he was a difficult man to gauge in such matters. There was a time when I believed him in love with you." She tossed her head. "Nay," she answered, "he merely thought he was, because he found me hard to understand and difficult of conquest; but 'twas little more than his own vanity that drew him hither. I trust it may be the deeper feeling that has taken him back now in face of death to Marie." "You have indeed proved hard to understand by more than one," I ventured, for in spite of her graciousness the old wound rankled. "It has puzzled me much to understand how you so gaily sent me forth to a mission that might mean death, to save this Captain de Croix." It was a foolish speech, and she met it bravely, with heightened color and a flash of dark eyes. "'Twas no more than the sudden whim of a girl," she answered quickly, "and regretted before you were out of sight. Nor did I dream you would meet my conditions by such a sacrifice." "You showed small interest as you stood on the stockade when we went forth!" "You mean when Captain de Croix and I leaned above the eastern palisades?" "Ay, not once did your eyes wander to mark our progress." Her eyes were smiling now, and her face archly uplifted. "Indeed, Master Wayland, little you know of the struggles of my heart during that hour. Nor will I tell you; for the secrets of a girl must be her own. But I marked each step you took onward toward the Indian camp, until the night hid you,--the night, or else the gathering tears in my eyes." The sudden yawing of the boat before a gust of wind drew my thought elsewhere, and kept back the words ready upon my tongue. When once more I had my bearings and had turned back the plunging bow, she sat silent, deep in thought that I hesitated to disturb. Soon I noted her head droop slightly to the increased movement of the boat. "You are worn out!" I said tenderly. "Lean here against me, and sleep." "Indeed, I feel most weary," was her drowsy reply. "Yes, I will rest for a few moments."