Inch by inch he drew near to the southern end of the great island, covered with the unbroken forest the tops of which Jean had surveyed from the mountain. The shores were full of mysterious and lonely bays, and presently he saw his own namesake shambling along a moonlit bit of sand. He rounded the southern tip and made his way among innumerable islands, getting shorter of breath every minute. Finally he gave out and had to lie down on the floor to relieve his heart. She left the wheel and came to him. “Dearest,” he gasped, “that contract is still in my pocket.” “Never! Why, under that contract you’d work yourself to death for me.” She seized the ten-foot oar and kept on paddling for half an hour. Then she stopped to scan the northern silhouette. “Look, Marvin, the chimney of the old fort! I’ve simply got to climb that hill and see what else is left. You can stay right here in the harbor, but you mustn’t disturb the canoes coming in with bales of beaver. You’ll see me up there with the ghosts of the British lads who died here of scurvy because rich folks like furs.” But Marvin would not let her try it alone. He brought the launch up, took some blankets and a lantern, rowed her ashore, and made the dory fast to a single post, all that was left of the ancient British wharf. When they had barely landed, the woods above them began to hum with a sudden northwest wind. As they mounted toward the crest it became a gale that seemed to threaten even the ancient limestone chimney. They went back out of the wind. Here had stood the block-house and yonder the magazine. Here was a grass-grown pit, and there— Their hearts stood still, for something had risen before them. A deer had sprung out of the earth. Then another. The horns of the buck gleamed as he passed the ruins with a bound. The doe melted into the moonlight. “What a lovely sight!” “Honeymoon couple,” said Marvin unsteadily. She paused on the brink of the deep hollow, and then fluttered down into it. At the bottom the grass was still warm. “Come on down! There isn’t a bit of wind.” He obeyed her, and spread a blanket for her. “Now tell me you’ll marry me.” “No.” “Jean, do you love me?” “If I did, I wouldn’t tell you so here.” “Jean, do you love me?” “Well, if you simply have to know, I guess I do.” “Thank you very much. Now I’ll get up on top of that wall where the cedars are, and light my lantern, and wave till some launch sees us.” “You’ll do nothing of the sort, Marvin Mahan, because I’m never going to marry you, and because you’ll freeze to death up there. You’ll just sit here and keep me warm.” “Never going to marry me? Whatever put that into your head?” “I’m not going to tell you.” “Is it because my father has money?” “No.” “Is it because you don’t trust me?” “No. Stop shivering that way. I can’t stand it.” “Is it because you think I’ll sign anything I’m told to sign?” “No, though I think your principal is cheating widows.” “You believe that and yet love me?”