"Now you are a teacher yourself, Mistress Zane, and we be all learning from you." "Learning what, pray?" "The game of hearts." "Faith, Master McCullough, if rumor belie you not, I think you must have been a past master at that game before I came upon the scene." "Nay, not so. Dame Rumor does me wrong, but----" "Well, let it pass, Master McCullough. You brought the alarm, I believe. Was it real? Are there any Indians about?" "We have not seen any as yet in the valley, but----" "And was it you, sir, who tramped all night on the block-house over our heads?" "I did, indeed, watch over--you, but----" "Could you not have done it more softly, sir, and not add to the confusion the clatter of your feet and the thud of your gunstock? I knew it was you." "Knew you my step, Mistress Elizabeth?" he queried eagerly, flushing with hope. "Nay, sir," she answered, coolly; "none other had been so foolish; but the Indians?" "I go to seek them now and would fain say good-by." "What!" cried the girl, breathlessly, dropping her mood of airy banter, her face gone white in a moment. "What! you leave the stockade?" "Ay, Mistress Elizabeth, and I am come to beg you--to wish you--to bid me good-speed." "Where are you going and why?" "Up the valley to beat up the red devils; to find them if they be not gone." "Why, sir, you will be in danger!" cried the girl, piteously, stepping from the door-way and coming nearer to him. "I am in more danger from your bright eyes than from any Indian that walks." "A truce to this trifling, sir!" "Nay, 'tis no trifling. My heart's gone to you. You have known it long since. Is it not so?" She stopped with downcast head before him. "They--they did not teach us things--like that--in Philadelphia." "Nay, 'twas Mother Eve taught you, I'm thinking; and, as I may be--" he hesitated, and then continued softly, "a long time in coming back, I thought I must tell you now or you might never hear it. I love you." He turned away. "That's all." She sprang toward him and grasped him by the arm. "Go not," she whispered, her eyes brimming. "Stay." Her head sank forward; she trembled as if she would fall. Unmindful of all others, he slipped his arm around her waist. "Stay," she continued so softly that he could scarce hear her words, though he bent his head eagerly to catch them. "Stay--for me." "Then you love, too, thank God!" he cried. "Nay, I must go; but I go for you." II.--THE MAN'S DARING