"Yes, monsieur."

I picked up the corner of her blanket. "I am a Catholic," I said,
drawing away the woolen folds that I might look at her. "In our church
marriage is a sacrament, mademoiselle."

She lifted her great eyes. "Monsieur, our marriage will be no
sacrament. It will be a political contract. A marriage--a marriage of
convenience--in name only---- Surely when we reach home it can be
annulled. Must I--must I beg of you, monsieur?"

I rose and looked down at her. "A strange woman of a strange race," I
said. "No, you need not beg of me. I have never had a captive in my
life,--not even a bird. Mademoiselle, you shall bear my name, if you
are willing, for your protection, but you shall go as my guest to
Montreal." And I left her in her red blanket and went away.




CHAPTER XIII

WE REACH THE ISLANDS

The dawn came with an uprush of unclouded light showing burnished green
leaves and dancing water. I bowed my head to the woman's hand to bid
her good-morning, and I served her with meal cakes and sweet water from
a maple tree. I was reckless of Pierre's eyes, though I knew them to
be weasel sharp for certain sides of life. The woman answered me but
scantily, and when we were embarked sat quiet in the bottom of the