"A truce with your fancies, madam," said he. "Behold a soul of good
nature! I have followed you through half the civilized countries of the
globe--none of them are good enough. You must needs cross the ocean
again, and come to the wilds. We nearly die on the trail, are picked up
by a Samaritan in buckskin and taken into the bosom of his worthy family.
And forsooth, you look at a backwoods urchin, and are nigh to swooning."

"Hush, Harry," she cried, starting forward and peering into my face; "he
will hear you."

"Tut!" said Harry, "what if he does? London and Paris are words to him.
We might as well be speaking French. And I'll take my oath he's
sleeping."

The corner where I lay was dark, for the cabin had no windows. And if my
life had depended upon speaking, I could have found no fit words then.

She turned from me, and her mood changed swiftly. For she laughed
lightly, musically, and put a hand on his shoulder.

"Perchance I am ghost-ridden," she said.

"They are not ghosts of a past happiness, at all events," he answered.

She sat down on a stool before the hearth, and clasping her fingers upon
her knee looked thoughtfully into the embers of the fire. Presently she
began to speak in a low, even voice, he looking down at her, his feet
apart, his hand thrust backward towards the heat.

"Harry," she said, "do you remember all our contrivances? How you used