She gave him her hand to say good-bye. "Mayn't I go with you?" he
asked.

"'I must finish my journey alone,'" she answered slowly, repeating a line
from the first English book she had ever read.

"That's English enough," he responded with a laugh. "Well, if I mustn't
go with you I mustn't, but my respects to Robinson Crusoe." He slung the
gun into the hollow of his arm. "I'd like much to go with you," he
urged.

"Not to-day," she answered firmly.

Again the voice came through the woods, a little louder now.

"It sounds like a call," he remarked.

"It is a call," she answered--"the call of the heathen."

An instant after she had gone on, with a look half-smiling, half-
forbidding, thrown over her shoulder at him.

"I've a notion to follow her," he said eagerly, and he took a step in her
direction.

Suddenly she turned and came back to him. "Your plans are in danger--
don't forget Felix Marchand," she said, and then turned from him again.

"Oh, I'll not forget," he answered, and waved his cap after her. "No,