"Only wisdom?"
"You be careful! There'll be another cold plunge! Tell me about your friend's wife, Miriam," she answered, changing the subject.
And when I related my strange mission and she murmured, "How noble," I became a very Samson of strength, ready to vanquish an army of Philistine admirers with the jawbone of my inflated self-confidence—provided, always, one queen of the combat were looking on.
"Are you cold, now?" I asked, though the trembling had ceased.
No, she was not cold. She was quite comfortable, and the answer came in vibrant tones which were as wine to a young man's heart.
"Are you tired, Frances?" and the "No" was accompanied by a little laugh, which spurred more questioning for no other purpose than to hear the music of her voice. Now, what was there in those replies to cause happiness? Why have inane answers to inane, timorous questions transformed earth into paradise and mortals into angels?
"Do you find the way very far—Frances?" The flavor of some names tempts repeated tasting.
"Very far?" came the response in an amused voice, "find it very far? Yes I do, quite far—oh! No—I don't. Oh! I don't know!" She broke into a joyous laugh at her own confusion, gaining more self-possession as I lost mine; and out she slipped from the plaid.
"I wish it were a thousand times farther," and I gazed ruefully at the folds that trailed empty.
What other absurd things I might have said, I cannot tell; but we were at the fort and I had to wrap the tartan disguise about myself. Stooping, I picked a bunch of dog-roses growing by the path, then felt foolish, for I had not the courage to give them to her, and dropped them without her knowledge. She gave the password at the gate. I was taken for a Selkirk Highlander and we easily gained entrance.