“Oh, Penn ish not afrait,” said Jan, looking at her with a broad smile, as she sat down upon a stump near him. “Penn so prave ash nefer vas.”
At this moment Jules, who had been leaning against the doorpost of the cabin, apparently in deep thought, came up and whispered in her ear.
“What do you want?” she said, without turning her head.
“I wish to speak to you for a moment,” he replied, in the same tone.
She rose and followed him to the river side, where she sat down on a fallen log and he took a position a few feet away, regarding her earnestly.
“You wonder what I can have to say to you,” he said. “In the first place, give me your promise not to reveal it to a living soul. It applies to this Bentley Morris.”
Without thought, never dreaming that the purport of what he had to say could in any way apply to her, she gave the required promise.
“You must know that I am a man whom the bad fortune of life has pressed to the earth. Time was when my family stood high in rank and wealth. That time has gone by, and step by step I have been forced down, until I own not a foot of land in all the world. What of that? I am Jules Damand yet, and will carve out a way to fortune with my own right arm.”
“I am sorry for you,” she said. “Is this what you have to say? I hope you may succeed.”
“It is the prelude only,” he answered. “I wish to make you understand that, though you find me a poor voyageur and trapper, I am still equal in rank to yourself.”