I turned my canoe inland, and looked to it that the others did the same. Then I leaned toward her.
"No, we will land here," I said. "Madame, I am frequently forced to look behind your words, which are sharp, and search for your meaning, which is admirable. You resent being an encumbrance. May I suggest that you will be less one if you follow my plans without opposition? I mean no discourtesy, madame, when I say that no successful expedition can have two heads in control."
With all her great self-discipline in some directions, she had none in others, and I braced myself for her retort. But none came. Instead she looked at me almost wistfully.
"I lose my temper when I wish I did not," she said. "But I should like to help you, monsieur."
I laid down my paddle. "Help is a curious quantity," I replied. "Especially here in the wilderness where what we say counts for so little and what we are for so much. I think,—it comes to me now,—madame, you have given me strength more than once when you did not suspect it. So you need not try to help me consciously. But now I need your counsel. Will you read this?" and I took Cadillac's letter from my pocket and handed it to her.
She examined the seal with amazement as I had done, then looked at
Singing Arrow. "The Indian brought this? It must be very important.
Ought I—— Is it right for me to see it, monsieur?"
I laughed. I looked off at the piling thundercaps and the ruffling water, and the exhilaration of the coming storm whipped through me. There was a pleasant tang to life.
"Read it, yes," I insisted. "You are Madame de Montlivet. No one can have a better right. Read it after we land."
It took some moments to make a landing, for the waves were already high and the shore rough. In spite of ourselves we tore the canoes on hidden rocks. We unloaded the cargo and had things snug and tidy by the time the first great drops plumped down upon us. We worked like ants, and I did not look at the woman. I knew that she was reading the letter, and I had no wish to spy.
But when I went to her there was no letter in sight. I did not stop to talk, but I wrapped her in the cloak that Onanguissé had given her, and wound her still further with blankets. "You will be cool enough in a few minutes," I assured her, and I made a nest for her in a thicket of young pines. She obeyed me dumbly, but with a certain gentleness, a sort of submission. As she gazed up at me with her brown face and inscrutable eyes, my hands were not quite steady. Heretofore I had felt her power; now I felt only her inexperience, her dependence. Child, woman, sphinx! What should I do with her? I turned away. The rain was upon us in earnest.