And with a shock of grief I saw comprehension dawn in Marjory's face. But she did not flush crimson, as de Veulle had prophesied. She blenched white. I knew by that she had been long enough at La Vierge du Bois to appreciate the temper of its inhabitants.
"I seem to recollect the tall Indian beside our friend, likewise," observed Murray.
"'Tis his companion of the interview at Cawston's in New York," rejoined de Veulle. "What, Mistress Marjory, you have not forgotten the rash youth who was always threatening or badgering us?"
Her lips moved mechanically, but 'twas a minute before she could force her voice to obey.
"I remember," she said.
Murray took snuff precisely and addressed himself to me.
"Master Juggins, Master Juggins—oh, I beg your pardon! I keep confusing your names. Master Ormerod, then—did I not warn you to leave the Doom Trail alone?"
I laughed.
"I have not been near the Doom Trail," I answered.
"No," answered de Veulle. "I found him cozening that old fool Joncaire at Jagara."