“I want to take it to Captain McTavish, but I want you to write something on it first. You will pardon me if I ask if that was not a letter of farewell?”
“It was.”
“Have you a pencil with you?”
“Not here, but there is one in the cabin, among my father's journals. Shall I get it?” Then she bit her lip with vexation. Instead of dominating this interview, as she had intended, she was submitting herself to the plans of the half-breed.
“I must ask for the letter while you are gone.”
After a moment's thought Jean handed it to him, with a promise to return without warning the men at the edge of the woods. A certain curiosity to see this mysterious happening to its conclusion stirred within her. Now that Donald had escaped the shadow of death that had been hovering over him, her spirits rose buoyantly, and she was anxious to further anything that concerned him. She returned presently with the pencil, and asked Seguis what he wished her to do.
“Write him a note of farewell,” came the stolid command. “It will be the last message he will ever receive from you.”
Instantly her color fled; fear filled her eyes.
“What do you mean? You're not going to kill him?” she burst out.
“No. He is going to leave the country forever.”