“Because I considered my imprisonment there an injustice. But that is only my feeling in the matter. There was, also, a duty side to the question. I could not remain there longer, and feel that I was a man.”
“And what was this duty, pray?” The voice was sarcastic.
“The finding of J—your daughter.”
“What right have you to consider yourself so duty-bound in that direction that you overturn discipline, disregard my commands, and make a laughing-stock of me?”
“Only the right of a lover, Mr. Fitzpatrick. To that right, I set no limits.”
“You are very quick to find an imagined right, young man,” Fitzpatrick said, grimly. “How about myself, the girl's father, the one who, most of all, should give up everything to such a search? Did I leave the Company's business to take care of itself?”
“No, but it is well I did, or else you would never have seen Jean again. I don't think, Mr. Fitzpatrick, that there is anything gained arguing in this circle. What else have you to say to me?”
“My daughter has told me everything,” went on the factor painfully, shifting on his rough bed. “In fact, she got quite excited over your chivalrous treatment of her, while you were together. Of course I believe my daughter, and, when she tells me that you acted merely as friends, I take her word. At the same time, Captain McTavish, there does not come to my mind the slightest reason why you should have forced yourself into the same cabin with her.”
Donald briefly explained the situation, outlining the treachery of Maria and her Indian son, Tom, who should, by this time, be safe in Fort Severn.
“If I had not done as I did, I should have frozen to death,” he concluded.