"But, Jeanne," the man cried, "this cannot be. I cannot marry you. In my life I have loved but one woman——"
"And she is the wife of another!" cried the girl.
Bill winced as from a blow, and she continued, speaking rapidly:
"I do not ask that you marry me—not even that you love me. It is enough that I am at your side. You will treat me kindly, for you are good. Marriage is nothing—empty words—if the heart loves; nothing else matters, and some day you will love me."
The man slowly shook his head:
"No, Jeanne, it is impossible. Come, we will return to the lodge of Jacques. I myself will tell Wa-ha-ta-na-ta that no harm has befallen you, and——"
"Do you think she will believe you? Wa-ha-ta-na-ta, who hates all white men and, next to Moncrossen, you most of all, for she has seen that I love you. We have been gone three nights. She will not believe you. If you will not take me I will go alone to the land of the white men; I have no place else to go."
The man's jaw squared, his eyes narrowed, and the low, level tones of his voice cut upon the silence in words of cold authority:
"We are going back to-night. Wa-ha-ta-na-ta will believe me. She is very old and very wise; and she will know that I speak the truth."
The words ceased abruptly, and the two drew closer together, their eyes fixed upon the blanketed form which, silent as a shadow, glided from the bushes and stood motionless before them.