But he was in a perverse mood to-day. One of his unreasonable, restless fits was upon him too, and the thought of some wild, lawless adventure was sweet to him. Some lessons Tad had learned from the teachings of adversity and from Phil's influence and example, but in many ways he was the old self-willed Tad still. No—assuredly he would not allow himself to be persuaded into making this promise, for if he did, he must keep it, and then—why then some good chance might slip by, and he might never get back to England at all.
"No, Phil," he said. "I won't promise; how can I tell what may turn up? And I ain't goin' to tie myself in a hard knot for you nor no one. So there!"
Phil said no more, but turned away sighing.
The recognition which Tad had tried to avoid was bound to come some time, and come it did the very next morning. Marie was strolling about the camp field with the child toddling beside her, when she met Tad face to face. He cast down his eyes and would have passed on, but she stopped him.
"Where have I seen you before, my boy?" she asked in French. But suddenly her face changed, she snatched the baby up, and held him close. "Ah," she added, "I remember now; yet it seems almost impossible."
Still Tad said nothing, and there was a dead silence between them for what seemed like a very long while.
"You are English?" said the woman at length.
"Yes, missis," replied Tad.
"Have you met me before?"
"Yes, missis, when—when you stole that there child as you've got in your arms. He's my little brother, he is."