Beatrice's temporary tenderness was obscured by curiosity, for the rider was an Indian, with the British flag girded at his loins.
"Why," she said, in an odd little voice, "what has happened!"
Ronald came swiftly toward her. "I don't know and I don't care," he said, in a voice she scarcely recognised; then he put his arm around her and drew her to him. "Beatrice, darling," he pleaded, "haven't you a word for me—don't you love me just the least little bit in the world?"
Then the violet eyes looked up into his and the sweet lips quivered. "I—I don't know," she whispered brokenly; "please let me go!"
His arms fell to his sides and she was free, but there was a lump in his throat and a wild hope in his heart. "My darling," he began, but she stopped him with a warning gesture.
Forsyth was pulling across the river as if his life depended upon it, and for the first time they perceived that something was wrong. With his face white and every muscle of his body tense, he ran toward them.
"What's up?" shouted Ronald.
"Orders!" cried Forsyth, gasping for breath. "Fort Mackinac has fallen and we are ordered to evacuate the post!"
