With a cry the girl started to her feet. "Here!" she gasped. "Robert, what do you mean!"
In an instant he was beside her, with her cold hand in his. "What do you mean!" she cried.
"Listen, dear; I am asking nothing of you—it is for you to say. To-morrow we will be taken to Detroit as British prisoners—for how long we do not know. The Indians have burned the Fort, but some day, when the war is over, we must come here to live, for to go back is to acknowledge defeat."
The word stung her pride. "Defeat!" she said; "and why? Why are we defeated if we choose to live in a safe place instead of in danger—in peace rather than in the fear of massacre? Yesterday, did you not see? Only by the merest chance I am not among them—and yet you ask me to go back!"
Her voice vibrated with feeling, and her breast heaved. Even in the dim, purple light of early morning he could see the suffering in her face, and it struck him like a blow.
"My darling, listen—let me tell you what I mean. We will go wherever you say. If it pleases you to live in France or England, we will go there—it is for you to decide, not for me. Do you understand?"
"Yes," she answered dully. "Go on."
Robert's dream was dim and the fire of his ambition had dwindled, but he went on bravely. "We are at the very edge of civilisation, dear, and it must go on beyond us. The tide is moving westward, and we must either go with it or against it. We must go forward or retreat, there is no standing still. Yesterday a battle was fought, which, in its essence, was for the possession of the frontier. We have surrendered, but we have not given up. If we retreat, it must be fought again. From shore to shore of this great country there must be one flag and one law. Here, where the ashes of the Fort now lie, some day a city must stand."
"So," said the girl, with a harsh laugh, "and you would build a city from dreams?"