She went to the gate and looked out longingly into the bright Spring sunshine. The sentinel passed her with his musket over his shoulder, and went on around the Fort. She heard his measured steps die away in the distance, and wondered, mechanically, how long it took him to make the round.
It seemed a long time before she heard him coming. A pirogue was tied to a sapling on the river bank and the oars lay near it. Across the stream the lonely house was beckoning to her to come. She slipped out of the gate and leaned up against the stockade outside. Then the sentry passed again.
"Against orders, Miss," he said.
"What?" asked Beatrice.
"Standin' outside."
"Oh," she said, returning to the gate. "Can I stand here?"
"Yes'm, if you don't go no further. Orders is to stay inside."
"All right." She smiled brilliantly, then inquired, in a tone of polite interest, "Are you all alone here?"
"Yes'm. My mate's at mess."
"Too bad. It's lonely for you, isn't it?"