"What is there forward of the cockpit, Sam?" I questioned. "Beneath the deck, I mean; there seem to be several portholes."
"A cabin, sah; 'tain't so awful big, but Massa Donaldson he uster sleep dar off an' on."
"The young lady could rest there then?"
"Sure she cud. 'Twas all fixed up fine afore we lef Saint Louee. Ah'll show yer de way, Missus."
She rose to her feet rather eagerly, and stood with one hand resting against the trunk of a small tree. Her eyes met mine, and endeavored a smile.
"I thank you for thinking of that," she said gratefully. "I—I really am tired, and—and it will be rest just to be alone. You—you do not mind if I go?"
"Certainly not. There is nothing for any of us to do, but just take things easy until night."
"And then we are to go on, up the river?"
"Yes, unless, of course, something should occur during the day to change our plan. Meanwhile Sam and I will take turns on guard, while you can remain undisturbed."
She gave me her hand simply, without so much as a thought of any social difference between us, and I bowed low as I accepted it, equally oblivious. Yet the realization came to her even as our fingers met, a sudden dash of red flaming into her cheeks, and her eyes falling before mine.