"Dat's de trouble. I'm goin' mak' 'im do somet'ing."
"No, no! It isn't that; it's these doubts that are killing me—I'm not sure—"
"I hear plaintee," he said. "Dere's no tam' for monkey roun'."
"I tell you he may be honest," she declared. "He may mean to marry me, but I've got to know. That's why I came to you; that's what you must find out for me."
"I'm good trader, Necia," said the Canadian, after a moment. "I'll mak' bargain wit' you now. If he say yes, he'll marry you, I don' ask no more; but if he say no, you geeve 'im to me. Is it go?"
She hesitated, while he continued, musingly, "I don' see how no man on all dis worl' could lef' you go." Then to her, "Wal, is it bargain?"
"Yes," she said, the Indian blood speaking now; "but you must learn the truth, there must be no mistake—that would be terrible."
"Dere ain' goin' be no mistak'."
"If he should refuse, I—I'll marry SOME one, quick. I won't be laughed at by this camp; I won't be a joke. Oh, Poleon! I've given myself to him just as truly as if—well, he—he has taken my first kiss."
Doret smote his hands together at this and began to roll his head backward from side to side, as if in some great pain, but his lips were dry and silent. After a moment the spell left him, the fire died down, leaving only a dumb agony in its place. She came closer and continued: