“Why not?” she whispered, as if frightened.
“Why not,” he repeated, for an instant meeting her gaze. Then he rose and stood before her. “Because I have given an oath to bring Captain la Grange to punishment. You heard me. But you did not hear what I promised to Father Claude. I have sworn that what the Governor may refuse to do, I shall do myself. I have set my hand against your family.”
“You could not help it, M’sieu,––you could not help it,” she said. But the light was going out of her eyes. It had been a moment of weakness for both of them. She looked up at 280 him, standing erect in the faint light, and the sight of his square, broad shoulders seemed to give her strength. He was the strong one; he had always been the strong one. She rose and leaned back against the logs. She found that she could face him bravely.
“He is your cousin,” he had just said in a dry voice.
“Yes, he is my cousin.”
Menard was steadily recovering himself.
“We will not give all up. You know that I love you,––I hope that you love me.” He hesitated for an instant, but she gave no sign. “We will keep the two flowers. We will always think of this day, and yesterday. I have no duty now but to get you safe to Frontenac; until you are there I must not speak again. As for the rest of it, we can only wait, and trust that some day there may be some light.”
She looked at him sadly.
“You do not know? Father Claude has not told you?”
Something in her voice brought him a step nearer.