"I was not thinking of her," replied Kingswell, lifting the glowing face to his by a hand beneath the rounded chin.
"Nor I, dear heart," she replied.
To the others of that wilderness the trading seemed a greater matter than that romantic attachment of a man and a maid. Blankets, trinkets, inferior weapons, and even the spare clothing of the settlers were bartered for pelts of beaver, mink, marten, otter, musquash, and red, patched, and black fox, to make up a cargo for the Heart of the West. The price of an axe-head was twice its weight in beaver skins. Even Maggie Stone, with an eye to adding to her nest-egg, traded a skillet (the identical implement with which she had floored D'Antons) for a beautiful foxskin. Only Trowley had no finger in the trading. Sullen and silent, he wandered about the fort, and a few paces behind him a brawny Beothic always stalked.
The storehouse of the fort was replenished from the well-stocked pantries and lazaret of the ship. Kingswell smiled grimly when, during the overhauling of the cabin lockers, he discovered choice wines, cheeses, and pots of jam which his lady mother had given to Master Trowley as a slight mark of her gratitude for his services to her son. He forced an admittance of these things from the old rascal himself. It had been as he had hinted to Beatrix. The fellow had told the tearful and credulous lady that he had risked his life in her son's defence, during an engagement with the savages; and she, grateful heart, had made such an unbusiness-like agreement with him for the sailing of the ship that, had the voyage run its anticipated course, even a full load of fish would not have saved her from a shrewd loss. Happily for Trowley, Master Kingswell was far too happy for such trivial matters to really anger him.
"The old rogue staked his soul and lost on the last throw," he said to Beatrix, "and I staked my heart, and won all that the world holds of joy. Surely I should be a low fellow to add to his misfortunes, poor devil. I can afford to be charitable now."
They were seated on the grassy edge of the river meadow, looking out at the anchored ship, where sailors were repairing the rigging and scraping the spars. The girl did not seem keenly interested in Trowley's underhand behaviour to Dame Kingswell. As to his treachery toward Kingswell, to tell the truth, she was very grateful to the old thief for having sailed away and left her lover in the wilderness. Such thoughts flitted pleasantly through her mind.
"When did you stake your heart?" she asked, as if that were the core of the whole thing.
"I cannot tell you the date exactly," replied Kingswell, "but I was in Pierre d'Antons' company at the time, and—and I was mightily surprised to find Somersetshire people in this country. Lord, but your eyes were bright."
"Do you mean that you—do you mean that it happened on the first day of your arrival at the fort?" she queried.