Marianson

w to trim--her bird, her flier, her food-winner--was to become her robber.

"When the war is over," she ventured, "then you might come back."

He began to explain difficulties like an honest lad, and she stopped him. "I do not want to know anything. I want you to take my boat."

He put the cup down and seized her hands and kissed them. She crouched against the cave's side, her eyes closed. If he was only grateful to her for bread and shelter and means of escape, it was little enough she received, but his warm touch and his lips on her palms--for he kissed her palms--made her none the less dizzy.

"Listen to me," said Marianson. "If I give you my boat, you must do exactly as I bid you."

"I promise."

"You must stay here until I bring it to you. I am going at once."

"But you cannot go alone in the dark. You are a woman--you will be afraid."

"Never in my life have I been afraid."

"But there are Indians on the war-path now."

"They will be in camp or