He knew that he could never again wander through the happy valley, for he vowed this maid should be no plaything for him or for any other man, and as there could be no honorable end to this affair, it must terminate at once.
Just how this was to be consummated he had not determined as yet, nor did he like to set about its solution, it hurt him so to think of losing her.

However, she was very young, only a child, and in time would come to count him but a memory, no doubt; while as for him--well, it would be hard to forget her, but he could and would.

He reasoned glibly that this was the only honest course, and his reasoning convinced him; then, all of a sudden, the pressure of her warm lips came upon him and the remembrance upset every premise and process of his logic.

Nevertheless, he was honest in his stubborn determination to conclude the affair, and finally decided to let time show him the way.
She seemed to be very happy, her mood being in marked contrast to that of Poleon and the trader, both of whom had fallen silent and gloomy, and in whom the hours wrought no change.

The latter had tacitly acknowledged his treachery towards Stark on the previous night, but beyond that he would not go, offering no motive, excuse, or explanation, choosing to stand in the eyes of his friend as an intended murderer, notwithstanding which Poleon let the matter drop--for was not his friend a good man?
Had he not been tried in a hundred ways?
The young Frenchman knew there must have been strong reason for Gale's outburst, and was content to trust him without puzzling his mind to discover the cause of it.
Now, a secret must either grow or die--there is no fallow age for it--and this one had lived with Gale for fifteen years, until it had made an old man of him.