If you fast I can fast, too; when you go thirsty I can endure it also; and you may not even hope to out-travel me, Euan, for I am innured to sleeplessness, to hunger, to fatigue, by two years' vagabondage--hardened of limb and firm of body, self-taught in self-denial, in quiet endurance, in stealth, and patience.

Oh, Euan! Make me your comrade, as you would take a younger brother, to school him in the hardy ways of life you know so well! I will be no burden to you; I will serve you humbly and faithfully; prove docile, obedient, and grateful to the end.

And if the end comes in the guise of death--Euan--Euan! Why may I not share that also with you?
For the world's joy dies when you die, and my body might as well die with it!" So eager and earnest her argument, so tightly she clung to my arms, so pleading and sweet her ardent face, upturned, with the tears scarcely dry under her lashes, that I found nought to answer her, and could only look into her eyes--deep, deep into those grey-blue wells of truth--troubled to silence by her present plight and mine.
I could not take her back now, and also keep my tryst with Boyd at Catharines-town.

I could not leave her here by this trail, even guarded--had I the guards to spare--for soon in our wake would come thundering the maddened debris of the Chemung battle, pell-mell, headlong through the forests, desperate, with terror leading and fury lashing at their heels.
I laid my hands heavily upon her firm, young shoulders, and strove to think the while I studied her; but the enchantment of her confused my mind, and I saw only the crisp and clustering curls, and clear, young eyes looking into mine, and the lips scarce parted, hanging breathless on my words.
"O boy-girl comrade!" I said in a low, unsteady voice.

"Little boy-girl born to do endless mischief in this wide and wind-swept forest world of men! What am I to say to you, who have your will of everyone beneath the sun?
Who am I to halt the Starry Dancers, or bar your wayward trail when Tharon himself has hidden you, and the Little People carry to you 'winged moccasins for flying feet as light and swift!' For truly I begin to think it has been long since woven in the silvery and eternal wampum--belt after belt, string twisted around string--that you shall go to Catharines-town unscathed.
"Where she was born returns the rosy Forest Pigeon to her native tree for mating.