She came creeping to him at last, utterly humbled.  “Angleysman, tak’ me wit’ you,” she murmured, clasping her hands before him.  Her breath was still caught with sobs.  “I not expec’ you marry me.  I not bot’er you wit’ much talk lak’ a wife.  I jus’ be your little servant.  You not want me, you say:  Go ‘way.  I jus’ wait till you want me again.”

Ambrose turned his head away.  He had never imagined a man having to go through with anything like this.

“Always, always I work for you,” she whispered.  “Let Colina Gaviller marry you.  She not mind me.  I guess she not mind that little dog you love.  I jus’ poor, common red girl.  She think not’ing of me!”

Ambrose laughed a bitter note at the picture she called up.  “That would hardly work,” he said.

“But tak’ me wit’ you,” she implored.  She finally ventured to lay her cheek on his knee.

He laid a hand on her hair.  “Listen, you baby,” he said, “and try to understand me.  You know that they are going to try to put off all this trouble on me.  They will say I made the Indians do bad.  They will say I tried to kill John Gaviller.  The police will arrest me, and there will be a trial.  You know what that is.”

“Everybody see you not a bad man,” she said.

“It’s not as simple as that,” he said with a wry smile.  “I have nobody to speak for me but myself.  Now, if you go away with me everybody will say:  ’Ambrose Doane stole Watusk’s wife away from him.  Ambrose Doane is a bad man.’  And then they will not believe me when I say I did not lead the Indians into wrong; I did not try to kill John Gaviller.”

“I speak for you,” cried Nesis.  “I tell Gordon Strange and Watusk fix all trouble together.”

“If you go with me, they will not believe you either,” said Ambrose patiently.  “They will say:  ’Nesis is crazy about Ambrose Doane.  He makes her say whatever he wants.’”

“It is the truth I am crazy ’bout you,” said Nesis.

Ambrose sighed.  “Listen to me.  I tell you straight, if you go with me it will ruin me.  I am as good as a jailbird already.”

She gave her head an impatient shake.  “I not understand,” she said sadly.  “You say it.  I guess it is truth.”

There was a silence.  Nesis’s childlike brows were bent into a frown.  She glanced into his face to see if there was any reprieve from the hard sentence.  Finally she said very low: 

“Angleysman, you got go to jail if you tak’ me?”

“Sure as fate!” he said sadly.

She got up very slowly.  “I guess I ver’ foolish,” she murmured.  She waited, obviously to give him a chance to speak.  He was mum.

“I go back now,” she whispered heart-brokenly, and turned toward her canoe.

With her hand on the prow she waited again, not looking at him, hoping against hope.  There was something crushed and palpitating in her aspect like a wounded bird.  Ambrose felt like a monster of cruelty.