“Oh, yes, he often spoke to me about her, and told me what a noble woman she was.  He said that he owed everything to her.”

“He did, eh?  Well, I guess it’s true.  She influenced him more than I did, and that was why he left after her death.”

“Why was that?”

“He followed her in loyalty to King George.  Later he joined the King’s rangers, and became Davidson’s chief courier, ‘The King’s Arrow,’ as he is called.  That was more than I could stand.”

“And so you had a fight?”

“No, not a fight, Miss.  I was hot, I acknowledge, but Dane never said a word.  I can’t forget, though, the look in his eyes as he left me, and I have not seen him since.”

“But you have heard about him, I suppose?”

“Oh, yes, reports of his doings reach me from time to time; that is all.”  The man sighed, and shifted a little to an easier position.

“Would you like to see him?” Jean asked.  “I am sure that he would be only too glad to come to you.”

“Do you think so, Miss?  But why should he come after what I said to him?”

“Because he is so noble and true.  You little know what he is to me.  Look,” and she raised her hand to the arrow at her throat, “he gave me this.  It is a token of our love.  He made it with his own hands from a coin given to him by his mother.  It was the means of saving me from the slashers.  Kitty saw it first, and it told her about me.”

“Your story is really wonderful, girl, and I am thankful that you have been saved.  It means more to me than you imagine.”

“In what way?”

“Don’t you know?  Because you were saved, you and those Indians were on hand to deliver me from that moose.”

“So that is the reason, then, why you are so kind to me, and allowed those supplies to go to those needy Loyalists.”

“No it is not,” was the curt reply.  “My life is of little value to any one.  It’s because you are James Sterling’s daughter; that’s why.  I would do anything for his sake.  He was a good friend of mine, and so was his wife.”

“I am thankful that you knew them.  Was it for long, Mr. Norwood?”

“Why do you call me that?”

“Isn’t that your name?”

“Heavens!  No.  I am Thomas Norman, your father’s old friend.”

At this confession Jean uttered a cry of amazement, and stared at the man before her.  She was almost too confused to think, so overwhelming was her emotion.  She felt that she must be dreaming, so wonderful did it all appear.

“Yes,” the man continued, “it is better for you to know all, and it relieves my mind.  Dane took the first part of his right name, and merely changed the second.  Now you understand all.”

Jean did understand, and it gave her cause for much thought.  She sat down and gazed silently into the fire.  How glad her father would be to know that his friend was alive.  And yet he would be greatly distressed when he learned that he was a rebel.  Could they ever be friends again? she wondered.  This modern Timon, with such hatred in his heart to the King and the Loyalists, was not the man her father had known in the days of old.  Loyalty with the latter was a vital thing, and how could he endure a man so bitterly opposed to the King?