Such was his mood the day he rushed forth from the unbearable loneliness of his house and encountered the moose.  The accident, and the meeting with the girl had aroused him for a while, and his old-time spirit of rebellion flared up in his passionate outburst against the King and the Loyalists.  But it was only temporary, and when he learned that the girl was James Sterling’s daughter, he was forced to capitulate.  He made a few spasmodic efforts after that, but the gentleness of the girl, together with the fact that she knew and loved Dane, swept everything else away.

His great concern now was about the rebels.  They could march against the mast-cutters if they wished, but he did not want them to see Jean.  He knew what they were like, and when their coarse brutal natures became inflamed through liquor, there was no telling what they might do.  For this reason he had urged Dave to turn them aside, and induce them to march straight overland.  Of the success of this plan he had little hope, as the slashers knew of the rum he kept on hand, and for that they would come, if for nothing else.

So that night as he lay there watching Jean as she sat before the fire, he listened intently, expecting every minute to hear the voices and steps of the undesired rebels.  Bitterly now he regretted his action in the past, and almost cursed himself for his blind folly.  Several times he was on the point of warning Jean of her danger.  But how could he tell her, and what good would it do?  There was no place where she could go for protection, and he was helpless to aid her.  His only comfort lay in the hope that he could influence the men by making them think that she was his daughter.  This, he knew, would be but a poor excuse, and it was hardly likely that they would believe him.  They were well aware that he had no daughter, and would look upon the girl’s presence in the house in one light only.  A groan escaped his lips as he thought of this.

“Are you suffering much?” Jean asked, going to his side.  “Is there anything I can do for you?”

“Not for me, I’m afraid,” was the reply.  “There is something, though, that you can do.  I may have visitors to-night, and no doubt they will be hungry.  Do you think you could carry those provisions into this room?  I don’t want the men to disturb you.  I hope those sacks will not be too heavy.”

“I think I can do it,” Jean replied.  “Where shall I put them?”

“As near the door there as possible.  And the rum; don’t forget that, I was going to ask you to pour it out in the snow for fear that the men might drink too much.  But that might not be wise.  They know I have it, and if they do not get it they might become ugly.”

It took Jean some time to carry and drag in the supplies and stack them in a corner near the door.  She understood fairly well the meaning of this, and it filled her heart with a nameless fear.  This was increased when she had with difficulty brought in the rum, and stood panting after the exertion.