“If I only knew that.”

“Perhaps we can assure ourselves; we can go ashore at his place up the river, and if his boat is gone, there will be no longer any doubt.  In any case, it is clearly your duty to save yourself.”

“Do you really think so?  It has seemed to me cowardly to run away.”

“But, Rene,” I urged.  “They were the ones who deserted first.  If they had warning of danger, they fled without a word to you—­leaving you alone in the hands of those men.”

“They—­they, perhaps they failed to realize my peril.  Oh you cannot see this as I do,” she faltered, endeavoring to conjure up some excuse.  “They may have thought they could serve me best in that way.”

I laughed, but not in any spirit of humor.

“Hardly that, I imagine.  Far more likely they fled suddenly in a panic of fear, without pausing to think at all.  Why, you were the very one whose danger was the greatest; you were the one plunged into slavery.”

“Yes—­yes; I had forgotten that.  Never for a moment does it seem real to me.  I have to keep saying over and over again to myself, ’I am a negro and a slave.’”

“And so do I,” I confessed, unthinkingly.  “And even then, when I remember you as I first saw you in that lighted room back yonder, it is unbelievable.”

Her eyes fell from my face, her head drooping, as she stared over the rail at the sullen rush of black water alongside.  She remained silent and motionless for so long that I felt impelled to speak again, yet before I could decide what to say, her voice addressed me, although with face still averted.

“Yes, it is indeed most difficult—­for both of us,” she acknowledged, slowly.  “We are in an extremely embarrassing position.  You must not think I fail to realize this.  It would be comparatively easy for me to choose my course but for that.  I do not know why you serve me thus—­risking your very life and your professional future—­but neither of us must forget, not for a moment, that I am only a runaway slave.  I can only consent to go with you, Lieutenant Knox, if you promise me this.”

I hesitated to make the pledge, to put it into binding words, my lips pressed tightly together, my hands clinched.  Feeling the rebuke of my silence, she turned her head once more, and her questioning eyes again sought my face in the star-gleam.

“You must promise me,” she insisted, firmly, although her sensitive lips trembled as she gave utterance to the shameful words.  “I am nothing else.  I am no white woman of your own race and class appealing for protection.  I cannot ask of you the courtesy a gentleman naturally gives; I can only beg your mercy.  I am a negress—­you must not forget, and you must not let me forget.  If you will give me your word I shall trust you, fully, completely.  But it must be given.  There is no other way by which I can accept your protection; there can be no equality between us—­only an impassable barrier of race.”