“Pardon, Monsieur,” I said quietly, holding my temper, “it may be I have seen harder service than some who boast loudly their soldiership.  It requires more than a gay dress, with some skill in the fencing-schools, to make a soldier in my country, nor do I believe you will ever find me lagging when a proper time comes to strike blows.”

“So I supposed until now; yet ’tis evident you would have us continue toiling for weeks against this foul current rather than strike one quick blow, and be free from the mess.”

“Nay, Monsieur,” my voice coming stern in rebuke of his rashness, “you are wrong.  You know perfectly well, De Noyan, I risk my life readily as any man in a good cause.  I have ranged the woods since boyhood, long accustomed to border broil and battle—­there is scarcely an Indian trail between the Great Lakes and the country of the Creeks I have not followed either in peace or war.  I have faced savage foemen in battle, and crossed steel with those of your own school, and although I may wear no glittering gold lace, nor sport a title with which to dazzle the imagination of a girl, yet the man venturing to sneer at my courage, either amid the wilderness, or in the town, makes answer for the speech, whenever I come to my strength again.”

“Always at your service, Monsieur,” he murmured gently, “with the greatest pleasure.”

“Very well then,” I went on, barely noting his words, yet marking the look of distress on the face of his young wife, and despising him for it.  “Understand this, Monsieur—­we make no battle here, whether it suit your hot-brained desires or not.  I dragged you from the jaws of death at the request of her who sits in silence yonder.  I will never consent that your rashness now draw her into the peril of such a melee as the attempt to run that gantlet.  Cairnes,”—­I turned to face the Puritan, sitting all this time with open mouth listening to our quarrel, yet scarcely comprehending a word that passed,—­“this gay French cockerel would throw us against those eighteen men below, to fight our way from here to the Ohio, as if the Spaniards between were so many buzzing mosquitoes, and you are not greatly averse to trying that same experiment.”

“It would be a godly and pious service to smite so black and Papist a crew.”

“No doubt of that; yet, Master Cairnes, you are scarcely the sort who would involve a lady in such broil, when, if we escaped at first, the chances are we should have wounded to care for, or, perchance, be prisoners borne southward under Spanish guard—­a contingency not over-pleasant, I imagine, to a preacher of your faith.”

I saw him twist his little eyes as if in petition for guidance, while he ran his hand nervously through his red hair before venturing a reply.