“Marjorie,” he said, “tell me it is no dream, that it is you, that you are mine!  Yes,” he shouted aloud, “do you hear me?  You are mine!  Before Heaven I say it!  No man, nothing shall take you from me!”

“Hush, Kalman!” she cried, coming to him and laying her hand upon his lips; “they are just down by the river there.”

“Who are they?  I care not who they are, now that you are mine!”

“And oh, how near I was to losing you!” she cried.  “You were going away to-morrow, and I should have broken my heart.”

“Ah, dear heart!  How could I know?” he said.  “How could I know you could ever love a foreigner, the son of a—­”

“The son of a hero, who paid out his life for a great cause,” she cried with a sob.  “Oh, Kalman, I have been there.  I have seen the people, your father’s people.”

Kalman’s face was pale, his voice shaking.  “You have seen?  You understand?  You do not shrink from me?” He felt his very soul trembling in the balance.

“Shrink from you!” she cried in scorn.  “Were I Russian, I should be like your father!”

“Now God be thanked!” cried Kalman.  “That fear is gone.  I fear nothing else.  Ah, how brave you are, sweetheart!”

“Stop, Kalman!  Man, man, you are terrible.  Let me go!  They are coming!”

“Hello there!  Steady all.”  It was Brown’s voice.  “Now, then, what’s this?”

Awhile they stood side by side, then Marjorie came shyly to Sir Robert.

“I didn’t mean to, father,” she said penitently, “not a bit.  But I couldn’t help myself.  He just made me.”

Sir Robert kissed her.

Kalman stepped forward.  “And I couldn’t help it, Sir,” he said.  “I tried my best not to.  Will you give her to me?”

“Listen to him, now, will you?” said Sir Robert, shaking him warmly by the hand.  “It wasn’t the fault of either of them.”

“Quite true, Sir,” said French gravely.  “I’m afraid it was partly mine.  I saw the dogs—­I thought it would be good for us three to take the other trail.”

“Blame me, Sir,” said Brown penitently.  “It was I who helped to conquer her aversion to the foreigner by showing her his many excellences.  Yes,” continued Brown in a reminiscent manner, “I seem to recall how a certain young lady into these ears made solemn declaration that never, never could she love one of those foreigners.”

“Ah,” said Marjorie with sweet and serious emphasis, “but not my foreigner, my Canadian foreigner.”