“Women are of a multitude of kinds—­ until they love.  Then they are of but two kinds.  Of one of these kinds shall I be when I love.  Not that I doubt myself, yet, who can say what I shall be?  Only three, Euan—­ God, the man who loves me, and myself.”

“I sit here waiting for a rifleman to take my letter to the General who has promised to commit it to the runner.

“A regiment is trying its muskets at the lake.  I hear the firing.

“I have a tallow dip and wax and sand, ready to close my letter instantly.  No one comes.”

“Lana comes, very tired and pale.  Her eyes frighten me, they seem so tragic.  I learn that the army marches on the 9th.  Yet, you went earlier, and I do not think my eyes resembled hers.”

“Soldiers passing, drums beating.  A Pennsylvania regiment.  Lana lies on my bed, her face to the wall, scarce breathing at all, as far as I can see.  Conch-horns blowing—­ the strange and melancholy music of your regiment.  It seems to fill my heart with dread unutterable.”

“The runner is here!  Euan—­ Euan!  Come back to me!

“Lois de Contrecoeur.”

My eyes fell from the letter to the sleeping runner stretched out at my feet, then shifted vaguely toward the river.

After a while I drew my tablets, quill, and ink-horn from my pouch, and setting it on my knees wrote to her with a heart on fire, yet perfectly controlled.

And after I had ended, I sealed the sheet with balsam, pricking the globule from the tree behind me, and setting over it a leaf of partridge-berry.  Also I wrote letters to General Clinton and to Major Parr, sealed them as I had sealed the other, and set a tiny, shining leaf on each.

Then, very gently I bent forward and aroused the Oneida runner.  He sat up, rubbed his eyes, then got to his feet smiling.  And I consigned to him my letters.

The Mohican, on guard by the Susquehanna, was watching me; and as soon as the Red Wings had started on his return, and was well across the Ouleout, I signalled the Sagamore to come to me, leaving the Mole and Tahoontowhee by the Susquehanna.

“Blood-brother of mine,” I said as he came up, “I ask counsel of a wiser head and a broader experience than my own.  What is to be done with this Wyandotte?”

“Must that be decided now, Loskiel?”

“Now.  Because the Unadilla lies below not far away, and beyond that the Tioga.  And I am charged to get myself thither in company with you as soon us may be.  Now, what is a Sagamore’s opinion of this Wyandotte?”

“Erie,” he said quietly.

“You believe it?”

“I know it, Loskiel.”

“And the others—­ the Oneidas and the Stockbridge?”

“They are as certain as I am.”

“Good God!  Then why have you not told me this before, Mayaro?”

“Is there haste?”

“Haste?  Have I not said that we march immediately?  And you would have let me give my order and include that villain in it!”