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  CHAPTER XXVII

  IN THE CABIN OF MADAM

  Woman must not belong to herself; she is bound to alien destinies.--_Friedrich von Schiller_.

  With an exclamation of surprise the old woman departed from the door. Iheard the rustle of a footfall. I could have told in advance what facewould now appear outlined in the candle glow--with eyes wide andstartled, with lips half parted in query. It was the face of Helena,Baroness von Ritz!

  "_Eh bien!_ madam, why do you bar me out?" I said, as though we hadparted but yesterday.

  In her sheer astonishment, I presume, she let down the fastening chain,and without her invitation I stepped within. I heard her startled "_MonDieu!_" then her more deliberate exclamation of emotion. "My God!" shesaid. She stood, with her hands caught at her throat, staring at me. Ilaughed and held out a hand.

  "Madam Baroness," I said, "how glad I am! Come, has not fate been kindto us again?" I pushed shut the door behind me. Still without a word,she stepped deeper into the room and stood looking at me, her handsclasped now loosely and awkwardly, as though she were a country girlsurprised, and not the Baroness Helena von Ritz, toast or talk of morethan one capital of the world.

  Yet she was the same. She seemed slightly thinner now, yet not lessbeautiful. Her eyes were dark and brilliant as ever. The clear featuresof her face were framed in the roll of her heavy locks, as I had seenthem last. Her garb, as usual, betokened luxury. She was robed as thoughfor some fete, all in white satin, and pale blue fires of stones shonefaintly at throat and wrist. Contrast enough she made to me, clad insmoke-browned tunic of buck, with the leggings and moccasins of asavage, my belt lacking but prepared for weapons.

  I had not time to puzzle over the question of her errand here, why orwhence she had come, or what she purposed doing. I was occupied with thesudden surprises which her surroundings offered.

  "I see, Madam," said I, smiling, "that still I am only asleep anddreaming. But how exquisite a dream, here in this wild country! Howunfit here am I, a savage, who introduce the one discordant note into sosweet a dream!"

  I gestured to my costume, gestured about me, as I took in the details ofthe long room in which we stood. I swear it was the same as that inwhich I had seen her at a similar hour in Montreal! It was the same Ihad first seen in Washington!

  Impossible? I am doubted? Ah, but do I not know? Did I not see? Herewere the pictures on the walls, the carved Cupids, the candelabra withtheir prisms, the chairs, the couches! Beyond yonder satin curtains rosethe high canopy of the embroidery-covered couch, its fringed draperyreaching almost to the deep pile of the carpets. True, opportunity hadnot yet offered for the full concealment of these rude walls; yet, as mysenses convinced me even against themselves, here were the apartments ofHelena von Ritz, furnished as she had told me they always were at eachplace she saw fit to honor with her presence!

  Yet not quite the same, it seemed to me. There were some little thingsmissing, just as there were some little things missing from herappearance. For instance, these draperies at the right, which formerlyhad cut off the Napoleon bed at its end of the room, now were ofblankets and not of silk. The bed itself was not piled deep in down, butcontained, as I fancied from my hurried glance, a thin mattress, stuffedperhaps with straw. A roll of blankets lay across its foot. As I gazedto the farther extremity of this side of the long suite, I saw otherevidences of change. It was indeed as though Helena von Ritz, creatureof luxury, woman of an old, luxurious world, exotic of monarchicalsurroundings, had begun insensibly to slip into the ways of the rudedemocracy of the far frontiers.

  I saw all this; but ere I had finished my first hurried glance I hadaccepted her, as always one must, just as she was; had accepted hersurroundings, preposterously impossible as they all were from anylogical point of view, as fitting to herself and to her humor. It wasnot for me to ask how or why she did these things. She had done them;because, here they were; and here was she. We had found England's womanon the Columbia!

  "Yes," said she at length, slowly, "yes, I now believe it to be fate."

  She had not yet smiled. I took her hand and held it long. I felt glad tosee her, and to take her hand; it seemed pledge of friendship; and asthings now were shaping, I surely needed a friend.

  At last, her face flushing slightly, she disengaged her hand andmotioned me to a seat. But still we stood silent for a few moments."Have you _no_ curiosity?" said she at length.

  "I am too happy to have curiosity, my dear Madam."

  "You will not even ask me why I am here?" she insisted.

  "I know. I have known all along. You are in the pay of England. When Imissed you at Montreal, I knew you had sailed on the _Modeste_ forOregon We knew all this, and planned for it. I have come across by landto meet you. I have waited. I greet you now!"

  She looked me now clearly in the face. "I am not sure," said she atlength, slowly.

  "Not sure of what, Madam? When you travel on England's warship," Ismiled, "you travel as the guest of England herself. If, then, you arenot for England, in God's name, _whose friend are you?"_

  "Whose friend am I?" she answered slowly. "I say to you that I do notknow. Nor do I know who is my friend. A friend--what is that? I neverknew one!"

  "Then be mine. Let me be your friend. You know my history. You knowabout me and my work. I throw my secret into your hands. You will notbetray me? You warned me once, at Montreal. Will you not shield me onceagain?"

  She nodded, smiling now in an amused way. "Monsieur always takes themost extraordinary times to visit me! Monsieur asks always the mostextraordinary things! Monsieur does always the most extraordinary acts!He takes me to call upon a gentleman in a night robe! He calls upon mehimself, of an evening, in dinner dress of hides and beads--"

  "'Tis the best I have, Madam!" I colored, but her eye had notcriticism, though her speech had mockery.

  "This is the costume of your American savages," she said. "I find itamong the most beautiful I have ever seen. Only a man can wear it. Youwear it like a man. I like you in it--I have never liked you so well.Betray you, Monsieur? Why should I? How could I?"

  "That is true. Why should you? You are Helena von Ritz. One of herbreeding does not betray men or women. Neither does she make anyjourneys of this sort without a purpose."

  "I had a purpose, when I started. I changed it in mid-ocean. Now, I wason my way to the Orient."

  "And had forgotten your report to Mr. Pakenham?" I shook my head."Madam, you are the guest of England."

  "I never denied that," she said. "I was that in Washington. I was so inMontreal. But I have never given pledge which left me other than free togo as I liked. I have studied, that is true--but I have _not_ reported."

  "Have we not been fair with you, Baroness? Has my chief not provedhimself fair with you?"

  "Yes," she nodded. "You have played the game fairly, that is true."

  "Then you will play it fair with us? Come, I say you have still thatchance to win the gratitude of a people."

  "I begin to understand you better, you Americans," she saidirrelevantly, as was sometimes her fancy. "See my bed yonder. It is thatcouch of husks of which Monsieur told me! Here is the cabin of logs.There is the fireplace. Here is Helena von Ritz--even as you told meonce before she sometime might be. And here on my wrists are theimprints of your fingers! What does it mean, Monsieur? Am I not an aptstudent? See, I made up that little bed with my own hands! I--Why, see,I can cook! What you once said to me lingered in my mind. At first, itwas matter only of curiosity. Presently I began to see what was beneathyour words, what fullness of life there might be even in poverty. I saidto myself, 'My God! were it not, after all, enough, this, if one beloved?' So then, in spite of myself, without planning, I say, I began tounderstand. I have seen about me here these savages--savages who havewalked thousands of miles in a pilgrimage--for what?"

  "For what, Madam?" I demanded. "For what? For a cabin! For a bed ofhusks! Was it then for the sake of ease, for the sake of selfishness?Come, can you betray a people o
f whom you can say so much?"

  "Ah, now you would try to tempt me from a trust which has been reposedin me!"

  "Not in the least I would not have you break your word with Mr.Pakenham; but I know you are here on the same errand as myself. You areto learn facts and report them to Mr. Pakenham--as I am to Mr. Calhoun."

  "What does Monsieur suggest?" she asked me, with her little smile.

  "Nothing, except that you take back all the facts--and allow them tomediate. Let them determine between the Old World and this New one--yoursatin couch and this rude one you have learned to make. Tell the truthonly. Choose, then, Madam!"

  "Nations do not ask the truth. They want only excuses."

  "Quite true. And because of that, all the more rests with you. If thissituation goes on, war must come. It can not be averted, unless it be bysome agency quite outside of these two governments. Here, then, Madam,is Helena von Ritz!"

  "At least, there is time," she mused. "These ships are not here for anyimmediate active war. Great Britain will make no move until--"

  "Until Madam the Baroness, special agent of England, most trusted agent,makes her report to Mr. Pakenham! Until he reports to his government,and until that government declares war! 'Twill take a year or more.Meantime, you have not reported?"

  "No, I am not yet ready."

  "Certainly not. You are not yet possessed of your facts. You have notyet seen this country. You do not yet know these men--the same savageswho once accounted for another Pakenham at New Orleans--hardy asbuffaloes, fierce as wolves. Wait and see them come pouring across themountains into Oregon. Then make your report to this Pakenham. Ask himif England wishes to fight our backwoodsmen once more!"

  "You credit me with very much ability!" she smiled.

  "With all ability. What conquests you have made in the diplomacy of theOld World I do not know. You have known courts. I have known none. Yetyou are learning life. You are learning the meaning of the only humanidea of the world, that of a democracy of endeavor, where all are equalin their chances and in their hopes. That, Madam, is the only diplomacywhich will live. If you have passed on that torch of principle of whichyou spoke--if I can do as much--then all will be well. We shall haveserved."

  She dropped now into a chair near by a little table, where the light ofthe tall candles, guttering in their enameled sconces, fell full uponher face. She looked at me fixedly, her eyes dark and mournful in spiteof their eagerness.

  "Ah, it is easy for you to speak, easy for you who have so rich and fulla life--who have all! But I--my hands are empty!" She spread out hercurved fingers, looking at them, dropping her hands, patheticallydrooping her shoulders.

  "All, Madam? What do you mean? You see me almost in rags. Beyond therifle at my cabin, the pistol at my tent, I have scarce more in wealththan what I wear, while you have what you like."

  "All but everything!" she murmured; "all but home!"

  "Nor have I a home."

  "All, except that my couch is empty save for myself and my memories!"

  "Not more than mine, nor with sadder memories, Madam."

  "Why, what do you mean?" she asked me suddenly. "What do you _mean?_"She repeated it again, as though half in horror.

  "Only that we are equal and alike. That we are here on the same errand.That our view of life should be the same."

  "What do you mean about home? But tell me, _were you not then married?_"

  "No, I am alone, Madam. I never shall be married."

  There may have been some slight motion of a hand which beckoned me to aseat at the opposite side of the table. As I sat, I saw her search myface carefully, slowly, with eyes I could not read. At last she spoke,after her frequent fashion, half to herself.

  "It succeeded, then!" said she. "Yet I am not happy! Yet I have failed!"

  "I pause, Madam," said I, smiling. "I await your pleasure."

  "Ah, God! Ah, God!" she sighed. "What have I done?" She staggered to herfeet and stood beating her hands together, as was her way whenperturbed. "What have I _done_!"

  "Threlka!" I heard her call, half chokingly. The old servant camehurriedly.

  "Wine, tea, anything, Threlka!" She dropped down again opposite me,panting, and looking at me with wide eyes.

  "Tell me, do you know what you have said?" she began.

  "No, Madam. I grieve if I have caused you any pain."

  "Well, then, you are noble; when look, what pain I have caused you! Yetnot more than myself. No, not so much. I hope not so much!"

  Truly there is thought which passes from mind to mind. Suddenly thething in her mind sped across to mine. I looked at her suddenly, in myeyes also, perhaps, the horror which I felt.

  "It was you!" I exclaimed. "It was you! Ah, now I begin to understand!How could you? You parted us! _You_ parted me from Elisabeth!"

  "Yes," she said regretfully, "I did it It was my fault."

  I rose and drew apart from her, unable to speak. She went on.

  "But I was not then as I am now. See, I was embittered, reckless,desperate. I was only beginning to think--I only wanted time. I did notreally mean to do all this. I only thought--Why, I had not yet known youa day nor her an hour. 'Twas all no more than half a jest"

  "How could you do it?" I demanded. "Yet that is no more strange. How_did_ you do it?"

  "At the door, that first night. I was mad then over the wrong done towhat little womanhood I could claim for my own. I hated Yturrio. I hatedPakenham. They had both insulted me. I hated every man. I had seennothing but the bitter and desperate side of life--I was eager to takerevenge even upon the innocent ones of this world, seeing that I hadsuffered so much. I had an old grudge against women, against women, Isay--against _women!_"

  She buried her face in her hands. I saw her eyes no more till Threlkacame and lifted her head, offering her a cup of drink, and so standingpatiently until again she had dismissal.

  "But still it is all a puzzle to me, Madam," I began. "I do notunderstand."

  "Well, when you stood at the door, my little shoe in your pocket, whenyou kissed my hand that first night, when you told me what you would dodid you love a woman--when I saw something new in life I had notseen--why, then, in the devil's resolution that no woman in the worldshould be happy if I could help it, I slipped in the body of the slippera little line or so that I had written when you did not see, when I wasin the other room. 'Twas that took the place of Van Zandt's message,after all! Monsieur, it was fate. Van Zandt's letter, without plan, fellout on my table. Your note, sent by plan, remained in the shoe!"

  "And what did it say? Tell me at once."

  "Very little. Yet enough fora woman who loved and who expected. Onlythis: '_In spite of that other woman, come to me still. Who can teachyon love of woman as can I? Helena._' I think it was some such words asthose."

  I looked at her in silence.

  "You did not see that note?" she demanded. "After all, at first I meantit only for _you_. I wanted to see you again. I did not want to loseyou. Ah, God! I was so lonely, so--so--I can not say. But you did notfind my message?"

  I shook my head. "No," I said, "I did not look in the slipper. I do notthink my friend did."

  "But she--that girl, did!"

  "How could she have believed?"

  "Ah, grand! I reverence your faith. But she is a woman! She loved youand expected you that hour, I say. Thus comes the shock of finding youuntrue, of finding you at least a common man, after all. She is a woman.'Tis the same fight, all the centuries, after all! Well, I did that."

  "You ruined the lives of two, neither of whom had ever harmed you,Madam."

  "What is it to the tree which consumes another tree--the flower whichdevours its neighbor? Was it not life?"

  "You had never seen Elisabeth."

  "Not until the next morning, no. Then I thought still on what you hadsaid. I envied her--I say, I coveted the happiness of you both. What hadthe world ever given me? What had I done--what had I been--what could Iever be? Your messenger came back with the slipper. The note w
as in theshoe untouched. Your messenger had not found it, either. See, I _did_mean it for you alone. But now since sudden thought came to me. I tuckedit back and sent your drunken friend away with it for her--where I knewit would be found! I did not know what would be the result. I was onlydesperate over what life had done to me. I wanted to get _out_--out intoa wider and brighter world."

  "Ah, Madam, and was so mean a key as this to open that world for you?Now we all three wander, outside that world."

  "No, it opened no new world for me," she said. "I was not meant forthat. But at least, I only acted as I have been treated all my life. Iknew no better then."

  "I had not thought any one capable of that," said I.

  "Ah, but I repented on the instant! I repented before night came. In thetwilight I got upon my knees and prayed that all my plan might gowrong--if I could call it plan. 'Now,' I said, as the hour approached,'they are before the priest; they stand there--she in white, perhaps; hetall and grave. Their hands are clasped each in that of the other. Theyare saying those tremendous words which may perhaps mean so much.' ThusI ran on to myself. I say I followed you through the hour of thatceremony. I swore with her vows, I pledged with her pledge, promisedwith her promise. Yes, yes--yes, though I prayed that, after all, Imight lose, that I might pay back; that I might some time haveopportunity to atone for my own wickedness! Ah! I was only a woman. Thestrongest of women are weak sometimes.

  "Well, then, my friend, I have paid. I thank God that I failed then tomake another wretched as myself. It was only I who again was wretched.Ah! is there no little pity in your heart for me, after all?--whosucceeded only to fail so miserably?"

  But again I could only turn away to ponder.

  "See," she went on; "for myself, this is irremediable, but it is not sofor you, nor for her. It is not too ill to be made right again. There inMontreal, I thought that I had failed in my plan, that you indeed weremarried. You held yourself well in hand; like a man, Monsieur. But as tothat, you _were_ married, for your love for her remained; your pledgeheld. And did not I, repenting, marry you to her--did not I, on myknees, marry you to her that night? Oh, do not blame me too much!"

  "She should not have doubted," said I. "I shall not go back and ask heragain. The weakest of men are strong sometimes!"

  "Ah, now you are but a man! Being such, you can not understand howterribly much the faith of man means for a woman. It was her _need_ foryou that spoke, not her _doubt_ of you. Forgive her. She was not toblame. Blame me! Do what you like to punish me! Now, I shall makeamends. Tell me what I best may do. Shall I go to her, shall I tellher?"

  "Not as my messenger. Not for me."

  "No? Well, then, for myself? That is my right. I shall tell her howpriestly faithful a man you were."

  I walked to her, took her arms in my hands and raised her to my level,looking into her eyes.

  "Madam," I said, "God knows, I am no priest. I deserve no credit. It waschance that cast Elisabeth and me together before ever I saw you. I toldyou one fire was lit in my heart and had left room for no other. I meetyouth and life with all that there is in youth and life. I am no priest,and ask you not to confess with me. We both should confess to our ownsouls."

  "It is as I said," she went on; "you were married!"

  "Well, then, call it so--married after my fashion of marriage; thefashion of which I told you, of a cabin and a bed of husks. As to whatyou have said, I forget it, I have not heard it. Your sort could have noheart beat for one like me. 'Tis men like myself are slaves to womensuch as you. You could never have cared for me, and never did. What youloved, Madam, was only what you had _lost_, was only what you saw inthis country--was only what this country means! Your past life, ofcourse, I do not know."

  "Sometime," she murmured, "I will tell you."

  "Whatever it was, Madam, you have been a brilliant woman, a power inaffairs. Yes, and an enigma, and to none more than to yourself. You showthat now. You only loved what Elisabeth loved. As woman, then, you wereborn for the first time, touched by that throb of her heart, not yourown. `Twas mere accident I was there to feel that throb, as sweet as itwas innocent. You were not woman yet, you were but a child. You had notthen chosen. You have yet to choose. It was Love that you loved!Perhaps, after all, it was America you loved. You began to see, as yousay, a wider and a sweeter world than you had known."

  She nodded now, endeavoring to smile.

  "_Gentilhomme!_" I heard her murmur.

  "So then I go on, Madam, and say we are the same. I am the agent of oneidea, you of another. I ask you once more to choose. I know how you willchoose."

  She went on, musing to herself. "Yes, there is a gulf between male andfemale, after all. As though what he said could be true! Listen!" Shespoke up more sharply. "If results came as you liked, what differencewould the motives make?"

  "How do you mean?"

  "Only this, Monsieur, that I am not so lofty as you think. I might dosomething. If so, 'twould need to be through some motive whollysufficient to _myself_."

  "Search, then, your own conscience."

  "I have one, after all! It might say something to me, yes."

  "Once you said to me that the noblest thing in life was to pass on thetorch of a great principle."

  "I lied! I lied!" she cried, beating her hands together. "I am a woman!Look at me!"

  She threw back her shoulders, standing straight and fearless. God wot,she was a woman. Curves and flame! Yes, she was a woman. White flesh andslumbering hair! Yes, she was a woman. Round flesh and the red-fleckedpurple scent arising! Yes, she was a woman. Torture of joy to hold in aman's arms! Yes, she was a woman!

  "How, then, could I believe"--she laid a hand upon her bosom--"how,then, could I believe that principle was more than life? It is for you,a _man_, to believe that. Yet even you will not. You leave it to me, andI answer that I will not! What I did I did, and I bargain with none overthat now. I pay my wagers. I make my own reasons, too. If I do anythingfor the sake of this country, it will not be through altruism, notthrough love of principle! 'Twill be because I am a woman. Yes, once Iwas a girl. Once I was born. Once, even, I had a mother, and wasloved!"

  I could make no answer; but presently she changed again, swift as thesky when some cloud is swept away in a strong gust of wind.

  "Come," she said, "I will bargain with you, after all!"

  "Any bargain you like, Madam."

  "And I will keep my bargain. You know that I will."

  "Yes, I know that."

  "Very well, then. I am going back to Washington."

  "How do you mean?"

  "By land, across the country; the way you came."

  "You do not know what you say, Madam. The journey you suggest isincredible, impossible."

  "That matters nothing. I am going. And I am going alone--No, you can notcome with me. Do you think I would risk more than I have risked? I goalone. I am England's spy; yes, that is true. I am to report to England;yes, that is true. Therefore, the more I see, the more I shall have toreport. Besides, I have something else to do."

  "But would Mr. Pakenham listen to your report, after all?"

  Now she hesitated for a moment. "I can induce him to listen," she said."That is part of my errand. First, before I see Mr. Pakenham I am goingto see Miss Elisabeth Churchill. I shall report also to her. Then Ishall have done my duty. Is it not so?"

  "You could do no more," said I. "But what bargain--"

  "Listen. If she uses me ill and will not believe either you or me--then,being a woman, I shall hate her; and in that case I shall go to SirRichard for my own revenge. I shall tell him to bring on this war. Inthat case, Oregon will be lost to you, or at least bought dear by bloodand treasure."

  "We can attend to that, Madam," said I grimly, and I smiled at her,although a sudden fear caught at my heart. I knew what damage she was inposition to accomplish if she liked. My heart stood still. I felt thefaint sweat again on my forehead.

  "If I do not find her worthy of you, then she can not have you," went onHel
ena von Ritz.

  "But Madam, you forget one thing. She _is_ worthy of me, or of any otherman!"

  "I shall be judge of that. If she is what you think, you shall haveher--and Oregon!"

  "But as to myself, Madam? The bargain?"

  "I arrive, Monsieur! If she fails you, then I ask only time. I have saidto you I am a woman!"

  "Madam," I said to her once more, "who are you and what are you?"

  In answer, she looked me once more straight in the face. "Some day,back there, after I have made my journey, I shall tell you."

  "Tell me now."

  "I shall tell you nothing. I am not a little girl. There is a bargainwhich I offer, and the only one I shall offer. It is a gamble. I havegambled all my life. If you will not accord me so remote a chance asthis, why, then, I shall take it in any case."

  "I begin to see, Madam," said I, "how large these stakes may run."

  "In case I lose, be sure at least I shall pay. I shall make myatonement," she said.

  "I doubt not that, Madam, with all your heart and mind and soul."

  "And _body_!" she whispered. The old horror came again upon her face.She shuddered, I did not know why. She stood now as one in devotions fora time, and I would no more have spoken than had she been at herprayers, as, indeed, I think she was. At last she made some faintmovement of her hands. I do not know whether it was the sign of thecross.

  She rose now, tall, white-clad, shimmering, a vision of beauty such asthat part of the world certainly could not then offer. Her hair wasloosened now in its masses and drooped more widely over her temples,above her brow. Her eyes were very large and dark, and I saw the faintblue shadows coming again beneath them. Her hands were clasped, herchin raised just a trifle, and her gaze was rapt as that of some longingsoul. I could not guess of these things, being but a man, and, I fear,clumsy alike of body and wit.

  "I want--" said she. "I wish--I wish--" Page 287]

  "There is one thing, Madam, which we have omitted," said I at last."What are _my_ stakes? How may I pay?"

  She swayed a little on her feet, as though she were weak. "I want," saidshe, "I wish--I wish--"

  The old childlike look of pathos came again. I have never seen so sad aface. She was a lady, white and delicately clad; I, a rude frontiersmanin camp-grimed leather. But I stepped to her now and took her in my armsand held her close, and pushed back the damp waves of her hair. Andbecause a man's tears were in my eyes, I have no doubt of absolutionwhen I say I had been a cad and a coward had I not kissed her own tearsaway. I no longer made pretense of ignorance, but ah! how I wished thatI were ignorant of what it was not my right to know....

  I led her to the edge of the little bed of husks and found her kerchief.Ah, she was of breeding and courage! Presently, her voice rose steadyand clear as ever. "Threlka!" she called. "Please!"

  When Threlka came, she looked closely at her lady's face, and what sheread seemed, after all, to content her.

  "Threlka," said my lady in French, "I want the little one."

  I turned to her with query in my eyes.

  "_Tiens!_" she said. "Wait. I have a little surprise."

  "You have nothing at any time save surprises, Madam."

  "Two things I have," said she, sighing: "a little dog from China, Chowby name. He sleeps now, and I must not disturb him, else I would showyou how lovely a dog is Chow. Also here I have found a little Indianchild running about the post. Doctor McLaughlin was rejoiced when Iadopted her."

  "Well, then, Madam, what next!"

  --"Yes, with the promise to him that I would care for that little child.I want something for my own. See now. Come, Natoka!"

  The old servant paused at the door. There slid across the floor with thesilent feet of the savage the tiny figure of a little child, perhapsfour years of age, with coal-black hair and beady eyes, clad in all thebequilled finery that a trading-post could furnish--a little orphanchild, as I learned later, whose parents had both been lost in a canoeaccident at the Dalles. She was an infant, wild, untrained, unloved,unable to speak a word of the language that she heard. She stood nowhesitating, but that was only by reason of her sight of me. As I steppedaside, the little one walked steadily but with quickening steps to mysatin-clad lady on her couch of husks. She took up the child in herarms.... Now, there must be some speech between woman and child. I donot know, except that the Baroness von Ritz spoke and that the child putout a hand to her cheek. Then, as I stood awkward as a clown myself andnot knowing what to do, I saw tears rain again from the eyes of Helenavon Ritz, so that I turned away, even as I saw her cheek laid to that ofthe child while she clasped it tight.

  "Monsieur!" I heard her say at last.

  I did not answer. I was learning a bit of life myself this night. I wasyears older than when I had come through that door.

  "Monsieur!" I heard her call yet again.

  "_Eh bien_, Madam?" I replied, lightly as I could, and so turned, givingher all possible time. I saw her holding the Indian child out in frontof her in her strong young arms, lightly as though the weight werenothing.

  "See, then," she said; "here is my companion across the mountains."

  Again I began to expostulate, but now she tapped her foot impatiently inher old way. "You have heard me say it. Very well. Follow if you like.Listen also if you like. In a day or so, Doctor McLaughlin plans a partyfor us all far up the Columbia to the missions at Wailatpu. That is inthe valley of the Walla Walla, they tell me, just at this edge of theBlue Mountains, where the wagon trains come down into this part ofOregon."

  "They may not see the wagon trains so soon," I ventured. "They wouldscarcely arrive before October, and now it is but summer."

  "At least, these British officers would see a part of this country, doyou not comprehend? We start within three days at least. I wish only tosay that perhaps--"

  "Ah, I will be there surely, Madam!"

  "If you come independently. I have heard, however, that one of themissionary women wishes to go back to the States. I have thought thatperhaps it might be better did we go together. Also Natoka. Also Chow."

  "Does Doctor McLaughlin know of your plans?"

  "I am not under his orders, Monsieur. I only thought that, since youwere used to this western travel, you could, perhaps, be of aid ingetting me proper guides and vehicles. I should rely upon your judgmentvery much, Monsieur."

  "You are asking me to aid you in your own folly," said I discontentedly,"but I will be there; and be sure also you can not prevent me fromfollowing--if you persist in this absolute folly. A woman--to cross theRockies!"

  I rose now, and she was gracious enough to follow me part way toward thedoor. We hesitated there, awkwardly enough. But once more our hands metin some sort of fellowship.

  "Forget!" I heard her whisper. And I could think of no reply better thanthat same word.

  I turned as the door swung for me to pass out into the night. I saw heroutlined against the lights within, tall and white, in her arms theIndian child, whose cheek was pressed to her own. I do not concernmyself with what others may say of conduct or of constancy. To me itseemed that, had I not made my homage, my reverence, to one after all sobrave as she, I would not be worthy the cover of that flag which to-dayfloats both on the Columbia and the Rio Grande.