"Six hours? Did it take you all that time to reach Lakefield?"

"I didn't go to Lakefield. I took her to Philadelphia. My one object was
to keep her from meeting the young man that night; but perhaps that's
where I made my mistake."

"But why? It was better for her that she shouldn't."

"For her, perhaps; but not for every one else. You see, I lost my way
two or three times; though, as I had been over the ground twice already,
I was always able to right myself after a while. Near Trenton, Dorothea
got frightened, and when I peeped inside I could see she was crying. As
all danger was over then, I stopped and let her see who I was."

"Was she angry?"

"Quite the contrary! The poor child was terrified at her own rashness,
and very much relieved to find she had been kept from being as foolish
as she had intended. I got in beside her, and let her have her cry out
in comfort. After that we ate some sandwiches and took heart. It was
weird work, in the dead of night and along the lonely roads; but we
pushed on, and crept into Philadelphia between one and two in the
morning."

"That was a very brave, act, Mademoiselle." Bienville's eyes glistened
and his face lighted up with an ardor that was not dampened by the
casual, almost listless, air with which she told her story.

"It might have been better if I had let the whole thing alone."