"Be assured, Monsieur, that I know how to prize the man who speaks after
the light given him. I know that you are a brave and valorous gentleman.
I must thank you most truly and heartily, but, Monsieur, you and yours
are not for me. Seek elsewhere, among your own people, in your own
religion and language and position, the Mistress of Rozel."

He was dumfounded. Now he comprehended the plain fact that he had been
declined.

"You send me packing!" he blurted out, getting red in the face.

"Ah, no! Say it is my misfortune that I cannot give myself the great
honour," she said; in her tone a little disdainful dryness, a little
pity, a little feeling that here was a good friend lost.

"It's not because of the French soldier that was with Montgomery at
Domfront?--I've heard that story. But he's gone to heaven, and 'tis vain
crying for last year's breath," he added, with proud philosophy.

"He is not dead. And if he were," she added, "do you think, Monsieur,
that we should find it easier to cross the gulf between us?"

"Tut, tut, that bugbear Love!" he said shortly. "And so you'd lose a
good friend for a dead lover? I' faith, I'd befriend thee well if thou
wert my wife, Ma'm'selle."

"It is hard for those who need friends to lose them," she answered sadly.

The sorrow of her position crept in upon her and filled her eyes with
tears. She turned them to the sea-instinctively towards that point on