“Why did you not tell me this at Poundridge? You should have camped with us,” I said.

“Because of my fear of men — except red men. And I had already quite enough of your Lieutenant Boyd.”

I looked at her seriously; and she comprehended the unasked questions that were troubling me.

“Shall I tell you more? Shall I tell you how I have learned my dread of men — how it has been with me since my foster parents found me lying at their door strapped to a painted cradle-board?”

“You!”

“Aye; that was my shameful beginning, so they told me afterward — long afterward. For I supposed they were my parents — till two years ago. Now shall I tell you all, Euan? And risk losing a friendship you might have given in your ignorance of me?”