‘55 — — ” She lifted her clear eyes to mine. “And died — unmarried.”

A chill passed through me, then the reaction came, taking me by the throat, setting my veins afire.

“Then — by God!” I stammered. “If de Contrecoeur died unmarried, his child shall not!”

“Euan! I do not credit what they wrote. If my father married here perhaps they had not heard.”

“Lois! Dearest of maids — whichever is the truth I wish to marry you!”

But she stopped her ears with both palms, giving me a frightened look; and checked, but burning still, I stared at her.

“Is that then all you are?”