"What did he do, and say, after he entered the house?"

"Absolutely nothing to attract notice; he seemed very weary, and, as soon as he had eaten, lay down on the bench, and fell asleep."

"Are you sure he slept?"

"I felt no doubt; there was nothing strange about his actions, but as soon as possible I left the room. You surely do not suspect him?"

"He was the last to be seen with Chevet; they left the beach together, yet the murdered man failed to appear at the Mission House, and Cassion falsely reported him left in charge at the beach."

"But no one could act so indifferent, after just committing such a crime. When you looked in through the window what did you see?"

"Only the priests about the table talking, and Cassion seemingly sound asleep. Could there be any reason why he should desire the death of Chevet?"

"I know of none. My uncle felt bitter over the concealment of my fortune, and no doubt the two had exchanged words, but there was no open quarrel. Chevet was rough and headstrong, yet he was not killed in fight, for the knife thrust was from behind."

"Ay, a coward's blow. Chevet possessed no papers of value?"

I shook my head.

"If so, no mention was ever made to me. But, Monsieur, you are still wet, and must be cold in this wind. Why do you not build the fire, and dry your clothing?"

"The wind does have an icy feel," he admitted, "but this is a poor spot. Up yonder in the wood shadow there is more warmth, and besides it affords better outlook for the canoes. Have you strength now to climb the bluff?"

"The path did not appear difficult, and it is dreary enough here. I will try."

I did not even require his aid, and was at the top nearly as soon as he. It was a pleasant spot, a heavy forest growing almost to the edge, but with green carpet of grass on which one could rest, and gaze off across the wide waste of waters. Yet there was little to attract the eyes except the ceaseless roll of the waves, and the curve of the coast line, against which the breakers still thundered, casting high in air their white spray. It was a wild, desolate scene, a wilderness wherever the eyes turned.

I stood silent, gazing to the southward, but there were no canoes visible, although the storm had ceased, and the waves were no longer high enough to prevent their return. They must have been driven below the distant point, and possibly so injured as to make repairs necessary. When I finally turned away I found that De Artigny had already lighted a fire with flint and steel in a little hollow within the forest. He called to me to join him.

"There is nothing to see," he said, "and the warmth is welcome. You had no glimpse of the boats?"

"No," I admitted. "Do you really believe they survived?"

"There was no reason why they should not, if properly handled. I have controlled canoes in far worse storms. They are doubtless safely ashore beyond the point yonder."

"And will return seeking us?"

"Seeking you, at least. Cassion will learn what occurred, and certainly will never depart without seeking to discover if you are alive. The thought that you may be with me will only serve to spur him to quicker action. My fear is he may be delayed by some accident, and we might suffer from lack of food."

"I had not thought how helpless we were."

"Oh, we are not desperate," and he laughed, getting up from his knees.

"You forget I am bred to this life, and have been alone in the wilderness without arms before. The woods are full of game, and it is not difficult to construct traps, and the waters are filled with fish which I will devise some means of catching. You are not afraid to be left alone?"

"No," in surprise. "Where are you going?"

"To learn more of our surroundings, and arrange some traps for wild game. I will not be away long but someone should remain here to signal any canoe returning in search."

I watched him disappear among the trees, without regret, or slightest sense of fear at thus being left alone. The fire burned brightly, and I rested where the grateful warmth put new life into my body. The silence was profound, depressing, and a sense of intense loneliness stole over me. I felt a desire to get away from the gloom of the woods, and climbed the bank to where I could look out once more across the waters.

CHAPTER XX

I CHOOSE MY DUTY

The view outspread before me revealed nothing new; the same dread waste of water extended to the horizon, while down the shore no movement was visible. As I rested there, oppressed by the loneliness, I felt little hope that the others of our party had escaped without disaster.

De Artigny's words of cheer had been spoken merely to encourage me, to make me less despondent. Deep down in his heart the man doubted the possibility of those frail canoes withstanding the violence of the storm. It was this thought which had made him so anxious to secure food, for, if the others survived, and would return seeking us, as he asserted, surely they would appear before nightfall, and there would be no necessity for our snaring wild game in order to preserve life.

De Artigny did not believe his own words; I even suspicioned that he had gone now alone to explore the shore-line; seeking to discover the truth, and the real fate of our companions. At first this conception of our situation startled me, and yet, strange as it may seem, my realization brought no deep regret. I was conscious of a feeling of freedom, of liberty, such as had not been mine since we departed from Quebec. I was no longer watched, spied upon, my every movement ordered, my speech criticized. More, I was delivered from the hated presence of Cassion, ever reminding me that I was his wife, and continually threatening to exercise his authority. Ay, and I was with De Artigny, alone with him, and the joy of this was so deep that I came to a sudden realization of the truth--I loved him.

In a way I must have known this before, yet, not until that moment, did the fact dawn upon me in full acknowledgement. I sank my head on my hands, my breath quickened by surprise, by shame, and felt my cheeks burn. I loved him, and believed he loved me. I knew then that all the happiness of life centered in this one fact; while between us arose the shadow of Cassion, my husband. True I loved him not; true I was to him wife only in name; true our marriage was a thing of shame, yet no less a fact, no less a barrier. I was a La Chesnayne to whom honor was a religion; a Catholic bowing humbly to the vow of Holy Church; a Frenchwoman taught that marriage was a sacred rite.

The knowledge of my love for De Artigny brought me more fear than pleasure. I dare not dream, or hope; I must escape his presence while I retained moral strength to resist temptation. I got to my feet, not knowing what I could do, yet with a wild conception of returning to the beach, and seeking to find a passage southward. I would go now along the shore, before De Artigny came back, and meet those returning canoes. In such action lay my only safety--he would find me gone, would trace me along the sand, yet before I could be caught, I would have met the others, and thus escape the peril of being alone with him again.

Even as I reached this decision, something arose in my throat and choked me, for my eyes saw just outside the curve of the shore-line, a canoe emerge from the shadows of the bluff. I cannot picture the reaction, the sudden shrinking fear which, in that instant, mastered me. They were coming, seeking me; coming to drag me back into slavery; coming to denounce De Artigny of crime, and demand his life.

I know not which thought dominated me--my own case, or his; but I realized instantly what course Cassion would pursue. His hatred of De Artigny would be fanned into flame by discovery that we were alone together. He possessed the power, the authority to put this man forever out of his way. To save him there remained but one possible plan--he must reach Fort St. Louis, and friends before Cassion could bring him to trial. It was in my power to permit his escape from discovery, mine alone. If I did otherwise I should be his murderer.

I sank down out of sight, yet my decision was made in an instant. It did not seem to me then as though any other course could be taken.

That De Artigny was innocent I had no doubt. I loved him, this I no longer denied to myself; and I could not possibly betray the man to the mad vengeance of Cassion. I peered forth, across the ridge of earth concealing me from observation, at the distant canoe. It was too far away for me to be certain of its occupants, yet I assured myself that Indians were at the paddles, while three others, whose dress designated them as whites, occupied places in the boat. The craft kept close to the shore, evidently searching for any sign of the lost canoe, and the man in the stern stood up, pointing, and evidently giving orders. There was that about the fellow's movements to convince me he must be Cassion, and the very sight of him strengthened my resolve.

I turned, and ran down the bank to where the fire yet glowed dully in the hollow, emitting a faint spiral of blue smoke, dug dirt up with my hands, and covered the coals, until they were completely extinguished.

Then I crept back to the bluff summit, and lay down to watch.

The canoe rounded the curve in the shore, and headed straight across toward where I rested in concealment. Their course would keep them too far away from the little strip of sand on which we had landed to observe the imprint of our feet, or the pile of wood De Artigny had flung down. I observed this with an intense feeling of relief, as I peered cautiously out from my covert.

I could see now clearly the faces of those in the canoe--the dark, expressionless countenances of the Indians, and the three white men, all gazing intently at the shore line, as they swept past, a soldier in the bow, and Pere Allouez and Cassion at the stern, the latter standing, gripping the steering paddle. The sound of his rasping, disagreeable voice reached me first.

"This is the spot," he exclaimed, pointing. "I saw that headland just before the storm struck. But there is no wreck here, no sign of landing. What is your judgment, Pere?"

"That further search is useless, Monsieur," answered the priest. "We have covered the entire coast, and found no sign of any survivor; no doubt they were all lost."

"'Tis likely true, for there was small hope for any swimmer in such a sea." Cassion's eyes turned to the others in the boat. "And you, Descartes, you were in the canoe with the Sieur de Artigny, tell us again what happened, and if this be not the place."

The soldier in the bow lifted his head.

"I know little of the place, Monsieur," he answered gruffly, "though it would seem as if I recalled the forked tree yonder, showing through a rift in the fog. All I know is that one of the paddles broke in the sergeant's canoe, and over they went into the water. 'Twas as quick as that," and he snapped his fingers, "and then a head or two bobbed up, but the canoe swept over them, and down they went again. Sieur de Artigny held our steering paddle, and, in an instant, he swung us that way, and there was the lady struggling. I reached out and touched her, but lost hold, and then the Sieur de Artigny leaped overboard, and the storm whirled us off into the fog. I saw no more."

"You do not know that he reached her?"

"No, Monsieur; the lady sank when I lost my grip; I do not even know if she came up again."

Cassion stood motionless, staring intently at the bluff. I almost thought he must have seen me, but there was no outcry, and finally he seated himself.

"Go on, round the long point yonder, and if there is no sign there we will return," he said grimly. "'Tis my thought they were all drowned, and there is no need of our seeking longer. Pull on boys, and let us finish the job."