They rounded the point, the Pere talking earnestly, but the canoe so far away I could not overhear his words. Cassion paid small heed to what he urged, but, at last, angrily bade him be still, and, after a glance into the narrow basin beyond, swung the bow of the canoe about, and headed it southward, the return course further off shore. The Indians paddled with renewed energy, and, in a few moments, they were so far away their faces were indistinguishable, and I ventured to sit on the bank, my gaze still on the vanishing canoe.

So intent was I that I heard no sound of approaching footsteps, and knew nothing of De Artigny's presence until he spoke.

"What is that yonder--a canoe?"

I started, shrinking back, suddenly realizing what I had done, and the construction he might place upon my action.

"Yes," I answered faintly, "it--it is a canoe."

"But it is headed south; it is going away," he paused, gazing into my face. "Did it not come this far?"

I hesitated; he had furnished me with an excuse, a reason. I could permit him to believe the boat had not approached close enough to be signaled. It was, for an instant, a temptation, yet as I looked into his eyes I could not tell the lie. More, I felt the uselessness of any such attempt to deceive; he would discover the fire extinguished by dirt thrown on it, and thus learn the truth. Far better that I confess frankly, and justify my action.

"The canoe came here," I faltered, my voice betraying me. "It went around the point yonder, and then returned."

"And you made no signal? You let them go, believing us dead?"

I could not look at him, and I felt my cheeks burn with shame.

"Yes, Monsieur; but listen. No, do not touch me. Perhaps it was all wrong, yet I thought it right. I lay here, hidden from view, and watched them; I extinguished the fire so they could not see the smoke.

They came so near I could hear their voices, and distinguish their words, yet I let them pass."

"Who were in the canoe?"

"Besides the Indians, Cassion, Pere Allouez, and the soldier Descartes."

"He was with me."

"So I learned from his tale; 'twas he who sought to lift me from the water, and failed. Do you realize, Monsieur, why I chose to remain unseen? Why I have done what must seem an unwomanly act?"

He was still gazing after the canoe, now a mere speck amid the waste of waters, but turned and looked into my face.

"No, Madame, yet I cannot deem your reason an unworthy one--yet wait; could it be fear for my life?"

"It was that, and that only, Monsieur. The truth came to me in a flash when I first perceived the canoe approaching yonder. I felt that hate rather than love urged Cassion to make search for us. He knew of your attempt at rescue, and if he found us here together alone, he would care for nothing save revenge. He has the power, the authority to condemn you, and have you shot. I saw no way to preserve your life, but to keep you out of his grip, until you were with your friends at Fort St. Louis."

"You sacrificed yourself for me?"

"'Tis no more than you did when you leaped from the canoe."

"_Pah_, that was a man's work; but now you risk more than life; you peril reputation--"

"No, Monsieur; no more, at least, than it was already imperiled.

Cassion need never know that I saw his searching party, and surely no one can justly blame me for being rescued from death. One does not ask, in such a moment, who the rescuer is. I feel I have chosen right, Monsieur, and yet I must trust you to never cause me to regret that I am the wife of Monsieur Cassion."

To my surprise his face brightened, his eyes smiling, as he bowed low before me.

"Your confidence shall not be betrayed, Madame," he said gallantly. "I pledge you my discretion whatever circumstances may arise. There is no cur in the De Artigny strain, and I fight my own battles. Some day I shall be face to face with Francois Cassion, and if then I fail to strike home it will be memory of your faith which restrains my hand.

And now I rejoice that I can make your sacrifice less grievous."

"In what way, Monsieur?"

"In that we are no longer entirely alone in our wilderness adventure.

I have fortunately brought back with me a comrade, whose presence will rob Cassion of some sharpness of tongue. Shall we go meet him?"

"Meet him! a man, you mean? One rescued from the canoe?"

"No, but more likely to serve us a good turn--a soldier under Monsieur de la Durantaye, who has camp below at the portage to the Des Plaines.

Out yonder I ran onto him, bearing some message from Green Bay--an odd fellow, but with a gun at his shoulder, and a tongue with which to tell the truth on occasion. Come, Madame, there is naught now you need to fear."

CHAPTER XXI

WE DECIDE OUR COURSE

With a feeling of relief in my heart, a sense that my reputation was safe, and that the good God had set the seal of His approval on the choice made, I accepted De Artigny's outstretched hand, and permitted him to assist me down the bank. The new arrival was just within the edge of the forest, bending over a freshly kindled fire, barely commencing to blaze, and beside him on the grass lay a wild fowl, already plucked of its feathers. So intent was the fellow at his task, he did not even lift his head until my companion hailed him.

"Barbeau, here is the lady of whom I spoke--the wife of Monsieur Cassion."

He stood up, and made me a salute as though I were an officer, as odd a looking little man as ever I had seen, with a small, peaked face, a mop of black hair, and a pair of shrewd, humorous eyes. His dress was that of a _courier du bois_, with no trace of uniform save the blue forage cap gripped in one hand, yet he stood stiff as if on parade. In spite of his strange, uncouth appearance there was that in his face which won my favor, and I held out my hand.

"You are a soldier of France, Monsieur de Artigny tells me."

"Yes, Madame, of the Regiment Carignan-Salliers," he answered.

"I wonder have you served long? My father was an officer in that command--Captain la Chesnayne."

The expression on the man's face changed magically.

"You the daughter of Captain la Chesnayne," he exclaimed, the words bursting forth uncontrolled, "and married to Cassion! how can this be?"

"You knew him then--my father?"

"Ay, Madame; I was with him at the Richelieu, at the village of the Mohawks; and at Bois le Blanc, where he died. I am Jacques Barbeau, a soldier for twenty years; did he not speak to you of me?"

"I was but a girl when he was killed, and we seldom met, for he was usually on campaign. Yet what do you mean by thus expressing surprise at my marriage to Monsieur Cassion?"

He hesitated, evidently regretting his impulsive speech, and glancing from my face into the stern eyes of De Artigny.

"Monsieur, Madame, I spoke hastily; it was not my place."

"That may be true, Barbeau," replied the Sieur grimly, "yet the words have been said, and the lady has a right to have them explained. Was there quarrel between her father and this Francois Cassion?"

"Ay, there was, and bitter, although I know nothing as to the cause.

Cassion, and La Barre--he whom I now hear is Governor of New France--were alike opposed to Captain la Chesnayne, and but for reports they made he would have been the colonel. He struck Cassion in the mess tent, and they were to fight the very morning the Iroquois met us at Bois le Blanc. 'Twas the talk of the men that the captain was shot from behind."