190
My eyes met his in surprise.
“Friends, Monsieur! Are we not? Why do you address me like that?”
“Because you treat me as though I were a criminal,” he said earnestly. “As if I had done you an evil in making you my wife. ’Twas not I who hastened the matter, but La Barre. ’Tis not just to condemn me unheard, yet I have been patient and kind. I thought it might be that you loved another––in truth I imagined that De Artigny had cast his spell upon you; yet you surely cannot continue to trust that villain––the murderer of your uncle.”
“How know you that to be true?” I asked.
“Because there is no other accounting for it,” he explained sternly. “The quarrel last evening, the early departure before dawn––”
“At your orders, Monsieur.”
“Ay, but the sergeant tells me the fellow was absent from the camp for two hours during the night; that in the moonlight he saw him come down the hill. Even if he did not do the deed himself, he must have discovered the body––yet he voiced no alarm.”
I was silent, and my eyes fell from his face to the green water.
“’Twill be hard to explain,” he went on. “But he shall have a chance.”
“A chance! You will question him; and then––”
191
He hesitated whether to answer me, but there was a cruel smile on his thin lips.
“Faith, I do not know. ’Tis like to be a court-martial at the Rock, if ever we get him there; though the chances are the fellow will take to the woods when he finds himself suspected. No doubt the best thing I can do will be to say nothing until we hold him safe, though ’tis hard to pretend with such a villain.”
He paused, as if hoping I might speak, and my silence angered him.
“Bah, if I had my way the young cockerel would face a file at our first camp. Ay! and it will be for you to decide if he does not.”
“What is your meaning, Monsieur?”
“That I am tired of your play-acting; of your making eyes at this forest dandy behind my back.Sang Dieu! I am done with all this––do you hear?––and I have a grip now which will make you think twice, my dear, before you work any more sly tricks on me.Sacre, you think me easy, hey? I have in my hand so,” and he opened and closed his fingers suggestively, “the life of the lad.”
192CHAPTER XVIMY PLEDGE SAVES DE ARTIGNY
I had one glimpse of his face as he leaned forward, and there was a look in it which made me shudder, and turn away. His was no idle threat, and whether the man truly loved me or not, his hatred of De Artigny was sufficient for any cruelty.
I realized the danger, the necessity for compromise, and yet for the moment I lacked power to speak, to question, fearful lest his demands would be greater than I could grant. I had no thought of what I saw, and still that which my eyes rested upon remains pictured on my brain, the sparkle of sun on the water, the distant green of the shore, the soldiers huddled in the canoe, the dark shining bodies of the Indians ceaselessly plying the paddles, and beyond us, to the left, another canoe, cleaving the water swiftly, with Père Allouez’ face turned toward us, as though he sought to guess our conversation. I was aroused by the grip of Cassion’s hand.
“Well, my beauty,” he said harshly, “haven’t I waited long enough to learn if it is war or peace between us?”
193
I laughed, yet I doubt if he gained any comfort from the expression of the eyes which met his.
“Why I choose peace, of course, Monsieur,” I answered, assuming a carelessness I was far from feeling. “Am I not your wife? Surely you remind me of it often enough, so I am not likely to forget; but I resent the insult of your words, nor will you ever win favor from me by such methods. I have been friendly with Sieur de Artigny, it is true, but there is nothing more between us. Indeed no word has passed my lips in his presence I would not be willing for you to hear. So there is no cause for you to spare him on my account, or rest his fate on any action of mine.”
“You will have naught to do with the fellow?”
“There would be small chance if I wished, Monsieur; and do you suppose I would seek companionship with one who had killed my uncle?”
“’Twould scarce seem so, yet I know not what you believe.”
“Nor do I myself; yet the evidence is all against the man thus far. I confess I should like to hear his defense, but I make you this pledge in all honor––I will have no word with him, on condition that you file no charges until we arrive at Fort St. Louis.”
“Ah!” suspiciously, “you think he has friends there to hold him innocent.”
194
“Why should I, Monsieur? Indeed, why should I care but to have justice done? I do not wish his blood on your hands, or to imagine that he is condemned because of his friendship for me rather than any other crime. I know not what friends the man has at the Rock on the Illinois. He was of La Salle’s party, and they are no longer in control. La Barre said that De Baugis commanded that post, and for all I know De Tonty and all his men may have departed.”
“’Tis not altogether true, and for that reason we are ordered to join the company. De Baugis has the right of it under commission from La Barre, but does not possess sufficient soldiers to exercise authority. La Salle’s men remain loyal to De Tonty, and the Indian tribes look to him for leadership.Mon Dieu! it was reported in Quebec that twelve thousand savages were living about the fort––ay! and De Artigny said he doubted it not, for the meadows were covered with tepees––so De Baugis has small chance to rule until he has force behind him. They say this De Tonty is of a fighting breed––the savages call him the man with the iron hand––and so the two rule between them, the one for La Barre, and the other for La Salle, and we go to give the Governor’s man more power.”
“You have sufficient force?”
“Unless the Indians become hostile; besides there is to be an overland party later to join us in the spring,195and Sieur de la Durantaye, of the regiment of Carignan-Salliers is at the Chicago portage. This I learned at St. Ignace.”
“Then it would seem to me, Monsieur, that you could safely wait the trial of De Artigny until our arrival at the fort. If he does not feel himself suspected, he will make no effort to escape, and I give you the pledge you ask.”
It was not altogether graciously that he agreed to this, yet the man could not refuse, and I was glad enough to escape thus easily, for it was my fear that he might insist on my yielding much more to preserve De Artigny from immediate condemnation and death. The fellow had the power, and the inclination, and what good fortune saved me, I can never know. I think he felt a certain fear of me, a doubt of how far he might presume on my good nature.
Certainly I gave him small encouragement to venture further, and yet had he done so I would have been at my wit’s end. Twice the words were upon his lips––a demand that I yield to his mastery––but he must have read in my eyes a defiance he feared to front, for they were not uttered. ’Twas that he might have this very talk that he had found me place alone in his canoe, and I would have respected him more had he dared to carry out his desire. The coward in the man was too apparent, and yet that very cowardice was proof of196treachery. What he hesitated to claim boldly he would attain otherwise if he could. I could place no confidence in his word, nor reliance upon his honor.
However nothing occurred to give Cassion opportunity, nor to tempt me to violate my own pledge. We proceeded steadily upon our course, aided by fair weather, and quiet waters for several days. So peaceful were our surroundings that my awe and fear of the vast lake on which we floated passed away, and I began to appreciate its beauty, and love those changing vistas, which opened constantly to our advance.
We followed the coast line, seldom venturing beyond sight of land, except as we cut across from point to point; and fair as the wooded shore appeared, its loneliness, and the desolation of the great waters began, at last, to affect our spirits. The men no longer sang at their work, and I could see the depression in their eyes as they stared about across ceaseless waves to the dim horizon.
Day after day it was the same dull monotony, crouched in the narrow canoe, watching the movements of the paddlers, and staring about at endless sea and sky, with distant glimpse of wilderness. We lost interest in conversation, in each other, and I lay for hours with eyes closed to the glare of the sun, feeling no desire save to be left alone. Yet there were scenes of surpassing beauty unrolled before us at sunrise197and sunset, and when the great silvery moon reflected its glory in the water.
Had companionship been congenial no doubt every league of that journey would have proven a joy to be long remembered, but with Cassion beside me, ever seeking some excuse to make me conscious of his purpose, I found silence to be my most effective weapon of defense. Twice I got away in Père Allouez’ canoe, and found pleasure in conversing, although I had no confidence in the priest, and knew well that my absence would anger Cassion.
Our camps occurred wherever night overtook us and we found good landing place. Occasionally we went ashore earlier, and the Indians hunted for wild game, usually with success. In all these days and nights I had no glimpse of De Artigny, nor of his crew. It was not possible for me to question Cassion, for to do so would have aroused his jealous suspicion; but, as he never once referred to their continued absence, I became convinced that it was his orders which kept them ahead. No doubt it was best, as the men soon forgot the tragedy of Hugo Chevet’s death, and after the first day I do not recall hearing the murder discussed.
Such deeds were not uncommon, and Chevet had made no friends to cherish his memory. If others suspected De Artigny they felt little resentment or198desire to punish him––and doubtless the men had quarreled, and the fatal knife thrust been delivered in fair fight. The result interested them only slightly, and none regretted the loss of the man killed.
We made no entrance into Green Bay, for there was nothing there but a newly established mission station, and perhaps a hunter’s camp, scarcely worth our wasting two days in seeking. Besides the night we made camp at a spot marked on the map as Point de Tour, we found waiting us there the advance canoe, and both De Artigny and the chief counseled that our course be south across the mouth of the bay. I sat in my tent and watched them discuss the matter in the red glow of a fire, but this was my only glimpse of De Artigny, until he led the way the next morning.
Our voyage that day was a long one, and we were often beyond view of land, although we skirted several islands. The lake was stirred by a gentle breeze, yet not enough to delay our passage, and the sky above was cloudless. The Indian chief took the steering paddle in one of our boats, relieving Père Allouez, and De Artigny guided us, his canoe a mere black speck ahead. It was already dark when we finally attained the rocky shore of Port de Morts.
When dawn came De Artigny and his crew had departed by order of Cassion, but the chief remained to take charge of the third canoe. The indifference199the younger man had shown to my presence hurt me strangely––he had made no effort to approach or address me; indeed, so far as I was aware, had not so much as glanced in my direction. Did he still resent my words, or was it his consciousness of guilt, which held him thus aloof?
Not for a moment would I believe him wholly uninterested. There had been that in his eyes I should never forget, and so I persuaded myself that he thus avoided me because he feared to anger Cassion. This was not at all in accord with his nature as I understood it, yet the explanation gave me a certain content, and I could find no better. Thus we resumed our journey southward along the shore, but with clouded skies overhead, and the water about us dull and gray.
200CHAPTER XVIITHE BREAK OF STORM
We had no more pleasant weather for days, the skies being overcast and the wind damp and chill. It did not rain, nor were the waves dangerous, although choppy enough to make paddling tiresome and difficult.
A mist obscured the view, and compelled us to cling close to the shore so as to prevent becoming lost in the smother, and as we dare not venture to strike out boldly from point to point, we lost much time in creeping along the curves.
The canoes kept closer together, never venturing to become separated, and the men stationed on watch in the bows continually called to each other across the tossing waters in guidance. Even De Artigny kept within sight, and made camp with us at night, although he made no effort to seek me, nor did I once detect that he even glanced in my direction. The studied indifference of the man puzzled me more than it angered, but I believed it was his consciousness of guilt, rather than any dislike which caused his avoidance. In a way I rejoiced at his following this course, as I felt bound201by my pledge to Cassion, and had no desire to further arouse the jealousy of the latter, yet I remained a woman, and consequently felt a measure of regret at being thus neglected and ignored.
However I had my reward, as this state of affairs was plainly enough to Monsieur Cassion’s liking, for his humor changed for the better, in spite of our slow progress, and I was pleased to note that his watchfulness over my movements while ashore noticeably relaxed. Once he ventured to speak a bold word or two, inspired possibly by my effort to appear more friendly, but I gave him small opportunity to become offensive, for the raw, disagreeable atmosphere furnished me with sufficient excuse to snuggle down beneath blankets, and thus ignore his presence.
I passed most of those days thus hidden from sight, only occasionally lifting my head to peer out at the gray, desolate sea, or watch the dim, mist-shrouded coast line. It was all of a color––a gloomy, dismal scene, the continuance of which left me homesick and spiritless. Never have I felt more hopeless and alone. It seemed useless to keep up the struggle; with every league we penetrated deeper into the desolate wilderness, and now I retained not even one friend on whom I could rely.
As Cassion evidenced his sense of victory––as I read it in his laughing words, and the bold glance of202his eyes––there came to me a knowledge of defeat, which seemed to rob me of all strength and purpose. I was not ready to yield yet; the man only angered me, and yet I began dimly to comprehend that the end was inevitable––my courage was oozing away, and somewhere in this lonely, friendless wilderness the moment I dreaded would come, and I would have no power to resist. More than once in my solitude, hidden beneath the blankets, I wiped tears from my eyes as I sensed the truth; yet he never knew, nor did I mean he should.
I had no knowledge of the date, nor a very clear conception of where we were, although it must have been either the fourth or fifth day since we left Port du Morts. The night before, we had camped at the mouth of a small stream, the surrounding forest growing down close to the shore, and so thick as to be almost impenetrable. The men had set up my tent so close to the water the waves broke scarcely a foot away, and the fire about which the others clustered for warmth was but a few yards distant.
Wrapped in my blankets I saw De Artigny emerge from the darkness, and approach Cassion, who drew a map from his belt pocket, and spread it open on the ground in the glare of the fire. The two men bent over it, tracing the lines with finger tips, evidently determining their course for the morrow. Then De203Artigny made a few notes on a scrap of paper, arose to his feet, and disappeared.
They had scarcely exchanged a word, and the feeling of enmity between them was apparent. Cassion sat quiet, the map still open, and stared after the younger man until he vanished in the darkness. The look upon his face was not a pleasant one.
Impelled by a sudden impulse I arose to my feet, the blanket still draped about my shoulders, and crossed the open space to the fire. Cassion, hearing the sound of my approach, glanced around, his frown changing instantly into a smile.
“Ah, quite an adventure this,” he said, adopting a tone of pleasantry. “The first time you have left your tent, Madame?”
“The first time I have felt desire to do so,” I retorted. “I feel curiosity to examine your map.”
“And waited until I was alone; I appreciate the compliment,” and he removed his hat in mock gallantry. “There was a time when you would have come earlier.”
“Your sarcasm is quite uncalled for. You have my pledge relative to the Sieur de Artigny, Monsieur, which suffices. If you do not care to give me glimpse of your map, I will retire again.”
“Pouf! do not be so easily pricked, I spoke in jest. Ay, look at the paper, but the tracing is so poor ’tis no204better than a guess where we are. Sit you down, Madame, so the fire gives light, and I will show you our position the best I can.”
“Did not De Artigny know?”
“He thinks he does, but his memory is not over clear, as he was only over this course the once. ’Tis here he has put the mark, while my guess would be a few leagues beyond.”
I bent over, my eyes seeking the points indicated. I had seen the map before, yet it told me little, for I was unaccustomed to such study, and the few points, and streams named had no real meaning to my mind. The only familiar term was Chicagou Portage, and I pointed to it with my fingers.
“Is it there we leave the lake, Monsieur?”
“Ay; the rest will be river work. You see this stream? ’Tis called the Des Plaines, and leads into the Illinois. De Artigny says it is two miles inland, across a flat country. ’Twas Père Marquette who passed this way first, but since then many have traversed it. ’Tis like to take us two days to make the portage.”
“And way up here is Port du Morts, where we crossed the opening into Green Bay, and we have come since all this distance. Surely ’tis not far along the shore now to the portage?”
“Mon Dieu, who knows! It looks but a step on the205map, yet ’tis not likely the distance has ever been measured.”
“What said the Sieur de Artigny?”
“Bah! the Sieur de Artigny; ever it is the Sieur de Artigny. ’Tis little he knows about it in my judgment. He would have it thirty leagues yet, but I make it we are ten leagues to the south of where he puts us. What, are you going already? Faith, I had hopes you might tarry here a while yet, and hold converse with me.”
I paused, in no way tempted, yet uncertain.
“You had some word you wished to say, Monsieur?”
“There are words enough if you would listen.”
“’Tis no fault of yours if I do not. But not now, Monsieur. It is late, and cold. We take the boats early, and I would rest while I can.”
He was on his feet, the map gripped in his hand, but made no effort to stop me, as I dropped him a curtsey, and retreated. But he was there still when I glanced back from out the safety of the tent, his forehead creased by a frown. When he finally turned away the map was crushed shapeless in his fingers.
The morning dawned somewhat warmer, but with every promise of a storm, threatening clouds hanging above the water, sullen and menacing, their edges tipped with lightning. The roar of distant thunder206came to our ears, yet there was no wind, and Cassion decided that the clouds would drift southward, and leave us safe passage along the shore. His canoe had been wrenched in making landing the evening before, and had taken in considerable water during the night. This was bailed out, but the interior was so wet and uncomfortable that I begged to be given place in another boat, and Cassion consented, after I had exhibited some temper, ordering a soldier in the sergeant’s canoe to exchange places with me.
We were the last to depart from the mouth of the stream where we had made night camp, and I took more than usual interest, feeling oddly relieved to be away from Cassion’s presence for an entire day. The man irritated me, insisting on a freedom of speech I could not tolerate, thus keeping me constantly on defense, never certain when his audacity would break bounds. So this morning it was a relief to sit up, free of my blanket, and watch the men get under way.
We may have proceeded for half a league, when a fog swept in toward the land enveloping us in its folds, although we were close enough to the shore so as to keep safely together, the word being passed back down the line, and as we drew nearer I became aware that De Artigny’s boat had turned about, and he was endeavoring to induce Cassion to go ashore and make camp before the storm broke. The latter, however,207was obstinate, claiming we were close enough for safety, and finally, in angry voice, insisted upon proceeding on our course.
De Artigny, evidently feeling argument useless, made no reply, but I noticed he held back his paddlers, and permitted Cassion’s canoe to forge ahead. He must have discovered that I was not with Monsieur, for I saw him stare intently at each of the other canoes, as though to make sure of my presence, shading his eyes with one hand, as he peered through the thickening mist. This action evidenced the first intimation I had for days of his continued interest in my welfare, and my heart throbbed with sudden pleasure. Whether, or not, he felt some premonition of danger, he certainly spoke words of instruction to his Indian paddlers, and so manipulated his craft as to keep not far distant, although slightly farther from shore, than the canoe in which I sat.
Cassion had already vanished in the fog, which swept thicker and thicker along the surface of the water, the nearer boats becoming mere indistinct shadows. Even within my own canoe the faces of those about me appeared gray and blurred, as the damp vapor swept over us in dense clouds. It was a ghastly scene, rendered more awesome by the glare of lightning which seemed to split the vapor, and the sound of thunder reverberating from the surface of the lake.
208
The water, a ghastly, greenish gray, heaved beneath, giving us little difficulty, yet terrifying in its suggestion of sullen strength, and the shore line was barely discernible to the left as we struggled forward. What obstinacy compelled Cassion to keep us at the task I know not––perchance a dislike to yield to De Artigny’s advice––but the sergeant swore to himself, and turned the prow of our canoe inward, hugging the shore as closely as he dared, his anxious eyes searching every rift in the mist.
Yet, dark and drear as the day was, we had no true warning of the approaching storm, for the vapor clinging to the water concealed from our sight the clouds above. When it came it burst upon us with mad ferocity, the wind whirling to the north, and striking us with all the force of three hundred miles of open sea. The mist was swept away with that first fierce gust, and we were struggling for life in a wild turmoil of waters. I had but a glimpse of it––a glimpse of wild, raging sea; of black, scurrying clouds, so close above I could almost reach out and touch them; of dimly revealed canoes flung about like chips, driving before the blast.
Our own was hurled forward like an arrow, the Indian paddlers working like mad to keep stern to the wind, their long hair whipping about. The soldiers crouched in the bottom, clinging grimly to any support,209their white faces exhibiting the abasement of fear. The sergeant alone spoke, yelling his orders, as he wielded steering paddle, his hat blown from his head, his face ghastly with sudden terror. It was but the glimpse of an instant; then a paddle broke, the canoe swung sideways, balanced on the crest of a wave and went over.
I was conscious of cries, shrill, instantly smothered, and then I sank, struggling hard to keep above water, yet borne down by the weight of the canoe. I came up again, choking and half strangled, and sought to grip the boat as it whirled past. My fingers found nothing to cling to, slipping along the wet keel, until I went down again, but this time holding my breath. My water-soaked garments, and heavy shoes made swimming almost impossible, yet I struggled to keep face above water. Two men had reached the canoe, and had somehow found hold. One of these was an Indian, but they were already too far away to aid me, and in another moment had vanished in the white crested waves. Not another of our boat’s crew was visible, nor could I be sure of where the shore lay.
Twice I went down, waves breaking over me, and flinging me about like a cork. Yet I was conscious, though strangely dazed and hopeless. I struggled, but more as if in a dream than in reality. Something black, shapeless, seemed to sweep past me through the210water; it was borne high on a wave, and I flung up my hands in protection; I felt myself gripped, lifted partially, then the grasp failed, and I dropped back into the churning water. The canoe, or whatever else it was, was gone, swept remorselessly past by the raging wind, but as I came up again to the surface a hand clasped me, drew me close until I had grip on a broad shoulder.
211CHAPTER XVIIIALONE WITH DE ARTIGNY
Beyond this I knew nothing; with the coming of help, the sense that I was no longer struggling unaided for life in those treacherous waters, all strength and consciousness left me. When I again awoke, dazed, trembling, a strange blur before my eyes, I was lying upon a sandy beach, with a cliff towering above me, its crest tree-lined, and I could hear the dash of waves breaking not far distant. I endeavored to raise myself to look about, but sank back helpless, fairly struggling for breath. An arm lifted my head from the sand, and I stared into a face bending above me, at first without recollection.
“Lie still a moment,” said a voice gently. “You will breathe easier shortly, and regain strength.”
I knew my fingers closed on the man’s hand convulsively, but the water yet blinded my eyes. He must have perceived this for he wiped my face with a cloth, and it was then I perceived his face clearly, and remembered.
“The Sieur de Artigny!” I exclaimed.
212
“Of course,” he answered. “Who else should it be, Madame? Please do not regret my privilege.”
“Your privilege; ’tis a strange word you choose, Monsieur,” I faltered, not yet having control of myself. “Surely I have granted none.”
“Perchance not, as there was small chance,” he answered, evidently attempting to speak lightly. “Nor could I wait to ask your leave; yet surely I may esteem it a privilege to bring you ashore alive.”
“It was you then who saved me? I scarcely understood, Monsieur; I lost consciousness, and am dazed in mind. You leaped into the water from the canoe?”
“Yes; there was no other course left me. My boat was beyond yours, a few yards farther out in the lake, when the storm struck. We were partially prepared, for I felt assured there would be trouble.”
“You told Monsieur Cassion so,” I interrupted, my mind clearing. “It was to bring him warning you returned.”
“I urged him to land until we could be assured of good weather. My Indians agreed with me.”
“And he refused to listen; then you permitted your canoe to fall behind; you endeavored to keep close to the boat I was in––was that not true, Monsieur?”
He laughed, but very softly, and the grave look did not desert his eyes.
“You noted me then! Faith, I had no thought you213so much as glanced toward us. Well, and why should I not? Is it not a man’s duty to seek to guard your safety in such an hour? Monsieur Cassion did not realize the peril, for he knows naught of the treachery of this lake, while I have witnessed its sudden storms before, and learned to fear them. So I deemed it best to be near at hand. For that you cannot chide me.”
“No, no, Monsieur,” and I managed to sit up, and escape the pressure of his arm. “To do that would be the height of ingratitude. Surely I should have died but for your help, yet I hardly know now what occurred––you sprang from the canoe?”
“Ay, when I found all else useless. Never did I feel more deadly blast; no craft such as ours could face it. We were to your left and rear when your canoe capsized, and I bore down toward where you struggled in the water. An Indian got grip upon you as we swept by, but the craft dipped so that he let go, and then I jumped, for we could never come back, and that was the only chance. This is the whole story, Madame, except that by God’s help, I got you ashore.”
I looked into his face, impressed by the seriousness with which he spoke.
“I––I thank you, Monsieur,” I said, and held out my hand. “It was most gallant. Are we alone here? Where are the others?”
“I do not know, Madame,” he answered, his tone214now that of formal courtesy. “’Tis but a short time since we reached this spot, and the storm yet rages. May I help you to stand, so you may perceive better our situation.”
He lifted me to my feet, and I stood erect, my clothes dripping wet, and my limbs trembling so that I grasped his arm for support, and glanced anxiously about. We were on a narrow sand beach, at the edge of a small cove, so protected the waters were comparatively calm, although the trees above bowed to the blast, and out beyond the headland I could see huge waves, whitened with foam, and perceive the clouds of spray flung up by the rocks. It was a wild scene, the roar of the breakers loud and continuous, and the black clouds flying above with dizzy rapidity. All the horror which I had just passed through seemed typified in the scene, and I covered my face with my hands.
“You––you think they––they are all gone?” I asked, forcing the words from me.
“Oh, no,” he answered eagerly, and his hand touched me. “Do not give way to that thought. I doubt if any in your canoe made shore, but the others need not be in great danger. They could run before the storm until they found some opening in the coast line to yield protection. The sergeant was novoyageur, and when one of the paddles broke he steered wrong. With an Indian there you would have floated.”
215
“Then what can we do?”
“There is naught that I see, but wait. Monsieur Cassion will be blown south, but will return when the storm subsides to seek you. No doubt he will think you dead, yet will scarcely leave without search. See, the sky grows lighter already, and the wind is less fierce. It would be my thought to attain the woods yonder, and build a fire to dry our clothes; the air chills.”
I looked where he pointed, up a narrow rift in the rocks, yet scarcely felt strength or courage to attempt the ascent. He must have read this in my face, and seen my form shiver as the wind struck my wet garments, for he made instant decision.
“Ah, I have a better thought than that, for you are too weak to attempt the climb. Here, lie down, Madame, and I will cover you with the sand. It is warm and dry. Then I will clamber up yonder, and fling wood down; ’twill be but a short time until we have a cheerful blaze here.”
I shook my head, but he would listen to no negative, and so, at last, I yielded to his insistence, and he piled the white sand over me until all but my face was covered. To me the position was ridiculous enough, yet I appreciated the warmth and protection, and he toiled with enthusiasm, his tongue as busy as his hands in effort to make me comfortable.
216
“’Tis the best thing possible; the warmth of your body will dry your clothes. Ah, it is turning out a worthy adventure, but will soon be over with. The storm is done already, although the waves still beat the shore fiercely. ’Tis my thought Monsieur Cassion will be back along this way ere dusk, and a canoe can scarce go past without being seen while daylight lasts, and at night we will keep a fire. There, is that better? You begin to feel warm?”
“Yes, Monsieur.”
“Then lie still, and do not worry. All will come out right in a few hours more. Now I will go above, and throw down some dry wood. I shall not be out of sight more than a few minutes.”
From where I lay, my head on a hummock of sand, my body completely buried, I could watch him scale the rocks, making use of the rift in the face of the cliff, and finding no great difficulty. At the top he looked back, waved his hand, and then disappeared among the trees. All was silent about me, except for the dash of distant waves, and the rustle of branches far overhead. I gazed up at the sky, where the clouds were thinning, giving glimpses of faintest blue, and began to collect my own thoughts, and realize my situation.
In spite of my promise to Cassion I was here alone with De Artigny, helpless to escape his presence, or to217be indifferent for the service he had rendered me. Nor had I slightest wish to escape. Even although it should be proven that the man was the murderer of my uncle, I could not break the influence he had over me, and now, when it was not proven, I simply must struggle to believe that he could be the perpetrator of the deed. All that I seemed truly conscious of was a relief at being free from the companionship of Cassion. I wanted to be alone, relieved from his attentions, and the fear of what he might attempt next. Beyond this my mind did not go, for I felt weak from the struggle in the water, and a mere desire to lie quiet and rest took possession of all my faculties.
De Artigny appeared at the edge of the cliff, and called to reassure me of his presence. He had his arms filled with broken bits of wood which were tossed to the sand, and, a moment later, he descended the rift in the wall, and paused beside me.
“No sign of anyone up there,” he said, and I felt not regretfully. “The canoes must have been blown some distance down the coast.”
“Were you able to see far?”
“Ay, several leagues, for we are upon a headland, and there is a wide sweep of bay below. The shore line is abrupt, and the waves still high. Indeed I saw no spot in all that distance where a boat might make safe landing. Are you becoming dry?”
218
“I am at least warm, and already feel much stronger. Would it not be best, Monsieur, for us to scale the cliff, and wait our rescuers there, where we can keep lookout?”
“If you feel able to climb the rocks, although the passage is not difficult. A boat might pass us by here and never be seen, or know of our presence, unless we keep up a fire.”
I held out my hand to him, and he helped me to my feet. The warmth of the sand while it had not entirely dried my clothing, had given me fresh vigor, and I stood erect, requiring no assistance. With this knowledge a new assurance seemed to take possession of me, and I looked about, and smiled.
“I am glad to know you can laugh,” he said eagerly. “I have felt that our being thus shipwrecked together was not altogether to your liking.”
“And why?” I asked, pretending surprise. “Being shipwrecked, of course, could scarcely appeal to me, but I am surely not ungrateful to you for saving my life.”
“As to that, I did no more than any man might be expected to do,” he protested. “But you have avoided me for weeks past, and it can scarcely be pleasant now to be alone with me here.”
“Avoided you! Rather should I affirm it was your own choice, Monsieur. If I recall aright I gave you219my confidence once, long ago on the Ottawa, and you refused my request of assistance. Since then you have scarcely been of our party.”
He hesitated, as though doubtful of what he had best say.
“It was never through indifference as to your welfare,” he answered at last, “but obedience to orders. I am but an employee on this expedition.”
My eyes met his.
“Did Monsieur Cassion command that you keep in advance?” I asked, “and make your night camps beyond those of the main company?”
“Those were his special orders, for which I saw no need, except possibly his desire to keep us separated. Yet I did not know his reason, nor was it my privilege to ask. Had Monsieur Cassion any occasion to distrust me?”
“I know not as to occasion, Monsieur, but he left Quebec disliking you because of our conference there, and some words La Barre spoke gave him fresh suspicion that you and I were friends, and should be watched. I do not altogether blame the man for he learned early that I thought little of him, and held it no honor to be his wife. Yet that distrust would have died, no doubt, had it not been fanned into flame by accident.
“I was kept in his boat, and every instant guarded220by either himself, or Père Allouez, his faithful servitor, until long after we passed Montreal, and entered the wilderness. That day I met you on the bluff was the first opportunity I had found to be alone. Your crew were beyond the rapids, and Cassion felt there could be no danger in yielding me liberty, although, had thepèrenot been ill, ’tis doubtful if I had been permitted to disappear alone.”
“But he knew naught of our meeting?”
“You mistake, Monsieur. Scarcely had you gone when he appeared, and, by chance, noted your footprints, and traced them to where you descended the cliff. Of course he had no proof, and I admitted nothing, yet he knew the truth, and sought to pledge me not to speak with you again.”
“And you made such pledge?”
“No; I permitted him to believe that I did, for otherwise there would have been an open quarrel. From then until now we have never met.”
“No,” he burst forth, “but I have been oftentimes nearer you than you thought. I could not forget what you said to me at that last meeting, or the appeal you made for my assistance. I realize the position you are in, Madame, married by force to a man you despise, a wife only in name, and endeavoring to protect yourself by wit alone. I could not forget all this, nor be indifferent. I have been in your camp at night––ay,221more than once––dreaming I might be of some aid to you, and to assure myself of your safety.”
“You have guarded me?”
“As best I could, without arousing the wrath of Monsieur Cassion. You are not angry? it was but the duty of a friend.”
“No, I am not angry, Monsieur, yet it was not needed. I do not fear Cassion, so long as I can protect myself, for if he attempts evil it will find some form of treachery. But, Monsieur, later I gave him the pledge he asked.”
“The pledge! What pledge?”
“That I would neither meet, nor communicate with you until our arrival at Fort St. Louis.”
My eyes fell before his earnest gaze, and I felt my limbs tremble.
“Mon Dieu! Why? There was some special cause?”
“Yes, Monsieur––listen. Do not believe this is my thought, yet I must tell you the truth. Hugo Chevet was found dead, murdered, at St. Ignace. ’Twas the morning of our departure, and your boat had already gone. Cassion accused you of the crime, as some of the men saw you coming from the direction where the body was found late at night, and others reported that you two had quarreled the evening before. Cassion would have tried you offhand, using his222authority as commander of the expedition, but promised not to file charges until we reached St. Louis, if I made pledge––’twas then I gave him my word.”
De Artigny straightened up, the expression on his face one of profound astonishment.
“He––he accused me,” he asked, “of murder to win your promise?”
“No, Monsieur; he believed the charge true, and I pledged myself to assure you a fair trial.”
“Then you believed also that I was guilty of the foul crime?”
I caught my breath, yet there was nothing for me to do but give him a frank answer.
“I––I have given no testimony, Monsieur,” I faltered, “but I––I saw you in the moonlight bending over Chevet’s dead body.”