the thought of her home and her father that had
cast her down."

"And so she has pride," mused Menard. "Could you gather any new
opinions, Father? Do you think that they may already have come to some
understanding?"

"I hardly think so, M'sieu. But may I suggest that it would be well to
be firm with Lieutenant Danton? He is young, and the maid is in our
trust,"

"True, Father. I will account for him."

There seemed to be nothing further to do at the moment, so the priest
went to his blanket, and Menard drew a bundle under his head and went
to sleep, after a glance about the camp to see that the sentry was on
watch. Now that Montreal lay behind, and the unsettled forest before,
with only a thin line of Frenchmen stretched along the river between
them and Fort Frontenac, he had divided the night into watches, and
each of the four _engages_ stood his turn.

The following day was all but half gone before the wind had dropped to
a rate that made the passage of the lake advisable. Menard ordered the
noon meal for an hour earlier than usual, and shortly afterward they
set out across the upper end of Lake St. Louis to the foot of the
cascades. Before the last bundle had been carried up the portage to
Buisson Pointe, the dusk was settling over the woods across the river,
and over the rising ground on Isle Perrot at the mouth of the Ottawa.

During the next day they passed on up the stream to the Coteau des
Cedres. Menard and Father Claude were both accustomed to take the
rapid without carrying, or even unloading, but Danton looked at the
swirling water with doubt in his eyes. When the maid, leaning back in
the canoe while the men halted at the bank to make fast for the
passage, saw the torrent that tumbled and pitched merrily down toward
them, she laughed. To hold a sober mood for long was not in her
buoyant nature, and she welcomed a dash of excitement as a relief from
the strained relations of the two days just gone.

"M'sieu," she called to Menard, with a sparkle in her eyes. "Oh,
M'sieu, may I stay in the canoe?"

Danton turned quickly at the sound of her voice, and a look, half of
pain, half of surprise, came over his face as he saw her eagerness.
Menard looked at her in doubt.

"It may be a wet passage, Mademoiselle."

"And why not, M'sieu? Have I not been wet before? See, I will protect
myself." She drew the bundles closely about her feet, and threw a
blanket across her knees. "Now I can brave the stream, Ca