, the leggings of Tegakwita, that her lover
might go free? Who has dishonoured herself, her brother, the father
that--" Words failed him, and he stood facing them with blazing eyes.

Menard glanced at the maid, but she had passed the point where a shock
could sway her, and now stood quietly at the door, waiting to hear
what more the warrior would say. But he stood motionless. Father
Claude touched his arm.

"If this is true, Tegakwita, the Big Buffalo must not be held to
blame. He has spoken truly. To talk in these words to the man who has
been your brother, is the act of a dog. You have forgotten that the
Big Buffalo never speaks lies."

The Indian gave no heed to his words. He took a step forward, and
raised his hand to his knife. Menard smiled contemptuously, and spread
out his hands; he had no weapon. But Tegakwita had a second thought,
and dropped his hand.

"Tegakwita, too, never speaks lies," he said. "He will come back
before the sun has come again."

He walked rapidly out, crowding roughly past the maid.

Menajd leaned against the wall. "Poor boy!" he said, "poor boy!"

The maid came slowly in, and sat on the rude bench which leaned
against the logs near the door. The strain of the day was drawing out
all the strength, the womanhood, that lay behind her buoyant youth.
Already the tan was fading from her face, here in the hut and under
the protecting elms; and the whiteness of her skin gave her, instead
of a worn appearance, the look of an older woman,--firmer, with
greater dignity. Her eyes had a deeper, fuller understanding.

"I suppose that there is nothing, M'sieu--nothing that we can do?"

Menard shook his head. "No; nothing."

"And the Indian,--he says that he will come back?"

"Yes. I don't know what he means. It doesn't matter."

"No, I suppose it doesn't."

They were silent for a moment. The maid leaned forward. "What was
that, M'sieu?"

"Loungers, on the path."

"No, they are coming here."

Menard rose, but she stepped to the door. "Let me go, M'sieu. Ah, I
see them. It is my little friends." She went out, and they could hear
her laughing with the two children, and trying to coax them toward the
door.

"Danton will never get away," said the Captain, in a low tone to the
priest.

"I fear not, M'sieu."

"He has lost his head, poor boy. I thought him of better stuff. And
the girl--Ah, if he had only gone alone! I could forgive his rashness,
Father, his disobedience, if only he co