e French
applied to a small river entering the Great Lake from the west at that
point."

"Have you journeyed there before?"

"Once, in 1803. I held Indian council on the spot, and helped lay out
the government reservation. 'T is a strange flat country, with much
broken land extending to the northward."

Little by little our conversation lapsed into silence; for the narrow
trail we followed was a most difficult one, and at times taxed our
ingenuity to the utmost. It led through dense dark woods, fortunately
free from underbrush, skirted the uncertain edges of numerous marshes
in the soft ooze of which the hoofs of our horses sank dangerously, and
for several miles followed the sinuous course of a small but rapid
stream, the name of which I have forgotten. There were few openings in
the thick forest-growth, and the matted branches overhead, interlaced
with luxuriant wild vines, so completely shut out all vestige of the
sun that we toiled onward, hour after hour, in continuous twilight.

What mysterious signs our guides followed, I was not sufficiently
expert in woodcraft to determine. To my eyes,--and I sought to observe
with care,--there was nowhere visible the slightest sign that others
had ever preceded us; it was all unbroken, virgin wilderness, marked
only by slow centuries of growth. The accumulation of moss on the
tree-trunks, as well as the shading of the leaves, told me that we
continued to journey almost directly westward; and there was no
perceptible hesitancy in our steady progress, save as we deviated from
it here and there because of natural obstacles too formidable to be
directly surmounted.

We skirted immense trees, veritable monarchs of the ages, hoary with
time, grim guardians of such forest solitudes; climbed long hills
roughened by innumerable boulders with sharp edges hidden beneath the
fallen leaves, that lamed our horses; or descended into dark and gloomy
ravines, dank with decaying vegetation, finally halting for a brief
meal upon the southern edge of a small lake, the water of which was as
clear and blue as the cloudless August sky that arched it. The sand of
the shore where we rested was white as snow, yet De Croix had his man
spread a cloak upon it before he ventured to sit down, and with care
tucked a lace handkerchief about his throat to prevent stray crumbs
from soiling the delicate yellow of his waistcoat.

"One might fancy this was to be your wedding day, Monsieur," observed