me. Run, Menehwehna! For me, I return to the Fort with
mademoiselle."

She stared at him. "Death?" she echoed, wondering.

"Death," he repeated, "and I deserve it. On many accounts I have
deserved it, but most of all for having stolen your trust. I am an
Englishman."

For a moment she did not seem to hear. Then slowly, very slowly, she
put out both hands and cowered from him.

"Return, Menehwehna!" commanded John firmly. "Yes, mademoiselle, I
cannot expiate what I have done. But I go to expiate what I can."

He took a step forward; but she had straightened herself up and stood
barring his path with her arm, fronting him with terrible scorn.

"Expiate! What can you expiate? You can only die; and are you so
much afraid of death that you think it an atonement? You can only
die, and--and--" she hid her face in her hands. "Oh, Menehwehna,
help me! He can only die, and I cannot let him die!"

Menehwehna stepped forward with impassive face. "If my brother goes
down the hill, I go with him," he announced calmly.

"You see?" Diane turned on John wildly. "You will only kill your
friend--and to what purpose? The wrong you have done you cannot
remedy; the remedy you seek would kill me surely. Ah, go! go!
Do not force me to kneel and clasp your knees--you that have already
brought me so low! Go, and let me learn to hate as well as scorn
you. You wish to expiate? This only will I take for expiation."

"Come, brother!" urged Menehwehna, taking him by the arm.

Diane bent close to the Indian, whispered a word in his ear, and,
turning about, looked John in the face.

"Are you sorry at all? If you are sorry, you will obey me now."

With one long searching look she left him and walked down the slope.
Menehwehna dragged him back into the undergrowth as the postern door
opened, and M. Etienne came through it, followed by Father Launoy,
Dominique, and Bateese.

Peering over the bushes Menehwehna saw Diane descend to meet them--he
could not see with what face.

Marvellous is woman. She met them with a gay and innocent smile.

Her whispered word to Menehwehna had been to keep by the waterside.
And later that night, when the garrison had given over beating the
woods for the fugitives, a canoe stole up the river, close under the
north bank. One man sat in it; and after paddling for a couple of
miles up-stream he began to sing as he went--softly at first, but
raising his voice by little and little--