forth a paper or two. Cassion took
these, gripping them in his fingers, his face appearing gray in the
early light.

"_Mon Dieu_! the man has been murdered," he exclaimed, "a dastard blow
in the back. Look about, and see if you find a knife. Had he quarrel
with anyone, Moulin?"

The soldier straightened up.

"No, Monsieur; I heard of none, though he was often rough and harsh of
tongue to the men. Ah! now I recall, he had words with Sieur de
Artigny on the beach at dusk. I know not the cause, yet the younger
man left him angrily, and passed by where I stood, with his hands
clinched."

"De Artigny, hey!" Cassion's voice had a ring of pleasure in it. "Ay!
he is a hothead. Know you where the young cock is now?"

"He, with the Chief, left an hour ago. Was it not your order,
Monsieur?"

Cassion made a swift gesture, but what it might signify I could not
determine, as his face was turned away. A moment there was silence, as
he shaded his eyes, and peered out across the water.

"True, so I did," he said at last. "They were to depart before dawn.
The villain is yonder--see; well off that farthest point, and 'tis too
late to overtake him now. _Sacre_! there is naught for us to do, that
I see, but to bury Hugo Chevet, and go our way--the King's business
cannot wait."

They brought the body into the mission house, and laid it upon the
bench. I did not look upon the ghastly face, which the young priest
had covered, but I sank to my knees and prayed earnestly for the
repose of his soul. For a moment I felt in my heart a tenderness for
this rough, hard man who in the past had caused me such suffering.

Perchance he was not altogether to blame; his had been a rough, hard
life, and I had only brought him care and trouble. So there were tears
in my eyes as I knelt beside him, although in secret my heart rejoiced
that De Artigny had gone, and would not be confronted with his victim;
for there was no longer doubt in my mind of his guilt, for surely, had
the man been innocent, he would have sounded an alarm. It was
Cassion's hand which aroused me, and I glanced up at his face through
the tears clinging to my lashes.

"What, crying!" he exclaimed, in apparent surprise. "I never thought
the man of such value to you as to cause tears at his death."

"He was of my blood," I answered soberly, rising to my feet, "and his
murder most foul."

"Ay! true enough, girl, and we will bring to book the villain who did
the deed. Yet we can