ny firing at the fort, no
sound of it reached us. Once we imagined we saw a skulking figure on
the opposite bank--an Indian Barbeau insisted--but it disappeared so
suddenly as to make us doubt our own eyes.

The loneliness and peril of our situation had tendency to keep us
silent, although De Artigny endeavored to cheer me with kindly speech,
and gave Barbeau careful description of the trail leading to the fort
gate. If aught happened to him, we were to press on until we attained
shelter. The way in which the words were said brought a lump into my
throat, and before I knew the significance of the action, my hand
clasped his. I felt the grip of his fingers, and saw his face turn
toward me in the dusk. Barbeau got to his feet, gun in hand, and stood
shading his eyes.

"I would like a closer view of that village yonder," he said, "and
will go down the bank a hundred yards or so."

"'Twill do no harm," returned De Artigny, still clasping my hand.
"There is time yet before we make our venture."

He disappeared in the shadows, leaving us alone, and I glanced aside
at De Artigny's face, my heart beating fiercely.

"You did not like to hear me speak as I did?" he questioned quietly.

"No," I answered honestly, "the thought startled me. If--if anything
happened to you, I--I should be all alone."

He bent lower, still grasping my fingers, and seeking to compel my
eyes to meet his.

"Adele," he whispered, "why is it necessary for us to keep up this
masquerade?"

"What masquerade, Monsieur?"

"This pretense at mere friendship," he insisted, "when we could serve
each other better by a frank confession of the truth. You love me--"

"Monsieur," and I tried to draw my hand away. "I am the wife of
Francois Cassion."

"I care nothing for that unholy alliance. You are his only by form. Do
you know what that marriage has cost me? Insults, ever since we left
Quebec. The coward knew I dare not lay hand upon him, because he was
your husband. We would have crossed steel a hundred times, but for my
memory of you. I could not kill the cur, for to do so would separate
us forever. So I bore his taunts, his reviling, his curses, his orders
that were insults. You think it was easy? I am a woodsman, a
lieutenant of La Salle's, and it has never before been my way to
receive insult without a blow. We are not of that breed. Yet I bore it
for your sake--why? Because I loved you."

"Oh, Monsieur!"

"'Tis naught to the shame of either of