us," he continued, now speaking
with a calmness which held me silent. "And I wish you to know the
truth, so far as I can make it clear. This has been in my mind for
weeks, and I say it to you now as solemnly as though I knelt before a
father confessor. You have been to me a memory of inspiration ever
since we first met years ago at that convent in Quebec. I dreamed of
you in the wilderness, in the canoe on the great river, and here at
St. Louis. Never did _voyageur_ go eastward but I asked him to bring
me word from you, and each one, bore from me a message of greeting."

"I received none, Monsieur."

"I know that; even Sieur de la Salle failed to learn your dwelling
place. Yet when he finally chose me as his comrade on this last
journey, while I would have followed him gladly even to death, the one
hope which held me to the hardships of the trail, was the chance thus
given of seeking you myself."

"It was I you sought then at the home of Hugo Chevet? not service
under Francois Cassion? Yet, when we met, you knew me not."

"Nay; I had no thought that you were there. 'Twas told me in
Quebec--for what cause I cannot decide--that you had returned to
France. I had given up all hope, and that very fact made me blind to
your identity. Indeed, I scarce comprehended that you were really
Adele la Chesnayne, until we were alone together in the palace of the
Intendant. After I left you there, left you facing La Barre; left you
knowing of your forced engagement to his commissaire, I reached a
decision--I meant to accompany his party to Montreal, find some excuse
on the way for quarrel, and return to Quebec--and you."

He paused, but I uttered no word, conscious that my cheeks were
burning hotly, and afraid to lift my eyes to his face.

"You know the rest. I have made the whole journey; I have borne
insult, the charge of crime, merely that I might remain, and serve
you. Why do I say this? Because tonight--if we succeed in getting
through the Indian lines--I shall be again among my old comrades, and
shall be no longer a servant to Francois Cassion. I shall stand before
him a man, an equal, ready to prove myself with the steel--"

"No, Monsieur," I burst forth, "that must not be; for my sake you will
not quarrel!"

"For your sake? You would have me spare him?"

"Oh, why do you put it thus, Monsieur! It is so hard for me to
explain. You say you love me, and--and the words bring me joy. Ay, I
confess that. But do you not see