verhead, and she could hear the lap of the tide in
the lake, a soft tone of monotony. The beauty of it all penetrated her
very soul. Even the group around the great kettle, dipping in their
wooden spoons and gravely chatting, the younger woman smiling and one
might almost imagine teasing them, had a picturesque aspect, and
softened the thought of what might happen to-morrow.

They lolled on the turf and smoked pipes afterward. Jeanne paced up and
down within sight of their glances that she knew were fixed upon her in
spite of the half-closed lids. It was so good to be free in the fragrant
air, to stretch her cramped limbs and feel the soft short grass under
her feet. Dozens of wild plans flashed through her brain. But she knew
escape was impossible, and she wondered what was to be the next move.
Were they awaiting the trader, Louis Marsac?

Plainly they were not. When they were rested and had eaten again and had
drunk a thick liquid made of roots and barks and honey, they rose and
went toward the canoe, as if discussing some matter. They parleyed with
the elder woman, who brought out two blankets and a pine needle cushion,
which they threw in the boat, then a bottle of water from the spring, a
gourd cup and some provisions.

"Come," the leader said, not unkindly. "Thou hast had a rest. We must be
on our journey."

Pleading would be in vain, she recognized that. The women could not
befriend her even if they would. So she allowed herself to be helped
into the canoe, and the men pushed off amid the rather vociferous jargon
of the women. She was made much more comfortable than before, though so
seated that either brave could reach out his long arm and snatch her
from any untoward resolve.

She looked down into the shining waters. Did she really care to try
them? The hope of youth is unbounded and its trust in the future
sublime. She did not want to die. Life was a glad, sweet thing to her,
even if full of vague dreams, and she hoped somehow to be delivered from
this danger, to find a friend raised up for her. Stories of miracles and
wonderful rescues floated through her mind. Surely God would not let her
fall a prey to this man she both feared and hated. She could feel his
one hot, vicious kiss upon her lips even yet.

The woods calmed and soothed her with their grays and greens, and the
infrequent birches, tall and slim, with circles of white still about
them. Great tree boles stood up like hosts of silent Indian war