riors,
ready to pounce down on one. They hugged the shore closely, sometimes it
was translucent green, and one could almost catch the darting fishes
with one's hand. Then the dense shade rendered it black, and it seemed
bottomless.

So gliding along, keeping well out of the reach of other craft, the
hours growing more tiresome to Jeanne, they passed the Point Aux Barques
and steered across Saginaw bay. Once they had stopped for a little rest
and a tramp along the shore. Then another evening dropped down upon
them, another night, and Jeanne slept from a sort of exhaustion.

The next forenoon they landed at one of the islands, where a trading
vessel of considerable size and fair equipment lay at anchor. A man on
deck with a glass had been sighting them. She had not noted him
particularly, in fact she was weary and disheartened with her journey
and her fears. But they made a sudden turn and came up to the vessel,
poled around to the shore side, when she was suddenly lifted up by
strong arms and caught by other arms with a motion so rapid she could
not have struggled if she had wished. And now she was set down almost
roughly.

"Welcome, my fair demoiselle," said a voice whose triumph was in no
degree disguised. "How shall I ever thank you for this journey you have
taken to meet me? I could have made it pleasanter for you if you would
have consented a little earlier. But a willful girl takes her own way,
and her way is sweet to the man who loves her, no matter how briery the
path may be."

Jeanne Angelot was stunned. Then her worst fears were realized. She was
in the power of Louis Marsac. Oh, why had she not thrown herself into
the river; why had she not seized the knife with which they had been
cutting venison steak yester morn and ended it all? She tried to
speak--her lips were dry, and her tongue numb as well as dumb.

He took her arm. As if deprived of resistance she suffered herself to be
led forward and then down a few steps. He opened a door.

"See," he said, "I have arranged a pretty bower for you, and a servant
to wait upon you. And now, Mam'selle Angelot, further refusal is
useless. To-morrow or next day at the latest the priest will make us man
and wife."

"I will never be your wife alive," she said. Every pulse within her
shrank from the desecration.

"Oh, yes, you will," and he smiled with a blandness that was maddening.
"When we are once married I shall be very sweet and gentle. I shall wait
with su