ous Son of Mary, hear me!"

she cried on her knees, until a strange peace came to her soul. She
believed there would be some miracle for her. There had been for
others.

At noon, one day, they came to a landing. There was some noise and
confusion, much tramping and swearing. She heard Marsac at the door
talking to Noko in French and the woman answering him. Her heart beat so
that it well-nigh strangled her. But he did not come in. Presently the
rumbling and unloading were over, and there was no sound but the
oscillation of the vessel as it floundered in the tide with short beats,
until the turning, and then the motion grew more endurable. If she could
only see! But from her window there was nothing save an expanse of
water, dotted with canoes and some distant islands. The cabin was always
in semi-twilight.

There was a fumbling at the door presently. The bolt was drawn, the lock
snapped; and the door was opened cautiously. It was neither Noko nor
Marsac, but some one in a soft, gray blanket, with white borders. The
corner was thrown over her head. She turned stealthily, took out the
key, and locked the door again on the inside. Then she faced Jeanne who
had half risen, and her blanket fell to the floor.

A handsome Indian girl, arrayed in a beautiful costume that bespoke rank
in the wearer. Across her brow was a fillet made of polished stones that
sparkled like jewels. Her long, black hair nearly reached her knees. Her
skin was fine and clear, of a light bronze tint, through which the pink
in her cheeks glowed. Her eyes were larger and softer than most of her
race, of a liquid blackness, her nose was straight and slim, with fine
nostrils, and her mouth like an opening rose, the under petal falling
apart.

She came close to the white girl who shrank back terrified at the eyes
fixed so resolutely on her.

"You are the French girl who wants to marry Louis Marsac," she hissed,
between her white teeth.

"I am a French girl, Jeanne Angelot, and he stole me from Detroit. I do
not want to marry him. Oh, no! a thousand times no! I have told him that
I shall kill myself if he forces me to marry him!"

The Indian girl looked amazed. Her hands dropped at her side. Her eyes
flickered in wavering lights, and her breath came in gasps.

"You do not want to marry him?"

Her voice was hoarse, guttural. "Ah, you lie! You make believe! It
cannot be! Why, then, did you come up here? And why has he gone to
L'Arbre Croche for the