burn as fire running through your veins. And my hand--" she caught
Jeanne's hand and compared them. "It is as slim and soft, and the pink
is under the nails. And my hair is like a veil, reaching to my knees.
Yes, I am a fitter mate than you, who are naught but a child, with no
shape that fills a man with admiration. Is it that you have worked some
evil charm?"

Jeanne's eyes were distended with horror. Now that death and escape were
near she shrank with the fear of all young things who have known naught
of life but its joy. She could not even beg, her tongue seemed
paralyzed.

They would have made a statue worthy of a sculptor as they stood there,
the Indian girl in her splendid attire and the utmost beauty of her
race, with the dagger in one hand; and the girl, pale now as a snow
wreath, at her feet.

"Would you go away, escape?" Some curious thoughts had flashed into
Owaissa's brain.

"Oh, help me, help me! I will beg my way back to Detroit. I will pray
that all his love may be given to you; morning and night I will pray on
my knees. Oh, believe, believe!"

The Indian girl could not doubt her sincerity. But with the injustice of
a passionate, jealous love she did not so much blame her recreant
lover. Some charm, some art, must have been used, perhaps by a third
person, and the girl be guiltless. And if she could send her away and
remain in her stead--

She gave a soft, musical ripple of laughter. So pretty Minnehaha must
have laughed when Longfellow caught the sound in his charmed brain. She
put up her dagger. She raised Jeanne, wondering, but no longer afraid.
This was the miracle she had prayed for and it had come to pass.

"Listen. You shall go. The night comes on and it is a long sail; but you
will not be afraid. The White Chief will take you in, but when you tell
your story say it was Indians who stole you. For if you bring any harm
to Louis Marsac I will follow you and kill you even if it were leagues
beyond sunset, in the wild land that no one has penetrated. Remember.
Promise by the great Manitou. Kiss my hand;" and she held it out.

Jeanne obeyed. Could escape be so near? Her heart beats almost strangled
her.

"Wanita is my faithful slave. He will do my bidding and you need not be
afraid. My canoe lies down below there," and she indicated the southern
end with a motion of her head. "You will take this ring to him and he
will know that the message comes from me. Oh, you will not hesitate?"

Jean