alks were winding to make
the place appear larger; there was a small lake with water plants and
swans, and beds of brilliant flowers, trees that gave shade, vines that
distributed fragrance with every passing breeze. Here in a dainty nest,
that was indeed a vine-covered porch, sat a lady in a chair that
suggested a throne to Jeanne, who thought she had never seen anyone so
beautiful. She was not fair like either English or French, but the
admixture of blood had given her a fine, creamy skin and large brownish
eyes that had the softness of a fawn's. Every feature was clearly cut
and perfect. Jeanne thought of a marble head that stood on the shelf of
the minister's study at Detroit that was said to have come from a far
country called Italy.

As for her attire, that was flowered silk and fine lace, and some jewels
on her arms and fingers in golden settings that glittered like the rays
of sunrise when she moved them. There were buckles of gems on her
slippers, and stockings of strangely netted silk where the ivory flesh
shone through.

Jeanne dropped on her knees at the vision, and it smiled on her. No
saint at the Recollet house was half as fair.

"This is the little voyager cast upon our shore, Miladi," explained
Loudac with a bow and a touch of his hand to his head. "But Wanita did
not wreck her, only left her in our safe keeping until she can be
returned to her friends."

"Sit here, Mam'selle," and Miladi pointed to a cushion near her. Her
French was musical and soft. "It is quite a story, and not such an
unusual one either. Many maidens, I think, have been taken from home and
friends, and have finally learned to be satisfied with a life they would
not have chosen. You came from Detroit, Loudac says."

"Yes, Miladi," Jeanne answered, timidly.

"Do not be afraid." The lady laughed with ripples like a little stream
dropping over pebbly ways. "There is a story that my mother shared a
like fate, only she had to grow content with strange people and a
strange land. How was it? I have a taste for adventures."

Jeanne's girlish courage and spirits came back in a flash. Yet she told
her story carefully, bridging the little space where so much was left
out.

"Owaissa is a courageous maiden. It is said she carries a dagger which
she would not be afraid to use. She has some strange power over the
Indians. Her father was wronged out of his chieftaincy and then
murdered. She demanded the blood price, and his enemies were gi