d watched over her, pained by her passionate beseeching that he would
not let her die, her awesome terror of death. He felt God had been
merciful not to allow her to suffer that last rending pain. He had
really become so accustomed to the thought of her dying that it did not
seem new or strange to him, but one of the inevitable things that one
must endure with philosophy. He realized the sweetness and patience of
Rose through these last months.

When Wanamee came back she was snugly tucked in her blanket, and feigned
sleep. She did not want to talk. She fancied she would like to lie
beside miladi in the little burying ground. Young sorrow always turns to
death as a comforter.

That night an adventure befell them, though most of them were sleeping
from exhaustion. It was the Indian's quick hearing that caught a
suspicious sound, and then heard a stealthy rustle. He reached for his
gun, and his eyes roved sharply around the little circle. The sound came
from nearly opposite. The fire was low, but his sight was keen, and
presently he espied two glaring eyes drawing nearer Wanamee and her
charge. There was a quick shot, a shriek, almost human, and a rush
farther in the forest.

They were all awake in an instant. "An attack!" shouted two of the men.

"A wolf," rejoined Savignon. He took up a brand and peered about in the
darkness. The body was still twitching, but the head was a mangled mass.
There were no others in sight, but they heard their cry growing fainter
and fainter.

Rose sat up in affright. How near it had been to her. Was she always to
be in debt to this Indian?

"Go to sleep again," he said, in a low tone. "We shall have no more
alarms to-night. I am keeping watch. I would give my life to save you
from harm."

Wanamee drew the trembling, shrinking figure closer. Rose felt as if her
heart would burst with the sorrow she could not confess.

CHAPTER XVII

THE PASSING OF OLD QUEBEC

They ate their last crumbs for breakfast. A fine, cutting sleet was in
the air, but they kept quite inside of the forest, except when they were
afraid of losing the trail. There was no stop for a midday meal, and
they pushed on, carrying Destournier in a litter. Must they spend
another night in the woods?

Suddenly a shout reaches them, the sound of familiar French voices, and
every heart thrilled with joy, as they answered it. Blessed relief was
at hand.

Being alarmed at the long delay, a party had been sent out