Part 39 (2/2)

”Oh, no, Mam'selle. Are you tired? If you could sing to pa.s.s away the time.”

Jeanne essayed some French songs, but her heart was not light enough.

Then they lapsed into silence. On and on--there was no wind and they were out of the strongest current, so there was no danger.

What was Owaissa doing, thinking? Had Louis Marsac returned with the priest? Was it true she had come to kill her, Jeanne? How strange one should love a man so deeply, strongly! She shuddered. She had only cared for quiet and pleasant wanderings and Pani. Perhaps it was all some horrid dream. Or was it true one could be bewitched?

Sometimes she drowsed. She recalled the night she had slept against the Huron's knee. Would the hours or the journey ever come to an end? She said over the rosary and all the prayers she could remember, interspersing them with thanksgivings to the good G.o.d and to Owaissa.

Something black and awful loomed up before her. She uttered a cry.

”We are here. It is nothing to be afraid of. We go around to this side, so. There is a little basin here, and a sort of wharf. It is almost a fort;” and he laughed lightly as he helped her out on to dry ground, stony though it was.

”I will find the gate. The White Chief has this side well picketed, and there are enough within to defend it against odds, if the odds ever come. Now, here is the gate and I must ring. Do not be frightened, it is always closed at dusk.”

The clang made Jeanne jump, and cling to her guide.

There was a step after a long while. A plate was pushed partly aside and a voice said through the grating:--

”What is it?”

”It is I, Wanita, Loudac. I have some one who has been in danger, a little maid from Detroit, stolen away by Indians. My mistress Owaissa begs shelter for her until she can be returned. It was late when she was rescued from her enemies and we stole away by night.”

”How many of you?”

”The maid and myself, and--our canoe,” with a light laugh. ”The canoe is fastened to a stake. And I must go back, so there is but one to throw upon your kindness.”

”Wait,” said the gate keeper. There were great bolts to be withdrawn and chains rattled. Presently the creaking gate opened a little way and the light of a lantern flared out. Jeanne was dazed for an instant.

”I will not come in, good Loudac. It is a long way back and my mistress may need me. Here is the maid,” and he gave Jeanne a gentle push.

”From Detroit?” The interlocutor was a stout Canadian and seemed gigantic to Jeanne. ”And 'scaped from the Indians. Lucky they did not spell, it with another letter and leave no top to thy head. Wanita, lad, thou hadst better come in and have a sup of wine. Or remain all night.”

But Wanita refused with cordial thanks.

”Here is the ring;” and Jeanne pressed it in his hand. ”And a thousand thanks, tell your brave mistress.”

With a quick adieu he was gone.

”I must find shelter for you to-night, for our lady cannot be disturbed,” he said. ”Come this way.”

The bolts and chains were put in place again. Jeanne followed her guide up some steps and through another gate. There was a lodge and a light within. A woman in a short gown of blue and a striped petticoat looked out of the doorway and made a sharp inquiry.

”A maid who must tell her own story, good dame, for my wits seem scattered. She hath been sent by Owaissa the Indian maiden and brought by her servitor in a canoe. Tell thy story, child.”

”She is s.h.i.+vering with the cold and looks blue as a midwinter icicle.

She must have some tea to warm her up. Stir a fire, Loudac.”

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