nton. What have you said to Mademoiselle?"

The boy looked at him, and for a moment could not speak.

"Do you, too, throw that at me, Father? It was all I could do. I
thought she cared for her life more than for--for Menard. No, let me
go on. I have risked everything to come for her, and she--she--I did
not know it would be like this."

"But what do you plan?" The priest's voice was more gentle. "Where are
you going? You cannot get to Frontenac alone."

"I don't know," replied Danton wearily, turning away. "I don't care
now. I may as well go to the devil."

Without a word of farewell he walked boldly off through the trees,
drawing his blanket about his shoulders. Father Claude stood watching
him, half in mind to call Menard, then hesitating. Already the boy was
committed: he had broken his bonds, and to make any effort to hold him
meant certain death for him. Perhaps it was better that he should take
the only chance left to him. The hut was silent. He looked within, and
saw the maid still standing by the wall. Her eyes were on him, but she
said nothing, and he turned away. He walked slowly up and down under
the great elms that arched far up over his head. At last he looked
about for the Captain, and finding him some little way back in the
woods, told him the story.

Menard's face had aged during the day. His eyes had a dull firmness in
place of the old flash. He heard the account without a word, and, at
the close, when the priest looked at him questioningly for a reply, he
shook his head sadly. His experiment with Danton had failed.

"He didn't tell you who had helped him?"

"No, M'sieu. It is very strange."

"Yes," said Menard, "it is."

The night passed without further incident. Early in the morning,
Father Claude went out to find Tegakwita, and learn what news had come
in during the night of the French column. Runners were employed in
passing daily between the different villages, keeping each tribe fully
informed.

Menard sat before the hut. The clearing showed more life than on the
preceding day. Bands of warriors, hunting and scouting parties, were
coming in at short intervals, scattering to their shelters or hurrying
to the long building in the centre of the village. The growing boys
and younger warriors ran about, calling to one another in eager,
excited voices. As the morning wore along, grave chiefs and braves,
wrapped in their blankets, walked by on their way to the council
house.

The maid, af