now and then a note of his voice. In a few moments, the
warriors who were pressing close on the outskirts of the crowd were
pushed aside, and he came out. She looked at him, then at the ground,
shuddering, for there was blood on his forehead. Even when he stood
over her she could not look up or speak.

"There is hope now, Mademoiselle. He is here."

"Yes--Father Claude told me. Is--are you to be released?"

"Hardly that, but we shall at least have a little time. And I hope to
get a hearing at the council."

"He will let you?"

"I have not asked him yet." He sat beside her, wearily. "There will be
time for that. He is talking now with the Long Arrow and the old
warriors. He is not fond of the Long Arrow." In the excitement he had
not seen that she was limp and exhausted, but now he spoke quickly,
"They have hurt you, Mademoiselle?"

"No, I am not hurt. But you--your head--"

"Only a bruise." He drew his sleeve across his forehead. "I had rather
a bad one in the arm."

He rolled up his sleeve in a matter-of-fact way. Her eyes filled.

"Oh, M'sieu, you did not tell me. I can help you. Wait, I will be
back."

She rose, and started toward the spring, but he sprang to her side.

"You must not trouble. It is not bad. There will be time for this."

"No. Come with me if you will."

She ran with nervous steps; and he strode after. At the side of the
bubbling pool she knelt, and looked up impatiently.

"It will not do to let this go, M'sieu. Can you roll your sleeve
higher?"

He tried, but the heavy cloth was stiff.

"If you will take off the coat--"

He unlaced it at the breast, and drew it off. She took his wrist, and
plunged his arm into the pool, washing it with quick, gentle fingers,
drying it on his coat. Then she leaned back, half perplexed, and
looked around.

"What is it?"

"A cloth. No,"--as he reached for his coat;--"that is too rough. Here,
M'sieu,--" she tore a strip from her skirt, and wrapped it around the
forearm. "Hold it with your other hand, just a moment."

She hurried to the hut, and returning with needle and thread, stitched
the bandage. Then she helped him on with his coat, and they walked
slowly to the hut.

"Where is Father Claude?" she asked.

He pointed to a thicket beyond the hut. There, kneeling by the body of
a dying Indian, was the priest, praying silently. He had baptized the
warrior with dew from the leaves at his side, and now was claiming his
soul for the greater Ki