or to her cheeks.

"You are frank, Monsieur," she said quietly, "and doubtless 'tis better
so. But the strange situation of this young woman has much of romance
about it, and interests me greatly. How chances she to be here?
Surely she cannot be of Indian blood?"

"She holds connection with some sisterhood of the Church, as I
understand, and has lived for some time amid the Pottawattomies,
seeking to win the heathen to Christ."

"A Catholic?" she asked, her eyes brightening with deeper interest.

"Such is my understanding, though in truth she never said as much to
me. Indeed, we spoke little, Mademoiselle, for our path was in the
midst of peril, even before the capture of poor De Croix upset all our
plans."

"Doubtless," she answered with a slight trace of sarcasm in the soft
voice. "But Captain de Croix,--he was not seriously injured, I trust?
Where have the savages confined him? And know you what they intend as
to his future?"

"He will forever bear some scars, I fear," I answered, wondering dully
at the calmness of her inquiry. "I have just left him sleeping quietly
in the council tent. Know you anything of what fate has befallen other
of our friends of the garrison?"

Her eyes grew sad. "Only what little I have learned through the
taunting of my own captor," she answered, her voice trembling.
"Captain Wells is dead, together with Ensign Ronan and Surgeon Van
Voorhees. Both Captain Heald and his wife were sorely wounded, and
they, with Lieutenant Helm, are prisoners somewhere in the camp; but
the Lieutenant's wife is safe with the Silver-man's family across the
river. The Indians hold these in hope of ransom, and wreak their
vengeance upon the common soldiers who were so unfortunate as to fall
into their hands alive. Yet few, I think, survived the massacre."

"You have doubtless guessed aright. I noted with what fearful spirit
of revenge the savages dealt with some of their captives, while sparing
others. Surely you, for instance, have met with but little hardship
thus far at the hands of Little Sauk?"

She glanced up at me, with a touch of the old coquettishness in her
dark eyes and a quick toss of her head, while one white hand smoothed
her soft hair.

"Think you then, Monsieur, I do not look so ill?"

In spite of every effort at control, my heart swept into my eyes; she
must have read the swift message, for her own drooped instantly, with a
quick flutter of long lashes against her cheeks