as I spoke.

"Surely you are not a mere _coureur de bois_, as I supposed from your
dress," she exclaimed. "Your expression is that of an educated
gentleman."

I smiled; for I was young enough to feel the force of her unconscious
flattery.

"I believe I can prove descent from an old and honorable race," I said;
"but it has been my fortune to be reared in the backwoods, and whatever
education has come to me I owe to the love and skill of my mother."

My frankness pleased her, and she made no attempt to disguise her
interest.

"I am so glad you told me," she said simply. "My mother died when I
was only ten, yet her memory has always been an inspiration. Are you a
Protestant?"

This unexpected question took me by surprise; yet I answered
unhesitatingly, "Yes."

"I was educated at the Ursuline Convent in Montreal. It was my
mother's dearest wish that I should take the vows of that order, but I
fear I am far too frivolous for so serious a life. I love happy things
too well, and the beautiful outside world of men and women. I ran away
from the Sisters, and then my father and I voyaged to this country,
where we might lead a freer life together."

"Here?" and I glanced questioningly about me into those darkening
shadows which were momentarily hemming us in more closely.

"To Fort Dearborn," she explained. "We came by boat through the
straits at the north; and 'twas a trip to remember. My father brought
out goods from Canada, and traded with the Indians. I have been in
their villages. Once I was a week alone with a tribe of Sacs near
Green Bay, and they called me the White Queen. I have met many famous
warriors of the Wyandots and Pottawattomies, and have seen them dance
at their council. Once I journeyed as far west as the Great River,
across leagues and leagues of prairie," and her face lighted up at the
remembrance. "Father said he thought I must be the first white woman
who had ever travelled so far inland. We have been at Dearborn for
nearly a year."

She rose to her feet, and swept her eyes, with some anxiety, around
upon dim mounds of sand that appeared more fantastic than ever in the
darkness.

"Had we not better be going?" she asked. "There is surely a storm
gathering yonder."

"Yes," I answered, for I had not been indifferent to the clouds
steadily banking up in the north. "Yet you have not told me your name,
and I should be most glad to know it."

The girl courtesied mockingly, as tho