forward toward the landing he turned indifferently, and I marked the
sudden straightening of his body, as though in surprise, although the
distance gave me no clear vision of his face. As our canoe came into
the shallows, he sprang down the bank to greet us, hat in hand, his
eyes on me. My own glance fell before the eagerness in his face, and I
turned away.

"Ah! Monsieur Cassion," he exclaimed, the very sound of his
voice evidencing delight. "You have guests on the journey; 'tis
unexpected."

Cassion stepped over the side, and fronted him, no longer a smiling
gallant of the court, but brutal in authority.

"And what is that to you, may I ask, Sieur de Artigny?" he said,
coldly contemptuous. "You are but our guide, and it is no concern of
yours who may compose the company. 'Twill be well for you to remember
your place, and attend to your duties. Go now, and see that the men
have breakfast served."

There was a moment of silence, and I did not even venture to glance up
to perceive what occurred, although I felt that De Artigny's eyes
shifted their inquiry from Cassion's face to mine. There must be no
quarrel now, not until he knew the truth, not until I had opportunity
to explain, and yet he was a firebrand, and it would be like him to
resent such words. How relieved I felt, as his voice made final
answer.

"Pardon, Monsieur le Commissaire," he said, pleasantly enough. "It is
true I forgot my place in this moment of surprise. I obey your
orders."

I looked up as he turned away, and disappeared. Cassion stared after
him, smothering an oath, and evidently disappointed at so tame an
ending of the affair, for it was his nature to bluster and boast. Yet
as his lips changed to a grin, I knew of what the man was thinking--he
had mistaken De Artigny's actions for cowardice, and felt assured now
of how he would deal with him. He turned to the canoe, a new
conception of importance in the sharp tone of his voice.

"Come ashore, men; ay! draw the boat higher on the sand. Now, Monsieur
Chevet, assist your niece forward to where I can help her to land with
dry feet--permit me, Adele."

"It is not at all necessary, Monsieur," I replied, avoiding his hand,
and leaping lightly to the firm sand. "I am no dainty maid of Quebec
to whom such courtesy is due." I stood and faced him, not unpleased to
mark the anger in his eyes. "Not always have you shown yourself so
considerate."

"Why blame me for the act of La Barre?"

"The