"Do I not know that," he said, yet releasing my hands. "Still it
can surely do no harm for us to understand each other. You care
nothing for Cassion; you dislike, despise the man, and there is
naught sacred in your marriage. We are in the wilderness, not
Quebec, and La Barre has little authority here. You have protected me
with your silence--was it not because you cared for me?"

"Yes, Monsieur; you have been my friend."

"Your friend! Is that all?"

"Is that not enough, Monsieur? I like you well; I would save you from
injustice. You could not respect me if I said more, for I am Monsieur
Cassion's wife by rite of Holy Church. I do not fear him--he is a
coward; but I fear dishonor, Monsieur, for I am Adele la Chesnayne. I
would respect myself, and you."

The light of conquest vanished from the gray eyes. For a moment he
stood silent and motionless; then he drew a step backward, and bowed.

"Your rebuke is just, Madame," he said soberly.

"We of the frontier grow careless in a land where might is right, and
I have had small training save in camp and field. I crave your pardon
for my offense."

So contrite was his expression I had to smile, realizing for the first
time the depth of his interest in my good will, yet the feeling which
swayed me was not altogether that of pleasure. He was not one to yield
so quietly, or to long restrain the words burning his tongue, yet I
surrendered to my first impulse, and extended my hand.

"There is nothing to pardon, Sieur de Artigny," I said frankly. "There
is no one to whom I owe more of courtesy than you. I trust you fully,
and believe your word, and in return I ask the same faith. Under the
conditions confronting us we must aid each other. We have both made
mistakes in thus endeavoring to shield one another from suspicion,
and, as a result, are both equally in peril. Our being alone together
here will enrage Monsieur Cassion, and he will use all his power for
revenge. My testimony will only make your case more desperate should I
confess what I know, and you might cast suspicion upon me--"

"You do not believe I would."

"No, I do not, and yet, perchance, it might be better for us both if I
made full confession. I hesitate merely because Cassion would doubt my
word; would conclude that I merely sought to protect you. Before
others--fair-minded judges at St. Louis--I should have no hesitancy in
telling the whole story, for there is nothing I did of which I am
ashamed, but h