t, who the rescuer is. I feel I have chosen right,
Monsieur, and yet I must trust you to never cause me to regret that I
am the wife of Monsieur Cassion."

To my surprise his face brightened, his eyes smiling, as he bowed low
before me.

"Your confidence shall not be betrayed, Madame," he said gallantly. "I
pledge you my discretion whatever circumstances may arise. There is no
cur in the De Artigny strain, and I fight my own battles. Some day I
shall be face to face with Francois Cassion, and if then I fail to
strike home it will be memory of your faith which restrains my hand.
And now I rejoice that I can make your sacrifice less grievous."

"In what way, Monsieur?"

"In that we are no longer entirely alone in our wilderness adventure.
I have fortunately brought back with me a comrade, whose presence will
rob Cassion of some sharpness of tongue. Shall we go meet him?"

"Meet him! a man, you mean? One rescued from the canoe?"

"No, but more likely to serve us a good turn--a soldier under Monsieur
de la Durantaye, who has camp below at the portage to the Des Plaines.
Out yonder I ran onto him, bearing some message from Green Bay--an odd
fellow, but with a gun at his shoulder, and a tongue with which to
tell the truth on occasion. Come, Madame, there is naught now you need
to fear."

CHAPTER XXI

WE DECIDE OUR COURSE

With a feeling of relief in my heart, a sense that my reputation was
safe, and that the good God had set the seal of His approval on the
choice made, I accepted De Artigny's outstretched hand, and permitted
him to assist me down the bank. The new arrival was just within the
edge of the forest, bending over a freshly kindled fire, barely
commencing to blaze, and beside him on the grass lay a wild fowl,
already plucked of its feathers. So intent was the fellow at his task,
he did not even lift his head until my companion hailed him.

"Barbeau, here is the lady of whom I spoke--the wife of Monsieur
Cassion."

He stood up, and made me a salute as though I were an officer, as odd
a looking little man as ever I had seen, with a small, peaked face, a
mop of black hair, and a pair of shrewd, humorous eyes. His dress was
that of a _courier du bois_, with no trace of uniform save the blue
forage cap gripped in one hand, yet he stood stiff as if on parade. In
spite of his strange, uncouth appearance there was that in his face
which won my favor, and I held out my hand.

"You are a soldier of Fra