violent, or threatening.

"Who is there?" I asked.

"Your husband, my dear--Francois Cassion."

"But why do you come? It was the pledge of De Baugis that I was to be
left here alone."

"A fair pledge enough, although I was not consulted. From the look of
your eyes little difference if I had been. You are as sweet in
disposition as ever, my dear; yet never mind that--we'll soon settle
our case now, I warrant you. Meanwhile I am content to wait until my
time comes. 'Tis not you I seek tonight, but my dressing case."

"Your dressing case?"

"Ay, you know it well, a brown leather bag I bore with me during our
journey."

"And where is it, Monsieur?"

"Beneath the bunk in the sleeping room. Pass it out to me, and I will
ask no more."

"'Twill be safer if you keep your word," I said quietly, "for I still
carry Hugo Chevet's pistol, and know how to use it. Draw away from the
door, Monsieur, and I will thrust out the bag."

I lowered the bar, opening the door barely wide enough to permit the
bag's passage. The light from the fire gleamed on the barrel of the
pistol held in my hand. It was the work of an instant, and I saw
nothing of Cassion, but, as the door closed, he laughed scornfully.

"Tis your game tonight, Madame," he said spitefully, "but tomorrow I
play my hand. I thank you for the bag, as it contains my commission.
By virtue of it I shall assume command of this Fort St. Louis, and I
know how to deal with murderers. I congratulate you on your lover,
Madame--good night."

I dropped into the nearest seat, trembling in every limb. It was not
personal fear, nor did I in my heart resent the insult of his last
words. De Artigny was my lover, not in mere lip service, but in fact.
I was not ashamed, but proud, to know this was true. The only thing of
which I was ashamed was my relationship with Cassion; and my only
thought now was how that relationship could be ended, and De Artigny's
life saved. The paper I had found was indeed of value, yet I realized
it alone was not enough to offset the charges which Cassion would
support by his own evidence and that of his men. This mere suggestion
in La Barre's handwriting meant nothing unless we could discover also
in Cassion's possession the documents taken from Chevet And these,
beyond doubt, had been destroyed. Over and over again in my mind I
turned these thoughts, but only to grow more confused and uncertain.
All the powers of hate were arrayed against us, and I fel