ve destroyed the
Seneca war party. We shall be safe from the Iroquois for some time."

"But we are just ready to go on. Our men are ready."

His words seemed meaningless. "Ready! Are intoxicated men ready? We
have drunk blood. Now we are drunk with words. I will not"----

A roar outside cut my words short. "The woman! The woman!" I heard
the cry in several languages at once, but I could not comprehend it. I
saw the crowd rise and surge toward me, making for the entrance of the
tent. I turned and ran with them. Yet my mind was numb.

We reached the outside. I was in advance. A great canoe was at the
shore and Onanguisse was directing his oarsmen. In the bow of the
canoe sat the woman.

I reached her first; I caught her from the canoe. Yes, she was alive;
she was unhurt. Her hands were warm. I heard her breathe. I dropped
on my knees at her feet.

And then she bent over me and whispered, "Monsieur, monsieur, you are
unhurt!" Her voice had all its old inflections, and I rose and looked
at her in wonder. Yes, she was alive. She was grave-eyed and haggard,
but she was alive. The hands that I held were warm and trembling,
though my own were cold and leaden as my palsied tongue. She was
dressed in skins, and I could see the brown hollow in her throat. I
could not speak. I laid my lips upon her hand and trembled.

French and savages pressed around us in a gaping, silent ring.
Cadillac had given us the moment together, but he edged nearer,
bewildered by my silence.

"Madame, we welcome you," he cried. "Your husband has not been like
himself since he heard of your danger. Give him time to recover. We
have been a camp of mourning for you. Tell us of your escape."

And then I spoke. I drew her hand through my arm and turned her to
face the crowd. "They are your friends, madame," I said, as if it were
the conclusion of a long talk between us. "Thank them, and tell them
of your escape."

But she halted and turned again to me. She looked up with her face
close to mine, and for the first time she met my eyes fully. We stood
so a moment, and as she stood she flushed under what was in my look; a
wave of deepening pink crept slowly up through her brown pallor, but
she did not look away. I felt my face harden to iron. It was I who
turned from her, and the faces before me swam in red. Up to that time
I had grasped only the fact that she was alive, that she stood there,
warm, beautiful, unsc