athed, that I could see her, touch her, hear the
strange rise and fall of her voice. But with the clinging of her
glance to mine I remembered more, and sweat poured out on my forehead.
She was my wife. I had forfeited the right to touch her hand.

The French began to murmur questions and she turned back toward them.
She stood close by my side with her hand in mine, and looked into the
faces, French and savage, that hemmed her round. I think she saw tears
in some eyes, for her voice suddenly faltered. She made a gesture of
courtesy and greeting.

"I escaped days ago when we were traveling," she said in her
slow-moving French, that all around might hear. "I made my way to the
Pottawatamie Islands. Onanguisse had called me daughter, and I knew
that if I could find his people I was safe."

The crowd breathed together in one exclamation. "You have not been in
this camp at all?"

I felt her draw closer to me. "No, I have not been in this camp. You
thought that I was here?" Her grasp on my hand tightened. "Then this
is the Seneca camp. The battle is over," she said under her breath,
and she turned to me. Her eyes were brave, but I knew from her
trembling lips that she understood. "Where is my cousin?"

I took both her hands in mine. "He died in my arms. He died trying to
send me to you. He forgot self. It was the death of a brave man,
madame."

She stood and looked at me. She had forgotten the men around her.
"Monsieur," she said, and this time her eyes were soft with tears, "my
cousin was not so bad as he seemed. He could not help being what he
was."

"I understand."

"Monsieur, you conquered the Senecas?"

"Yes. We will forget it, madame."

She looked over the heads of the lines of soldiers and grew white to
the lips. I knew that she saw rows of scalps, and I could not save her
from it. Yet I implored.

"Do not think of it. It is all over, madame."

Her eyes came back to me. "And Pierre? Is Pierre safe?"

"Madame, he---- He died saving me."

Her hands grasped me harder. "And Labarthe?"

"I am all that is left, madame."

Still she held to me. "Where is Singing Arrow?"

I looked at Cadillac. He shook his head. "They found the Indian woman
this morning," he said. "She was dead beside her husband. Do not
grieve for her. Her face is more than happy; it is triumphant. My men
called me to look. Will you see her now, madame?"

But she could not answer. The hands that held