end me?"

"Oh, yes. And his wife is of Indian blood, a great Princess from Hudson
Bay, and the handsomest woman of the North, the kindest and most
generous to those in sorrow or trouble. The White Queen she is called.
Oh, yes, if I had a sister that needed protection, I should send her to
the White Queen. Oh, do not be afraid." Then she took both of Jeanne's
hands in hers and kissed her on the forehead. "I am glad I did not have
to kill you," she added with the naive innocence of perfect truth. "I
think you are the kind of girl out of whom they make nuns, who care for
no men but the fathers, and yet they must adore some one. In thy convent
cell pray for me that I may have brave sons."

Jeanne made no protest against the misconstruction. Her heart was filled
with gratitude and wonder, yet she could hardly believe.

"You must take my blanket," and Owaissa began draping it about her.

"But--Noko?" said the French girl.

"Noko is soundly asleep. And the sailors are throwing dice or drinking
rum. Their master cannot be back until dark. Go your way proudly, as if
you had the blood of a hundred braves in your veins. They are often a
cowardly set, challenging those who are weak and fearful. Do not mind."

"Oh, the good Father bless you forevermore." Jeanne caught the hands and
covered them with kisses. "And you will not be afraid of--of _his_
anger?"

"I am not afraid. I am glad I came, though it was with such a desperate
purpose. Here is my ring," and she slipped it on Jeanne's finger. "Give
it to Wanita when you are landed. He is faithful to me and this is our
seal."

She unlocked the door. Noko was in a little heap on the mat, snoring.

"Go straight over. Never mind the men. You will see the plank, and then
go round the little point. Adieu. I wish thee a safe voyage home."

Jeanne pressed the hands again. She was like one in a dream. She felt
afraid the men would question her, perhaps order her back. Two of them
were asleep. She tripped down the plank, turned the corner of the dock
and saw the clump of trees. Still she hardly dared breathe until she had
passed it and found the canoe beached, and a slim young Indian pacing up
and down.

"Wanita, Wanita!" she exclaimed, timorously.

He studied her in surprise. Yes, that was her blanket. "Mistress--"
going closer, and then hesitating.

"Here is her ring, Owaissa's ring. And she bade me--she stays on the
boat. Louis Marsac comes with a priest."

"Then it was a l