Wenonah had made for her last winter, and she
slipped into it. Now she felt like herself. She would cook a little
dinner for herself and Pani. And, as she was kneeling on the wide
hearthstone stirring some broth, the woman opened her eyes.

"Jeanne," she said, and there was less wandering in her voice, "Jeanne,
it was a dream. I have been asleep many moons, I think. The great evil
spirits have had me, dragged me down into their dens, and I could not
see you. Pani's heart has been sore distressed. It was all a dream,
little one."

"Yes, a dream!" Jeanne's arms were about her neck.

"And you will never go away, not even if M. Bellestre sends for you!"
she entreated.

"I shall never go away from La Belle Detroit. Oh, Pani, there may be
beautiful places in the world," and she thought of the island and
Miladi, "but none so dear. No, we shall stay here always."

But the news had traveled, and suddenly there was an influx; M. De Ber
going home to his midday meal could not believe until he had seen Jeanne
with his own eyes. And the narrow street was filled as with a
procession.

Jeanne kept to the simple story and let her listeners guess at motives
or mysterious purposes. They had not harmed her. And a beautiful Indian
maiden with much power over her red brethren had gained her freedom and
sent her to a place of safety. Captain Mallard and the "Return" had
brought her to the town, and that was all.

It was almost night when Father Rameau came. He had grown strangely old,
it seemed to her, and the peaceful lines of his face were disturbed. He
had come back to the home of years to find himself curiously supplanted
and new methods in use that savored less of love and more of strict
rule. He had known so much of the hardness of the pioneer lives, of the
enjoyment and courage the rare seasons of pleasure gave them, of the
ignorance that could understand little of the higher life, of the strong
prejudices and superstitions that had to be uprooted gently and perhaps
wait for the next generation. Truth, honesty, and temperance were rare
virtues and of slow growth. The new license brought in by the English
was hard to combat, but he had worked in love and patience, and now he
found his methods condemned and new ones instituted. His heart ached.

But he was glad enough to clasp Jeanne to his heart and to hear her
simple faith in the miracle that had been wrought. How great it was, and
what her danger had been, he was never to k