two days, then he had begged the others to leave him with an attendant,
and hurry onward, coming back for him as soon as possible.

Rose was all sympathy and anxiety. She flew to one of the half-breeds,
who had borne the litter. Was there much injury beside the broken leg?

"He was a good deal shaken up, but he knew what to do about bandaging,
and he uttered no groans. But when he attempted to walk the next morning
he died for a few moments, as your women sometimes do. And when he came
to life, they made the litter. He was very brave. So we rigged up a sort
of tent in the woods, as he insisted on being left."

The Commandant ordered that a party be formed at once to rescue him.
They could not allow him to perish there in the wilderness. He might be
ill.

"He might die," Rose said to herself. And then an intense ungovernable
longing came over her to see him once again. Women could minister to him
better than men. And if Wanamee and Pani would go. Pani had been so much
with women that he had lost many of the virile Indian traits.

Yes, they would go, but Wanamee did not quite approve of the journey. No
one could tell how deep a snow would set in.

"But it will be only a six days' journey, and most of it through the
forests. Savignon will be an excellent guide. And no one must speak of
the great sorrow that awaits him here."

M. de Champlain opposed the plan. It was too severe for women. But
curiously enough Savignon said--"The blossom of Quebec is no dainty
flower, to be crushed by wind and storm. If she wants to go, I am on her
side."

When Rose heard this she flew out to thank him, catching one hand in
both of hers, her eyes luminous with gladness.

"Oh, I cannot truly thank you, Monsieur. I must go, even if I ran away
and followed on behind. And I am no delicate house-plant."

"Thou art a brave girl," admiringly. "Thou hast been used to woods and
rocks, and art strong and courageous."

To be called monsieur was one of Savignon's great delights. He had tired
not a little of the roughness of savage life, and though he had caressed
pretty Indian maidens he had never been much in love with them. And this
girl was different from most of the white women. The courage in every
line of her face, the exuberant bounding life that flushed her veins,
her straight lithe figure, and the grace of every movement, appealed
strongly to him.

"Thou wilt find it hard going, Mam'selle, keeping step to the men, and
sleeping in