hither these
savages took her. Mazarin would not find her indeed! What a life had
been hers! Only twenty-two, and nothing but unhappiness, disillusion,
with here and there an hour of midsummer's madness. And that note she
had written! The thought of it sustained her spirits. By now he knew
all. She shut her eyes and pictured in fancy his pain and astonishment
and chagrin. It was exhilarating. She would have liked to cry.

The Seneca chief spoke softly, commanding silence, and the canoes
glided noiselessly along the southern shores of the great river. The
sun sank presently, and night became prodigal with her stars.
Occasionally there was the sound of gurgling water as some brook poured
into the river, or the whisper of stirring branches lightly swept by
the feathered heads of the Indians. Aside from these infrequent
sounds, the silence was vast and imposing. Anne, with her head in
madame's lap, wept bitterly but without sound. She was a girl again;
the dignity of womanhood was gone, being no longer in the shadow of the
convent walls.

Brother Jacques saw nothing in the velvet glooms but the figure of
Monsieur le Marquis as it lay that night after the duel.

Whenever the Senecas came to a habitation, they drew up the canoes and
carried them overland, far distant into the forest, making a
half-circuit of the point. During these portages the fatigue of the
women was great. Several times Anne broke down, unable to proceed.
Sometimes the savages waited patiently for her to recover, at other
times they were cruel in their determination to go on. Once Brother
Jacques took Anne's slight figure in his strong arms and carried her a
quarter of a mile. She hung upon his neck with the content of a weary
child, and the cool flesh of her cheek against his neck disturbed the
tranquillity of his dreams for many days to come.

Madame, on her part, struggled on without complaint. If she stumbled
and fell, no sound escaped her lips. She regained her feet without
assistance. Madame's was a great spirit; she knew the strength of
resignation.

It was after two o'clock when the Iroquois signified their intention of
pitching camp till dawn. They were far away from the common track now.
The last portage had carried them across several small streams. They
were in the heart of the forest. All night Brother Jacques sat at the
side of the women, guarding with watchful eyes. How the spirit and the
flesh of this man warre