Part 41 (1/2)

When Wanamee came back she was snugly tucked in her blanket, and feigned sleep. She did not want to talk. She fancied she would like to lie beside miladi in the little burying ground. Young sorrow always turns to death as a comforter.

That night an adventure befell them, though most of them were sleeping from exhaustion. It was the Indian's quick hearing that caught a suspicious sound, and then heard a stealthy rustle. He reached for his gun, and his eyes roved sharply around the little circle. The sound came from nearly opposite. The fire was low, but his sight was keen, and presently he espied two glaring eyes drawing nearer Wanamee and her charge. There was a quick shot, a shriek, almost human, and a rush farther in the forest.

They were all awake in an instant. ”An attack!” shouted two of the men.

”A wolf,” rejoined Savignon. He took up a brand and peered about in the darkness. The body was still twitching, but the head was a mangled ma.s.s.

There were no others in sight, but they heard their cry growing fainter and fainter.

Rose sat up in affright. How near it had been to her. Was she always to be in debt to this Indian?

”Go to sleep again,” he said, in a low tone. ”We shall have no more alarms to-night. I am keeping watch. I would give my life to save you from harm.”

Wanamee drew the trembling, shrinking figure closer. Rose felt as if her heart would burst with the sorrow she could not confess.

CHAPTER XVII

THE Pa.s.sING OF OLD QUEBEC

They ate their last crumbs for breakfast. A fine, cutting sleet was in the air, but they kept quite inside of the forest, except when they were afraid of losing the trail. There was no stop for a midday meal, and they pushed on, carrying Destournier in a litter. Must they spend another night in the woods?

Suddenly a shout reaches them, the sound of familiar French voices, and every heart thrilled with joy, as they answered it. Blessed relief was at hand.

Being alarmed at the long delay, a party had been sent out to search for them. They halted, for indeed it seemed as if they could go no further.

Weak and hungry, some of the men sat down and cried, for very joy.

”I have hardly been worth all the trouble,” Destournier said, in a broken voice.

”It was not altogether you,” replied one of the men. ”And to have rescued some of our men from those fiendish Hurons was worth while.

Savignon must have had some wonderful power to make them give up their prey.”

The relief party were provided with food, dried meat that had come down from some friendly Indians. After they had eaten, they resolved to push on, and started with good courage. The storm had ceased and the stars were p.r.i.c.king through the blue. The moon would rise later on. But it was midnight when they came in sight of the fort. The warm welcome made amends for all.

Wanamee took Rose under her protection. She was nearly exhausted. M. de Champlain insisted upon caring for Destournier, and examining the leg, which was much swollen, but had been very well set. The story of the wonderful escape was told over, to interested listeners.

”We owe Savignon a great debt, and are too poor to pay it,” said the Governor sorrowfully.

Poor indeed they were. It was the hardest winter the colony had known.

The dearth of news was most trying, and the fear of the English descent upon them racked the brave heart of the Commandant, who saw his dream of a great city vanis.h.i.+ng. Jealousy had done some cruel work, and the misgovernment of the mother country stifled the best efforts.

Rose lay listless in bed for many days. How could she meet Savignon, who haunted the place hourly, to inquire, and begged to see her? One day she told Wanamee to send him in, and braced herself for the interview.

Semi-famine had not told on him, unless it had added an air of refinement. That he was superior to most of his race, was evident.

He was not prepared for the white wraith-like being who did not rise from her chair, but nodded and motioned him to a seat at a distance.

”Oh, Mam'selle, you have been truly ill,” he said, and there was a tender sort of pity in his tone. ”I have been wild to see you, to hear you speak. Mam'selle, you must not die. I cannot give you up. I have been starved, I have been half-crazy with impatience. Oh, can you not have a little pity on me, when I love you so? And you have no one who has a right to protest. You will keep your promise? For I swear to you that I will kill any man who marries you. I cannot help if it brings grief upon you. It would be the sorrow of my life not to have you! Oh, let me touch your little white hand”--and he started from his seat with an eager gesture.

She put both behind her. ”I do not love you,” she began bravely. ”It would take time----”