She had sat quiet all these hours, and now, as I bade her good-night,
she asked her first question.

"Are you willing to tell me why you fear pursuit, monsieur?"

I hesitated. "We grow like animals in the wilderness," I parried, "and
so suspect every sound as coming from a foe."

"Then you do not know who it is in the canoe?"

I could have answered "no," but I would not.

"Yes, I think that I know," I replied. "I think that it is Pemaou, a
Huron. An Indian whom you have never seen."

She read the hate in my voice. "Do you know what he wants, monsieur?"

And now I could answer truthfully, and with a laugh. "I suspect that
he wants, or has been sent to get, something that I have determined to
keep,--at least for the present," I told her. "Good-night, madame."

I told my inner self that I must sleep soundly, and wake just before
dawn; and so that was what happened. The horizon was flushing when I
rose and looked around. My company was asleep. The woman lay on her
bright blankets, and I looked at her a moment to make sure that all was
well. She was smiling as if her dreams were pleasant, and her face
wore such a look of peace, that I turned to the east, ready to begin
the day, and to thank God that I had not done everything entirely
wrong. I took the lighter of the canoes, carried it to the water, and
dipping a cautious paddle, crept off along the shore.