Adèle recognized many a vine-wreathed rock and picturesque nook which, during the previous day, she had seen vanish into distance with a feeling of despair; now she watched them fade with hope growing stronger in her soul, for they put space between her and the danger which had menaced her life.
The officer who commanded Adèle’s escort had sent intelligence with all speed back to the Governor, and on the next day the frenzied husband had reached the scene of his wife’s capture. Without an hour’s delay, he was rushing through the wilderness in pursuit of her, but he dared not even hope; he felt instinctively in whose hands she had fallen, and almost sunk under the horror of the thought.
It was after midday, but the horse of the chief still kept gallantly on his way, as if he understood the danger from which he was bearing his charge.
They reached a sudden rise in the path, when the forest gave place for a little distance to a natural opening. Looking down the slope, Adèle saw a band of horsemen approaching. Even at that distance, she recognized her husband, and stretched out her hands with a cry of such exquisite happiness, that the chief looked down upon her with sad envy. The horseman rushed up; in another moment Adèle was clasped in Gaston’s arms.
When the first burst of thankfulness was over, Adèle’s broken words made him understand all the chief had done. The Governor turned toward Gi-en-gwa-tah, who sat on his horse gravely watching them, and tried to express his gratitude.
The chief checked him.
“Gi-en-gwa-tah has acted aright,” he said; “the French were the friends of the Six Nations; bad counsels have led them astray, but Gi-en-gwa-tah can not endure treachery. He has brought back the Governor’s wife; let him take good care of her.”
He turned his horse to go; Adèle cried out with eager words of thankfulness.
“Let the Governor make his way on with all speed,” said the chief; “long before this the queen is on his track.”