CHAPTER XL.
THE END.
The Iroquois had not treated De Catinat harshly when they dragged him from the water into their canoe. So incomprehensible was it to them why any man should voluntarily leave a place of safety in order to put himself in their power that they could only set it down to madness, a malady which inspires awe and respect among the Indians. They did not even tie his wrists, for why should he attempt to escape when he had come of his own free will? Two warriors passed their hands over him, to be sure that he was unarmed, and he was then thrust down between the two women, while the canoe darted in towards the bank to tell the others that the St. Louis garrison was coming up the stream. Then it steered out again, and made its way swiftly up the centre of the river. Adele was deadly pale and her hand, as her husband laid his upon it, was as cold as marble.
"My darling," he whispered, "tell me that all is well with you—that you are unhurt!"
"Oh, Amory, why did you come? Why did you come, Amory? Oh, I think I could have borne anything, but if they hurt you I could not bear that."
"How could I stay behind when I knew that you were in their hands? I should have gone mad!"
"Ah, it was my one consolation to think that you were safe."
"No, no, we have gone through so much together that we cannot part now. What is death, Adele? Why should we be afraid of it?"