She turned with the fury of a young tigress, as she told him he only talked to her to pass the time away. But suddenly she broke down, and burst into tears as she covered her face with her hands.
“I love you, Belle Marie!” said the officer, in earnest tones.
“Love me?” she cried—“An Indian maid? A forest girl? Why, your people would scorn you for it.”
“My people are nothing to me now,” he sadly replied—then drawing near, he asked, “Will you marry me, Belle Marie?”
But she bounded off, and disappeared without reply.
One morning, some days after this, she stood at the opening of his tent. “Yes, I will be your wife,” she exclaimed, “if you love me, and me only!”
Another chapter now opens, for the old chief demurred. “Belle Marie must marry a brave of her own race,” he declared.
But finally the love of the Frenchman prevailed, and the old chief consented to the marriage.
In the meantime Belle Marie’s former suitor, the jealous one who had interfered in the early days, seemed to take it all in good part.
One day as the happy girl was walking in the distant woods she came across her affianced, struck down and dying in the snow. With bursting heart she staggered homewards, bearing him in her arms. Senseless and almost gone, she nursed him back to life, assisted by her kind-hearted father. With loving devotion, and with just enough of sleep and food to maintain life, she nursed the wounded man to complete recovery.