"'Tis but a stone from our river, friend Hough," said Geoffrey timidly. "I thank you, neighbour," he added.
"Fare you well," said old Penfold sadly. "We shall lack you sore."
They turned away, and instantly became lost from the man who was going south, because the trail bent sharply. The little band of adventurers, now reduced to four, walked slowly and sorrowfully towards New Windsor, until they came out upon the lake, and heard the beavers gnawing the rushes, and the wind splashing the fresh water up the beach.
"What has come to our nightingales?" said Penfold suddenly. "I like not this silence."
The frogs about the palisade were songless, and the sign was ominous. At their leader's hasty remark the others came to a stand, and scanned the prospect keenly, until silently and abruptly the ghost-like shape of a woman rose between them and the moon.
"'Tis but the girl Onawa, daughter of Shuswap," muttered Woodfield reassuringly; but there was a suspicion in his mind which prompted him to add, "What does she here?"
Even while he put the question Hough cried out, and pointed with a wild gesture, feeling that same moment for his sword. Gazing in the direction which he indicated with a quivering hand, his brethren saw before them the palisade, but not as they had left it. The wooden bars had been set back into their sockets, as though to forebode the occupation of their enclosure by an enemy.
"Stay!" called Onawa haughtily, when the men approached her at a run. "Your tepee has passed from you into the power of the king."
"There is only one king," cried old Penfold. Then he shouted at her, for all the land to hear, "What king?"
"King Louis," said the girl defiantly.