“I was kept in his boat, and every instant guarded 220 by either himself, or Père Allouez, his faithful servitor, until long after we passed Montreal, and entered the wilderness. That day I met you on the bluff was the first opportunity I had found to be alone. Your crew were beyond the rapids, and Cassion felt there could be no danger in yielding me liberty, although, had the père not been ill, ’tis doubtful if I had been permitted to disappear alone.”
“But he knew naught of our meeting?”
“You mistake, Monsieur. Scarcely had you gone when he appeared, and, by chance, noted your footprints, and traced them to where you descended the cliff. Of course he had no proof, and I admitted nothing, yet he knew the truth, and sought to pledge me not to speak with you again.”
“And you made such pledge?”
“No; I permitted him to believe that I did, for otherwise there would have been an open quarrel. From then until now we have never met.”
“No,” he burst forth, “but I have been oftentimes nearer you than you thought. I could not forget what you said to me at that last meeting, or the appeal you made for my assistance. I realize the position you are in, Madame, married by force to a man you despise, a wife only in name, and endeavoring to protect yourself by wit alone. I could not forget all this, nor be indifferent. I have been in your camp at night––ay, 221 more than once––dreaming I might be of some aid to you, and to assure myself of your safety.”
“You have guarded me?”
“As best I could, without arousing the wrath of Monsieur Cassion. You are not angry? it was but the duty of a friend.”
“No, I am not angry, Monsieur, yet it was not needed. I do not fear Cassion, so long as I can protect myself, for if he attempts evil it will find some form of treachery. But, Monsieur, later I gave him the pledge he asked.”
“The pledge! What pledge?”