“I know that; even Sieur de la Salle failed to learn your dwelling place. Yet when he finally chose me as his comrade on this last journey, while I would have followed him gladly even to death, the one hope which held me to the hardships of the trail, was the chance thus given of seeking you myself.”
“It was I you sought then at the home of Hugo Chevet? not service under Francois Cassion? Yet, when we met, you knew me not.”
“Nay; I had no thought that you were there. ’Twas told me in Quebec––for what cause I cannot decide––that you had returned to France. I had given up all hope, and that very fact made me blind to your identity. Indeed, I scarce comprehended that you were really Adele la Chesnayne, until we were alone together in the palace of the Intendant. After I left you there, left you facing La Barre; left you knowing of your forced engagement to his commissaire, I reached a decision––I meant to accompany his party to Montreal, 275 find some excuse on the way for quarrel, and return to Quebec––and you.”
He paused, but I uttered no word, conscious that my cheeks were burning hotly, and afraid to lift my eyes to his face.
“You know the rest. I have made the whole journey; I have borne insult, the charge of crime, merely that I might remain, and serve you. Why do I say this? Because tonight––if we succeed in getting through the Indian lines––I shall be again among my old comrades, and shall be no longer a servant to Francois Cassion. I shall stand before him a man, an equal, ready to prove myself with the steel––”
“No, Monsieur,” I burst forth, “that must not be; for my sake you will not quarrel!”
“For your sake? You would have me spare him?”
“Oh, why do you put it thus, Monsieur! It is so hard for me to explain. You say you love me, and––and the words bring me joy. Ay, I confess that. But do you not see that a blow from your hand struck at Francois Cassion would separate us forever? Surely that is not the end you seek. I would not have you bear affront longer, yet no open quarrel will serve to better our affairs. Certainly no clash of swords. Perhaps it cannot be avoided, for Cassion may so insult you when he sees us together, as to let his insolence go beyond restraint. But I beg of you, Monsieur, to 276 hold your hand, to restrain your temper––for my sake.”
“You make it a trial, a test?”
“Yes––it is a test. But, Monsieur, there is more involved here than mere happiness. You must be cleared of the charge of crime, and I must learn the truth of what caused my marriage. Without these facts the future can hold out no hope for either of us. And there is only one way in which this end can be accomplished––a confession by Cassion. He alone knows the entire story of the conspiracy, and there is but one way in which he can be induced to talk.”