Then Robert sprang to his feet, but Garay, uttering an angry exclamation at his missed stroke, did not attempt another.  Instead, agile as a cat, he ran lightly away, and disappeared in the darkness of the camp.  Robert sat down, somewhat dazed.  It had all been an affair of a minute, and it was hard for him to persuade himself that it was real.  His comrades still slept soundly, and the camp seemed as peaceful as ever.

For a time Robert could not decide what to do.  He knew that he had been threatened by a formidable danger, and that instinct, more than anything else, had saved him.  He was almost prepared to believe that Tayoga’s Tododaho, looking down from his remote star, had intervened in his behalf.

The question solved itself.  Although he knew that Garay had made a foul attempt upon his life he had no proof.  His story would seem highly improbable.  Moreover, he was a prisoner, while Garay was one of the French.  Nobody would believe his tale.  He must keep quiet and watch.  He was glad to see that the night was now lightening.  Garay would not come back then, at least.  But Robert was sure that he would repeat the attack some time or other.  Revenge was a powerful motive, and he undoubtedly had another as strong.  He must guard against Garay with all his five senses.

The night continued to brighten.  The lightning ceased to flicker, the storm had blown itself out in the distance, and a fine moon and a myriad of stars came out.  Things in the camp became clearly visible, and, feeling that Garay would attempt nothing more at such a time, Robert closed his eyes again.  He soon slept, and did not awaken until all the other prisoners were up.

“Mr. Tilden,” he said to the hunter, “I offer you my sincere apologies.”

“Apologies,” said the hunter in surprise.  “What for?”

“Because I mistook a much worse man for you.  You didn’t know anything about it at the time, but I did it, and I’m sorry I wronged you so much, even in thought.”

The hunter touched his forehead.  Clearly the misfortunes of the young prisoner were weighing too heavily upon him.  One must endure captivity better than that.

“Don’t take it so hard, Mr. Lennox,” he said.  “It’s not like being in the hands of the Indians, and there is always the chance of escape.”

De Galissonniere visited him again that morning, and Robert, true to his resolution, said nothing of Garay.  The captain did not speak of the Anglo-American army, but Robert judged from his manner that he was highly expectant.  Surely, Abercrombie was about to advance, and the retreat of Montcalm could not be more than a day away.  De Galissonniere stayed only ten minutes, and then Robert was left to his own devices.  He tried to talk to Tilden, but the hunter lapsed again into an apathetic state, and, having little success, he fell back on his own thoughts and what his eyes might behold.

In the afternoon he saw Montcalm at some distance, talking with St. Luc and Bourlamaque, and then he saw a man whose appearance betokened haste and anxiety approach them.  Robert did not know it then, but it was the able and daring French partisan, Langy, and he came out of the forest with vital news.