“We accept your pledge in the spirit in which it is given, Colonel de Courcelles,” he said, “and being worn from a long day and long toil I, for one, shall find sweet slumber here on the leaves with a kindly sky above me.”

“Then, sir, I bid you a happy good night,” said Colonel de Courcelles.

Without further ado the three folded their blankets them and fell asleep on the leaves.

Robert, before closing his eyes, had felt assured that no harm would befall them while they were in the camp of de Courcelles, knowing that the French colonel could not permit any attack in his own camp upon those who bore an important message from the Governor of New York to the Governor General of Canada.  Hence his heart was light as he was wafted away to the land of slumber, and it was light again when he awoke the next morning at the first rays of dawn.

Tayoga and Willet still slept, and he knew that they shared his confidence, else these wary rovers of the woods would have been watching rather than sleeping.  Jumonville also was still rolled in his blankets, but de Courcelles was up, fully dressed, and alert.  Several of the Canadians and Indians were building a fire.  Robert’s questing eye sought at once for the Ojibway, but he was gone, and the youth was not surprised.  His departure in the night was a relief to everybody, even to the French, and Robert felt that an evil influence was removed.  The air that for a space the night before had been poisonous to the lungs was now pure and bracing.  He took deep breaths, and his eyes sparkled as he looked at the vast green forest curving about them.  Once more he felt to the full the beauty and majesty of the wilderness.  Habit and use could never dull it for him.

De Courcelles turned upon him a frank and appreciative eye.  Robert saw that he intended to be pleasant, even genial that morning, having no reason for not showing his better side, and the lad, who was learning not only to fence and parry with words, but also to take an intellectual pleasure in their use, was willing to meet him half way.

“I see, Mr. Lennox,” said de Courcelles gayly, “that you are in a fine humor this morning.  Your experience with the Ojibway has left no ill results.  He departed in the night.  One can never tell what strange ideas these savages will take into their heads.”

“I have forgotten it,” said Robert lightly.  “I knew that a French gentleman could not take the word of a wild Ojibway against ours.”

De Courcelles gave him a sharp glance, but the youth’s face was a mask.

“At least,” he said, “the matter is not one of which I could dispose.  Nor can any government take note of everything that passes in a vast wilderness.  I, too, shall forget it.  Nor is it likely that it will ever be taken before the Marquis Duquesne.  Come, our breakfast will soon be ready and your comrades are awakening.”