The peace I found lay in that sweet face, turned partially away, yet appearing fairer than ever beneath the protecting hood, drawn up as the night air grew chill.  Whether similar sense of strangeness and timidity rested upon her, I could not determine, yet I believed her thoughts so far away that our present surroundings were no more to her than the vaguest dream.  She scarcely stirred during all the hours I watched her; only once did she glance up, to smile as she met my eyes before I could withdraw them from her face.  Had she read aright their message, perchance this story might never have been written; yet purer, truer love no man ever gave to woman.  We must have continued thus, pulling silently, for hours before De Noyan broke the oppressive silence with impatient speech.  Indeed, not the least impressive feature of the grewsome night was his continued stillness.

“Le Diable!” he exclaimed uneasily, shifting in his seat.  “If the Styx be more gloomy than this accursed stream, then Jesu pity its voyagers.  Never have I put in so miserable a night, to say nothing of a strained back, and a pair of sore hands.  What are those black, crawling things yonder? Mon Dieu!  I have seen a thousand hideous demons since we left the cane.”

I glanced across my shoulder in the direction he pointed, glad enough to hear once again the sound of a voice.

“Only the fire-seared branch of a tree tossed on the current—­the night rests heavily upon your nerves.”

“Heavily? Parbleu! it has unmanned me with hideous silence, with creeping, ghostly mystery, until I am half mad, scarcely daring to whisper, in fear of my own voice.  Eloise, are you there? or have the spectres of this haunted journey flown away with you?”

“Angels or demons, they would have naught of me,” she replied in seeming unconsciousness of his mood.  “My thoughts, I fear, have been sufficiently sad to accord well with the gloom, only my shadows are within, not without.”

“Sacre! mine are all yonder,” he exclaimed, indicating with a gesture the vast extent of angry water.  “Why should I bear heavy heart, except for brooding phantoms of the night?  Life is still mine in all its sweetness.  Not that I greatly valued it, to be sure, yet ’tis somewhat better than I once thought, and there is always pleasure left in the world for the young.  From whence springs your mood of sadness, Eloise?”

“My thought was with my father.”

“’Tis not strange it should be.  Yet, it might be better if you dwelt upon the brighter view of our own future.  He is at rest; no tears can be of aid.  But we can look forward to dreams of happiness.  ’Tis my plan to cross the great ocean, seeking better fortune on the Continent.  France, they say, has ever a vacant place for a good sword, nor is the king likely to refuse service to a nephew of Bienville.  You and I, Eloise, shall yet tread the Paris streets, nor shall we go as beggars.”