with her soft hand.  No doubt she realized the struggle in my mind, for she spoke little after the departure of the half-breed, as if anxious to permit me to figure out the future for myself.  Little by little I faced it, and came to an irrevocable decision.  It was to be Toinette or nothing.  While it might be true that she was in no immediate danger, and possibly could be safely ransomed if I once escaped to civilization, yet the risk of such venture and delay was too great; nor would my love abide so vast a sacrifice on her part.  I thought to say this to her; but there was a look of firm decision in her sweet face, as her dark eyes met mine, that somehow held me silent.  I felt that in her own heart she must already know what action I would choose, and the final moment would prove sufficient test for her evident determination.  Reassured here, my thoughts turned to De Croix; but that was useless.  I could send no message to him; he was no longer in especial peril, and perhaps would not willingly desert his newly found wife even to escape the savages.  Nay,—­it was to be Toinette and I, now and forever.

I do not clearly remember at this day what it was we spoke about in the brief whispering that passed between us while we waited there.  Neither of us felt like voicing our real thoughts, and so we but dissembled, making commonplaces fill the gaps between our silences.  The night found us undisturbed, and it shut down so darkly within the narrow confines of the lodge that I lost all trace of her presence, but for an occasional movement or the sound of her low voice.  Without, the rapidly increasing noise indicated a return of many savages to the camp, until at last a fire was kindled in the open space, its red flame sending some slight illumination where we were, but not enough to reveal the interior of the lodge.  An Indian brought the girl some food, entering and leaving without uttering a sound; and we two ate together, striving to speak lightly in order to make the coarse meal more palatable.

Suddenly I became aware of a faint scratching upon the skin of the lodge, at my back.  At first I supposed it to be some wild animal, or possibly a stray dog; but the regularity of it showed a purpose of some kind.  Could it be De Croix?  Or was it the half-breed with some secret message he dared not deliver openly?  I lifted the lodge covering slightly, and placed my lips to the aperture.

“Is some one there?” I whispered cautiously.  “Who is it?”

“I am Sister Celeste,” came the immediate low reply.  “Are you the white man I guided?”

“Ay,” I answered, rejoicing at this rare good fortune, “and I beg you to listen to what I say.  There will be a boat awaiting us beneath the old Agency building at midnight.  You must be there with De Croix.”

“De Croix?”

“Yes; I know not if that be his name to you, but I mean the Frenchman whose life you saved.  Will you take him thither at midnight, together with the rifle I left in the council lodge?”