“Lieutenant Helm,” said Ronan, politely, “this is Captain de Croix, of the French army.”

He presented De Croix to Mrs. Helm, and then turned inquiringly toward me.

“I believe I have failed to learn your name?”

“I am simply John Wayland,” I answered, and, with a glance at my face, Lieutenant Helm cordially extended his hand.

“We are greatly pleased to welcome you both,” he said earnestly, but with a grave side-glance at his young wife, “though I fear we have little to offer you except privation and danger.”

“How many have you in the garrison?” I questioned, my eyes upon the moving figures about us.  “It looks a crowd, in that narrow space.”

“They are all there who are able to crawl,” he said, with a grave smile.  “But in this case our numbers are a weakness.  In the garrison proper we have four commissioned officers, with fifty-four non-commissioned officers and privates.  To these may be added twelve settlers acting as militiamen, making a total defensive force of seventy men.  But fully twenty-five of these are upon the sick-list, and totally unfit for active duty; while we are further burdened by having under our protection twelve women and twenty children.  It almost crazes one to think of what their fate may be.”

“Your defences look strong enough to keep off savages,” broke in De Croix, “and I am told there is a sufficiency of provisions.  Saint Guise!  I have seen places where I had rather reside in my old age; yet with plenty of wine, some good fellows, and as lovely women as have already greeted me here, ’twill not prove so bad for a few weeks.”

Helm glanced at him curiously; then his gaze, always gravely thoughtful, wandered back to me.

“We are to evacuate the Fort,” he said quietly.

“Evacuate?” echoed the Frenchman, as if the word were displeasing. “’T is a strange military act, in my judgment, and one filled with grave peril.  Does such decision come from a council?”

“There has been no council,” broke in Ronan, hastily.  “The commander has not honored his officers by calling one.  Such were the orders as published on parade this morning.”

He would have added more, but Helm warned him, by a sudden look of disapproval.

“I understand,” he explained quietly, “that the instructions received from General Hull at Detroit were imperative, and that Captain Heald was left no discretion in the matter.”

“I have not yet discovered the man who has seen the orders,” exclaimed the Ensign hotly, “and we all know it means death.”

Helm faced him sternly.

“A soldier’s first duty is obedience,” he said shortly, “and we are soldiers.  Gentlemen, will you not come in?”

CHAPTER XII

THE HEART OF A WOMAN

As I sat in the officers’ quarters, listening to the conversation regarding existing conditions at the Fort and the unrest among the Indians of the border, my thoughts kept veering from sudden and ungracious disappearance of Mademoiselle to the early seeking after that hapless orphan child for whose sake I had already travelled so far and entered into such danger.  Evidently, if I was to aid her my quest must be no longer interrupted.