"Oh, where am I?" she cried in piercing accents; and endeavored to spring up. "Thou art safe enough and naught has harmed thee," was the reply. "Keep quiet, that is all." "Oh, where do you mean to take me? I am stiff and cold. Oh, let me change a little!" She straightened herself and pulled the blanket over her. The same stolid faces that had refused any satisfaction last night met her gaze again in blankness. There was a broad, open space of water, no longer the river. She glanced about. A sudden arrow of gold gleamed swiftly across it--then another, and it was a sea of flame with dancing crimson lights. "It is the lake," she said. "Lake Huron." She had been up the picturesque shores of the St. Clair river. The Indian nodded. "You are going north?" A great terror overwhelmed her like a sudden revelation. The answer was a solemn nod. "Some one has hired you to do this." Not a muscle in any stolid face moved. "If I guess rightly will you tell me?" There was a refusal in the shake of the head. Jeanne Angelot at that moment could have leaped from the boat. Yet she knew it would be of no avail. A chill went through every pulse and turned it to the ice of apprehension. The canoe made a turn and ran up an inlet. A great clump of trees hid a wigwam until they were in sight of it There was a smoke issuing from the rude chimney, and a savory smell permeated the air. Two squaws had been squatted before the blaze of the stone-built fireplace. They both rose and came down the narrow strip of beach. They were short, the older one had a squat, ungainly figure of great breadth for the height, and a most forbidding face. The other was much younger. Jeanne did not understand the language, but from a few words she guessed it was Huron. It seemed at first as if there was fierce upbraiding from some cause, but it settled satisfactorily it would seem. She was helped out of the canoe. Oh, how good it was to stand free on the ground again! The Indian who appeared to be the leader of the party took her arm and led her up to the inclosure, the back of which seemed rocks, one piled upon another. The wigwam was set against them. The rude shelter outside was the kitchen department, evidently. A huge kettle had been lifted from the coals and was still steaming. A bark platter was piled high with deliciously browned fish, and in spite of her terror and distrust she felt that she was hungry. "If I might have some water," she asked hesitatingly,--"a drink and some to bathe my face and hands?" The drink was offered her in a gourd cup. Then the younger woman led her within the wigwam. There was a rough earthen bowl filled with water, a bit of looking-glass framed in birch bark, a bed, and some rounds of logs for seats. Around hung articles of clothing, both native made and bought from the traders. "I understand Chippewa," announced Jeanne looking inquiringly at the woman.