"Then I give you back all I ever had, oh, so gladly." "Your father, perhaps, wanted him and saw some woman who dealt in charms?" "I have no father or mother. A poor old Indian woman cares for me. She was my nurse, everything. Oh, her heart will be broken! And this White Chief will surely let me go to Detroit?" "He is good and gracious to all, and just. That is why you must not mention Marsac's name, for he might not understand about the wicked go-between. There are _shil loups_, spirits of wretched people who wander about making mischief. But I must believe thee. Thine eyes are truthful." She brushed Jeanne's hair from her forehead and looked keenly, questioningly into them. They met the glance with the shine of innocence and truth that never wavered in their heavenly blue. "The White Chief has boats that go up and down continually. You will get safely to Detroit." "And you?" inquired Jeanne. CHAPTER XVI. RESCUED. "And you?" repeated Jeanne Angelot when Owaissa seemed lost in thought. "I shall remain here. When Louis Marsac comes I will break the fatal spell that bound him, and the priest will marry us. I shall make him very happy, for we are kindred blood; happier than any cool-blooded, pale-face girl could dream. And now you must set out. The sun is going down. You will not be faint of heart?" "I shall be so glad! And I shall be praying to the good Christ and his Mother to make you happy and give you all of Louis Marsac's heart. No, I shall not be afraid. And you are quite sure the White Chief will befriend me?" "Oh, yes. And his wife is of Indian blood, a great Princess from Hudson Bay, and the handsomest woman of the North, the kindest and most generous to those in sorrow or trouble. The White Queen she is called. Oh, yes, if I had a sister that needed protection, I should send her to the White Queen. Oh, do not be afraid." Then she took both of Jeanne's hands in hers and kissed her on the forehead. "I am glad I did not have to kill you," she added with the naive innocence of perfect truth. "I think you are the kind of girl out of whom they make nuns, who care for no men but the fathers, and yet they must adore some one. In thy convent cell pray for me that I may have brave sons." Jeanne made no protest against the misconstruction. Her heart was filled with gratitude and wonder, yet she could hardly believe. "You must take my blanket," and Owaissa began draping it about her. "But--Noko?" said the French girl. "Noko is soundly asleep. And the sailors are throwing dice or drinking rum. Their master cannot be back until dark. Go your way proudly, as if you had the blood of a hundred braves in your veins. They are often a cowardly set, challenging those who are weak and fearful. Do not mind." "Oh, the good Father bless you forevermore." Jeanne caught the hands and covered them with kisses. "And you will not be afraid of--of _his_ anger?"