There were hours of heart-break, when it seemed as if she could not endure Renée’s prattle, and would fain shake off the soft touch on her arm, the kisses on her forehead, for the awful, desperate want of the other kisses, the other clasp. And oh, how strong the longing was at times to throw herself headlong into the river and let her spirit of love fly to that other land, that the good God provided for His children. Then she would think of Gaspard Denys and his love for the little maid. He had seen enough of the cruelty of her race to know the danger. Ah, why had the great All-Father allowed any human beings to become such fiends? Up in her northern home she had heard things that turned the blood to ice. And she had been so near the white settlements. Yes, she must care for the little one, keep with her, befriend her, try to restore her to her dear protector. It was best to claim that Renée was her little sister by adoption. If they could only get back! Why should they go up north? What was that more than any other place! The woman at this would shake her head doubtfully. Yet Wawataysee could see that she softened, and once she asked how far it was to St. Louis, and how one could get there. Wawataysee’s heart beat high with hope. Yet how could two girls reach there alone? They might meet other Indian bands who would capture them. There were wild animals. And they might not get a canoe. They had no money. Still, she would escape if they could and pray to the good God to keep them safe. Often and often she and Renée comforted themselves with the sweet, brief prayers they had learned. And oh, where was poor Mère Lunde! Several days of rest were vouchsafed to them. Then one day a company of hunters joined them, among which there were a few white prisoners as well. One, a young fellow, strolled about with evident curiosity, and came upon the girls in a leafy covert near the wig-wam. They were given a little liberty by their keeper on promising by the Great Manitou they would not attempt to escape. “It would be of no use,” said the woman. “An alarm would be given, and you do not know your way anywhere. Then you might be beaten when you were captured, and confined with thongs. Have patience. Sometimes all the braves go off to hunt.” The young man listened to the French with delight. Two of the other captives were English and they had conversed mostly with signs and Indian words they had picked up. Renée heard a stir in the leaves and started with a little cry. The hand was raised for silence. “Pardon me. I will do you no harm,” he said, with an appeal in his voice. “It was the language that sounded so sweet to me. I am French. I come from Detroit. But we fell in with a band of Indians and only three of us escaped unhurt. We were made prisoners.” “And we are prisoners, too,” returned Wawataysee, with a sigh. “We come from St. Louis.” “St. Louis! How strange! I had meant to go there. I have an uncle, Pierre Valbonais.”