I watched him disappear among the trees, without regret, or slightest sense of fear at thus being left alone. The fire burned brightly, and I rested where the grateful warmth put new life into my body. The silence was profound, depressing, and a sense of intense loneliness stole over me. I felt a desire to get away from the gloom of the woods, and climbed the bank to where I could look out once more across the waters. CHAPTER XX I CHOOSE MY DUTY The view outspread before me revealed nothing new; the same dread waste of water extended to the horizon, while down the shore no movement was visible. As I rested there, oppressed by the loneliness, I felt little hope that the others of our party had escaped without disaster. De Artigny's words of cheer had been spoken merely to encourage me, to make me less despondent. Deep down in his heart the man doubted the possibility of those frail canoes withstanding the violence of the storm. It was this thought which had made him so anxious to secure food, for, if the others survived, and would return seeking us, as he asserted, surely they would appear before nightfall, and there would be no necessity for our snaring wild game in order to preserve life. De Artigny did not believe his own words; I even suspicioned that he had gone now alone to explore the shore-line; seeking to discover the truth, and the real fate of our companions. At first this conception of our situation startled me, and yet, strange as it may seem, my realization brought no deep regret. I was conscious of a feeling of freedom, of liberty, such as had not been mine since we departed from Quebec. I was no longer watched, spied upon, my every movement ordered, my speech criticized. More, I was delivered from the hated presence of Cassion, ever reminding me that I was his wife, and continually threatening to exercise his authority. Ay, and I was with De Artigny, alone with him, and the joy of this was so deep that I came to a sudden realization of the truth--I loved him. In a way I must have known this before, yet, not until that moment, did the fact dawn upon me in full acknowledgement. I sank my head on my hands, my breath quickened by surprise, by shame, and felt my cheeks burn. I loved him, and believed he loved me. I knew then that all the happiness of life centered in this one fact; while between us arose the shadow of Cassion, my husband. True I loved him not; true I was to him wife only in name; true our marriage was a thing of shame, yet no less a fact, no less a barrier. I was a La Chesnayne to whom honor was a religion; a Catholic bowing humbly to the vow of Holy Church; a Frenchwoman taught that marriage was a sacred rite.