"Madame," he said gravely, "I am but a plain soldier, with all my service on the frontier. I leave to the priests the discussion of doctrines, and to God my punishment and reward. I can only answer you as De Artigny's friend, and an officer of France. I give you honor, and respect, and deem your love and trust far more holy than your marriage. My faith, and my sword are yours, Madame." I felt his lips upon my hand, yet knew not he had gone. I stood there, my eyes blinded with tears at his gallant words, only becoming conscious of his disappearance, when De Artigny drew me to him, his cheek pressed against my hair. "He has gone! we are alone!" "Yes, dear one; but I thank God for those last words. They have given me courage, and faith. So my old comrades believe us right the criticism of others does not move me. You love me, Adele? you do not regret?" My arms found way about his neck; my lips uplifted to his. "Monsieur, I shall never regret; I trust God, and you." How he ever found his way along that dim trail I shall never know. Some memory of its windings, together with the instinct of a woodsman, must have given guidance, while no doubt his feet, clad in soft Indian moccasins, enabled him to feel the faint track, imperceivable in the darkness. It led along a steep bank, through low, tangled bushes, and about great trees, with here and there a rock thrust across the path, compelling detour. The branches scratched my face, and tore my dress, confusing me so that had I not clung to his arm, I should have been instantly lost in the gloom. Our advance was slow and cautious, every step taken in silence. Snakes could not have moved with less noise, and the precaution was well taken. Suddenly De Artigny stopped, gripping me in warning. For a moment there was no sound, except the distant murmur of waters, and the chatter of some night bird. Yet some instinct of the woods held the man motionless, listening. A twig cracked to our left, and then a voice spoke, low and rumbling. It sounded so close at hand the fellow could scarcely have been five yards away. Another voice answered, and we were aware of bodies, stealing along through the wood; there was a faint rustling of dead leaves, and the occasional swish of a branch. We crouched low in the trail, fairly holding our breath, every nerve tense. There was no sound from below, but in the other direction one warrior--I could see the dim outline of his naked figure--passed within reach of my outstretched hand. Assured that all had passed beyond hearing De Artigny rose to his feet, and assisted me to rise, his hand still grasping mine. "Iroquois, by the look of that warrior," he whispered, "and enough of them to mean mischief. I would I knew their language." "'Twas the tongue of the Tuscaroras," I answered. "My father taught me a little of it years ago. The first words spoken were a warning to be still; the other answered that the white men are all asleep."