"'Tis best, my child," he said softly. "We can no longer serve the dead by remaining here, and there are long leagues before us. In the boat your prayers will reach the good God just as surely as though you knelt here beside this poor body. 'Tis best we go." I permitted him to lead me out through the door, and we followed Cassion down the steep path to the shore. The latter seemed to have forgotten all else save our embarkation, and hurried the soldier off on a run to get the boats in the water. The _père_ held to my arm, and I was conscious of his voice continually speaking, although I knew nothing of what he said. I was incapable of thinking, two visions haunting me--the body of Hugo Chevet outstretched on the bench in the mission house, and Rene de Artigny far away yonder on the water. Why had it happened? What could ever excuse a crime like this? On the beach all was in readiness for departure, and it was evident enough that Moulin had already spread the news of Chevet's murder among his comrades. Cassion, however, permitted the fellows little time for discussion, for at his sharp orders they took their places in the canoes, and pushed off. The priest was obliged to assume Chevet's former position, and I would gladly have accompanied him, but Cassion suddenly gripped me in his arms, and without so much as a word, waded out through the surf, and put me down in his boat, clambering in himself, and shouting his orders to the paddlers. I think we were all of us glad enough to get away. I know I sat silent, and motionless, just where he placed me, and stared back across the widening water at the desolate, dismal scene. How lonely, and heart-sickening it was, those few log houses against the hill, the blackened stumps littering the hillside, and the gloomy forest beyond. The figures of a few men were visible along the beach, and once I saw a black-robed priest emerge from the door of the mission house, and start down the steep path. The picture slowly faded as we advanced, until finally the last glimpse of the log chapel disappeared in the haze, and we were alone on the mystery of the great lake, gliding along a bare, uninhabited shore. I was aroused by the touch of Cassion's hand on my own as it grasped the side of the canoe. "Adele," he said, almost tenderly. "Why should you be so serious? Cannot we be friends?" My eyes met his in surprise. "Friends, Monsieur! Are we not? Why do you address me like that?" "Because you treat me as though I were a criminal," he said earnestly. "As if I had done you an evil in making you my wife. 'Twas not I who hastened the matter, but La Barre. 'Tis not just to condemn me unheard, yet I have been patient and kind. I thought it might be that you loved another--in truth I imagined that De Artigny had cast his spell upon you; yet you surely cannot continue to trust that villain--the murderer of your uncle." "How know you that to be true?" I asked.