"Because there is no other accounting for it," he explained sternly. "The quarrel last evening, the early departure before dawn--" "At your orders, Monsieur." "Ay, but the sergeant tells me the fellow was absent from the camp for two hours during the night; that in the moonlight he saw him come down the hill. Even if he did not do the deed himself, he must have discovered the body--yet he voiced no alarm." I was silent, and my eyes fell from his face to the green water. "'Twill be hard to explain," he went on. "But he shall have a chance." "A chance! You will question him; and then--" He hesitated whether to answer me, but there was a cruel smile on his thin lips. "Faith, I do not know. 'Tis like to be a court-martial at the Rock, if ever we get him there; though the chances are the fellow will take to the woods when he finds himself suspected. No doubt the best thing I can do will be to say nothing until we hold him safe, though 'tis hard to pretend with such a villain." He paused, as if hoping I might speak, and my silence angered him. "Bah, if I had my way the young cockerel would face a file at our first camp. Ay! and it will be for you to decide if he does not." "What is your meaning, Monsieur?" "That I am tired of your play-acting; of your making eyes at this forest dandy behind my back. _Sang Dieu_! I am done with all this--do you hear?--and I have a grip now which will make you think twice, my dear, before you work any more sly tricks on me. _Sacre_, you think me easy, hey? I have in my hand so," and he opened and closed his fingers suggestively, "the life of the lad." CHAPTER XVI MY PLEDGE SAVES DE ARTIGNY I had one glimpse of his face as he leaned forward, and there was a look in it which made me shudder, and turn away. His was no idle threat, and whether the man truly loved me or not, his hatred of De Artigny was sufficient for any cruelty. I realized the danger, the necessity for compromise, and yet for the moment I lacked power to speak, to question, fearful lest his demands would be greater than I could grant. I had no thought of what I saw, and still that which my eyes rested upon remains pictured on my brain, the sparkle of sun on the water, the distant green of the shore, the soldiers huddled in the canoe, the dark shining bodies of the Indians ceaselessly plying the paddles, and beyond us, to the left, another canoe, cleaving the water swiftly, with Père Allouez' face turned toward us, as though he sought to guess our conversation. I was aroused by the grip of Cassion's hand. "Well, my beauty," he said harshly, "haven't I waited long enough to learn if it is war or peace between us?" I laughed, yet I doubt if he gained any comfort from the expression of the eyes which met his.