"No," he burst forth, "but I have been oftentimes nearer you than you thought. I could not forget what you said to me at that last meeting, or the appeal you made for my assistance. I realize the position you are in, Madame, married by force to a man you despise, a wife only in name, and endeavoring to protect yourself by wit alone. I could not forget all this, nor be indifferent. I have been in your camp at night--ay, more than once--dreaming I might be of some aid to you, and to assure myself of your safety." "You have guarded me?" "As best I could, without arousing the wrath of Monsieur Cassion. You are not angry? it was but the duty of a friend." "No, I am not angry, Monsieur, yet it was not needed. I do not fear Cassion, so long as I can protect myself, for if he attempts evil it will find some form of treachery. But, Monsieur, later I gave him the pledge he asked." "The pledge! What pledge?" "That I would neither meet, nor communicate with you until our arrival at Fort St. Louis." My eyes fell before his earnest gaze, and I felt my limbs tremble. "_Mon Dieu_! Why? There was some special cause?" "Yes, Monsieur--listen. Do not believe this is my thought, yet I must tell you the truth. Hugo Chevet was found dead, murdered, at St. Ignace. 'Twas the morning of our departure, and your boat had already gone. Cassion accused you of the crime, as some of the men saw you coming from the direction where the body was found late at night, and others reported that you two had quarreled the evening before. Cassion would have tried you offhand, using his authority as commander of the expedition, but promised not to file charges until we reached St. Louis, if I made pledge--'twas then I gave him my word." De Artigny straightened up, the expression on his face one of profound astonishment. "He--he accused me," he asked, "of murder to win your promise?" "No, Monsieur; he believed the charge true, and I pledged myself to assure you a fair trial." "Then you believed also that I was guilty of the foul crime?" I caught my breath, yet there was nothing for me to do but give him a frank answer. "I--I have given no testimony, Monsieur," I faltered, "but I--I saw you in the moonlight bending over Chevet's dead body." CHAPTER XIX WE EXCHANGE CONFIDENCES My eyes fell before his; I could not look into his face, yet I had a sense that he was actually glad to hear my words. There was no anger, rather happiness and relief in the gray eyes. "And you actually believed I struck the blow? You thought me capable of driving a knife into the man's back to gain revenge?" "Monsieur, what could I think?" I urged eagerly. "It did not seem possible, yet I saw you with my own eyes. You knew of the murder, but you made no report, raised no alarm, and in the morning your boat was gone before the body was found by others."