meant—death was nothing in comparison. “_Aux armes! aux armes!_” the girlish voice rang out in clear, piercing tones. Bibelot’s resounding howls were lost in the din as the Indians, uttering their appalling yells, dashed towards her. Like an arrow from a bow, fleet as a young fawn, Diana sprang forward, several of the dusky braves starting in hot pursuit. She had some advantage of distance in the start, but so close were her pursuers that the slightest hesitation, a false step, a slip on the sunburnt grass, would prove fatal. The footsteps of her foremost pursuer fell with growing clearness upon her ears. With every muscle strained to its utmost tension on she flew, all the while conscious that the foe was steadily gaining upon her. She had almost reached the threshold of the fort when, shouting his own name in the Indian fashion, the Iroquois stretched out his hand to grasp her shoulder. She could feel the touch of his fingers upon the lace border of the kerchief she wore around her neck. At this instant the report of a pistol rang out. With a sharp, convulsive shudder the savage sprang high in the air and fell prostrate to the ground, as Diane, breathless and trembling, was drawn into the fort by du Chesne. A prescient excitement blazed in the young man’s eyes. His spirited face was full of resolution and confidence. “Fear not, Diane,” he said, as he barricaded the door, “there are not a great number of Iroquois gathered outside, and they rarely attack a fort. Our most serious danger is that the sound of the guns may induce my father to return, and that from the shore they will fire upon the boats. We are safe enough here, but we must not allow them to suspect that our garrison is so small. I have already posted the men; we can only await the attack.” Diane sank down faint and sick, yet with a sweet consolatory thought underlying her physical weakness. Whatever might happen she would not be obliged to endure alone; she could depend upon a sympathy and companionship she highly prized. “And Jean, where is he?” du Chesne continued, as though he wished to give her time to recover herself. “_Pasembleau!_ that lazy varlet has no heart for fighting; that I’ll swear. Nanon, thou canst manage an arquebus as well as any man among them. My brave girl, we will need thy help.” Nanon’s black eyes darted furious glances as she ground her teeth in sheer wrath. “Yes, Monsieur, I am capable of that, and may I put an end to one of these sorcerers, these brigands, with every shot I fire! My hairs are all rubbed the wrong way at the sight of these wolves. Chut! Mademoiselle, why so pale? I think little of these affairs, me; still there is no laughing under the nose when it relates to the Iroquois. Sit far back if you would not see, and for a high-born demoiselle I grant—” “No, Nanon,” Diane interposed, repulsing the well-intentioned offers of assistance. “Whatever befalls the others I share, since our lot has been cast together.”