Taking Maheera by the hand and lifting her to her feet, I pointed to the entrance of the lodge, where the sunlight was sifting through, and motioned her to lead on. With a friendly look she put finger upon her lips again and peered out across the clearing. She shook her head, and lifting the skins at the rear of the lodge motioned me to follow. Soon we had crept through the thicket into the forest and went rapidly down the long aisle of pines. At last the sounds of the Indian encampment were merged into the voices of the wood. A bird was singing somewhere and the sough of the wind through the tree tops overhead somehow brought back in a sudden flood of memory the nights at sea when Mademoiselle and I journeyed towards this wild western land.

It had all come so suddenly that I was bewildered, as one who has been rudely awakened from a long sleep. Truly I had been sleeping and the hideous pictures I had dreamed were false, De BrÉsac was right after all; it was his keenness of perception that had guessed the truth. It almost angered me to think that my intuition, steadfast through all these long months, should have failed me at the time when my heart was nearest its desire; but I was too near happiness to let any other emotion enter into my soul.

I hurried on through the forest with Maheera; who, regardless of the heat of the morning and the roughness of the traveling, moved on beside me, seeming not even to touch the ground and giving no sign of fatigue. Her soft moccasins made almost no sound among the dried branches, while I, unskilled in wood-craft, crashed through them, awkward and heavy-footed, raising many a bird and beast which skurried away into the underbrush terrified at such noisy and unaccustomed intrusion. But for all that, it seemed to me as though my feet bore wings and once or twice I found myself going at so round a pace that my companion was sore put about to keep up with me. Then, with an exclamation at my lack of thought, I reduced my gait and we went along more reasonably side by side. Her mouth was set and she kept her glance before her upon the ground. She had traversed this distance once before, during the hours of the night, but no complaint or sound of any kind came from her throat. At about noon, when I wished to know the distance of the place to which we were traveling, she looked at the sun and pointed to the heavens, signifying that at an hour midway between noon and sunset we should reach our journey’s ending. Once only did we rest. When I, feeling that the pace must be telling upon her, stopped and pointed to a fallen tree, she shook her head and would have gone on had I not taken her by the hand and led her to a seat, placing myself beside her and offering her a mouthful of eau-de-vie from the flask which by some good fortune I carried. We ate a few wild berries and then hurried onward. We had gone what I should have thought to be a distance of five or six leagues when there opened out in front of us a quiet valley with many fields of grain which cut into the hills with squares of green and yellow. Beyond, by the border of a river which lay like a silver snake in the meadows, was the smoke of the village of Tacatacourou.

Maheera, wishing to conceal the object of our coming, had not chosen to go straight as the eagle flies from the encampment of Satouriona. By taking a roundabout way we had escaped the curiosity of the braves of Tacatacourou, who were hastening to the great war dance and the “black-drinking” which Satouriona had proclaimed before the attack upon the Spaniards. Maheera, halting upon the edge of the clearing, made a sign to me and we stopped. She motioned me to take my place behind her, and following a thicket we moved cautiously, encircling a plowed field in which two women were working. Presently we passed the trees upon which they had hung their babes, this being their custom, and I thought we must surely have been discovered, for the infants made sinister, wry faces when I came close to them and seemed about to cry out. But Maheera crept up, crooning in a low tone; and, saying some phrases in her soft voice, held them quiet till I had got by and was safely in the underbrush of the forest beyond. We walked silently for some time longer, threading the mazes of the forest, and at last Maheera led me, trembling at the nearness of my happiness, to an open place within a close growth of great pine trees where several lodges, neatly thatched and cared for, stood in an enclosure. Then with a smile the Indian girl beckoned me on and pointed to the entrance of the palisade.

I walked forward upon my tip-toes and craning my neck here and there in a very agony of expectation. Maheera fell noiselessly behind me, and the crackling of every twig beneath my feet seemed to shake me like an aspen. But we must have made little noise, for we reached the gate of the palisade without notice and scarce daring to breathe, I looked around the entrance post.

Mademoiselle was there! She sat upon a wooden bench beside the door of the lodge. Her look was turned toward the west and she did not see us as we paused upon the threshold of the palisade. Her hair was cast loose about her shoulders; the breeze played wantonly with its meshes, and the slanting sun burnished it with a golden glow like an aureole. She was dressed, like Maheera, in deerskin; and so pale a gem did she seem in this rough setting that her very slenderness and fairness startled me into the dread that she was translated, and no more a creature of this earth. I feared to move and break the spell that held me. But an Indian woman who sat opposite, weaving, glanced up at this moment and espied us; and then my mistress turned her head.

“Mademoiselle!” I cried, coming forward, “Mademoiselle,—it is I!”

She started to her feet; but casting a fleeting glance upon me, turned half around and fell senseless upon the ground.

Maheera was on her knees beside her in a moment, and together we carried her within the lodge and laid her upon a bed of skins and hemlock-boughs. It was not until then that I saw how wasted she was. I cursed myself for the boor that I was to burst upon her so. What if, after all she had suffered, she was to fade away like a flower under my very eyes. It were better that she had been struck down among the first at Fort Caroline. What if I had killed her? The misery of that moment! I fell upon my knees, raised my voice and prayed to God, who had watched so long over her, that she might be spared.

The moments passed anxiously. Maheera forced eau-de-vie between her lips and at last, with an intaking of breath that racked her from head to foot, she opened her eyes and looked to where I knelt beside her, my anguish all unconcealed.

“Ah yes,” she sighed, “I remember now! It was silly of me. I have never done so before. But I am so weak,—so weak——”

Brave little heart! Undaunted and strong even in her weakness!

“Nay, sweetheart. It was I who startled you. Blame it to me. God knows, rather would I cut my hand from my body——”

She laid her soft fingers upon my wrist.

“Hush!” she said gently, “I know. I have learned. I know how you love me,—dear.”

She paused as she gained her strength, while I mutely worshiped—then she went on reverently.

“It is that which neither time nor distance can alter. It has been with me always, and so I knew that you still lived and one day would come for me.”

I had no answer but to press my lips upon her slender wrist.

She closed her eyes for a while and seemed to sleep, while I sat beside her bed in great ferment of mind at her suffering. But soon Maheera came into the lodge with a bowl of some steaming herb. This Mademoiselle drank with relish and Maheera propped her up with robes and branches. As she grew stronger the faint color came back into her cheeks.

“It is over now?” she asked at last.

“Yes. It is over. There shall be no more suffering. Your friends are here and you are safe.”

She leaned back her head, closing her eyes and sighing contentedly. Presently, as a thought came to her, she started up from her pillow.

“Olotoraca!” she said half in alarm. “Where is Olotoraca?”

I set my teeth as I thought of the haughty young brave and his lies to me in the cabin of the Vengeance.

“You are the prisoner of Olotoraca, Mademoiselle? If he has——”

“There! there! Vex me not now, Sir Firebrand.” She smiled.

“But, Mademoiselle——”

“Nay, I am aweary. Vex me not,—there must be no anger between you two. What! Cannot you understand? He can be no enemy to you——”

“But he lied to me! He would have concealed you and kept you from your own people.”

“Yes. I am his prisoner. But you must listen to me and do what I ask of you. When you know, you will say, it is rather a debt of gratitude than of blood that you owe him.”

“Say on, dear heart, I will listen.”

“Then it is this.” She paused, fingering the robe. “Olotoraca loves me, Sydney.—Nay, do not scowl so blackly. For shame! And he but a savage creature of the woods! Can you not understand? It is a kind of worship. Though he comes often to this place, he stands aloof and waits upon me as though I were a very queen, content only to look and do my bidding; asking for nothing and hoping for nothing that I could not give.”

“But he has kept you here!”

“Where else could I go, good Sydney? Here was everything this country affords. I have been safe and cherished by his people, and this old woman and the gentle Maheera; guarded, until last night when they were called to the war dance, by his own braves with never a fear of beast or Spaniard. Sydney, it was this Paracousi who saved my life from De BaÇan, and it is he who has preserved me against their expeditions. Presently you shall know. Ah, you wrong him to doubt for a moment his service or his intent. Has he not saved me for you? No! no! no! There must be no more blood—no more blood! But where is he, Maheera?” she inquired anxiously. “Where is Olotoraca?”

“There is no need for fear,” said the girl. “Olotoraca is at San Mateo.”

“Ah, I am thankful.”

Mademoiselle gained strength rapidly. Happiness does not often kill. And as for me, what could I say? The mastery of my spirit was no easy task, but as I looked at her and thought of all her suffering there was nothing I would not have done for her. I resolved not to wait for Olotoraca but to take her away aboard the Vengeance before he returned. Afterwards, when I learned of the battles he had fought in her defense, upon my soul I began to have a liking for the man, as I had at first sight of him, in the cabin of the ship. The love we bore made this red chief and me akin.

Just before sunset, my lady, having slept a little, called Maheera to her. The Indian girl put her dark fingers upon the fair brow, tenderly stroking the hair away from the temples, and sighing.

Mademoiselle understood the easier words of the Indian tongue and their signs, and spoke a few words to Maheera asking her why she was sad. The red blood of the Indian came to her face as she answered,

“It is that the skin of Maheera is not fair like that of the Moon-Princess. Olotoraca looks no more upon the maidens of his own race.”

“The Moon-Princess will soon be gone.”

“It is that also which makes Maheera sigh. For now that she has brought the White Giant to take her away, Maheera is sorry.”

“It is best so, Maheera. But why did Maheera not say that she was going to bring the White Giant?”

“Maheera does not know. Only late last night came a message to Tacatacourou, saying that the White Canoes of the French had come.”

“But why did she think the White Giant would be with them?”

Maheera smiled.

“Because the Moon-Princess many times had said that he would come—and—well—because she wished——” Maheera was confused. She could not acknowledge that it was jealousy. “She wished—she wished—to please the Moon-Princess.”

It was my lady’s turn to flush.

“Ah! Maheera,” she laughed, shaking her finger. “You must not tell of these things.”

The simple straightforwardness of the Indian nature would not permit her to understand, for she opened her eyes in wonder.

“Maheera thought that what she did was good.”

Mademoiselle replied not, but I told Maheera by signs that her heart was a heart of gold.

Then said my lady, “Will Maheera grieve when the Moon-Princess is gone?”

“Not so much as Olotoraca will grieve.”

“But Maheera will be here and he will soon forget the Moon-Princess.”

“Maheera knows not. She is sorry. She loves Olotoraca with her whole heart but she has no hatred for the Moon-Princess. She will think of her and love her always—even when she has gone into the water of the coming day.”

There was trembling in the soft voice of the maid. It is a sadness to make so true a friend only to lose her again.

The following morning, with many pauses, Mademoiselle told the dreadful story of her sufferings. Nicholas Challeux had spoken the truth. For hidden in their hollow tree, covered by branches, Diane and Madame lay concealed throughout the terrific wind and rain-storm of that frightful night and through the terror of the next day. I did not press her to tell me more than she offered, for it grieved her to the soul to live over again that unhappy time. With hushed voice she told how she had fallen into the sleep of utter exhaustion and had wakened to find her hand clasped in the icy one of Madame, whose wide eyes showed that she had died of fear; she shuddered as she told of her escape upon the second night, worn almost to death by the agony through which she had passed; of her struggle, worn and draggled, more dead than alive, to the river upon whose bank she had fallen from exhaustion. Then her face lightened a little as she told how an Indian warrior had discovered her in the long grass and how he had carried her stealthily to the hiding-place among the Tacatacourous. But a Spanish soldier had seen her, and three times Diego de BaÇan had come himself to the camps and villages of Satouriona telling of the death of the Sieur de la Notte and of the massacres upon the sand-spit, asking for her and offering great rewards if they would return her to the Fort, saying that she should be treated as a princess. Spanish spies were always upon the track of Olotoraca; but he, wary and skilled in woodcraft, had ever slipped away from them,—save once, when two of them traced him to the palisade. They had surprised him at a time when no guards were about the enclosure. Fearing to arouse the Tacatacourous they would not fire their arquebuses and so set upon him both at once with their swords. With his spear he had pierced one through the neck. The other, taking to flight, he lamed badly with an arrow,—so badly that the fellow could not get back to the fort to tell his discovery, but was killed that same night not a league away. Could I wonder after the tale of this service that Mademoiselle would have no blood-letting between the Paracousi and me?

Then I in my turn, sick even at the memory of it, told how the braves of Emola had found the ring with the ancient setting and how I had given her up for lost, and then I learned how she had given this ring to a waiting-maid of the household of LaudonniÈre in recompense for her kindness and service to Madame. Thus all was explained.

That night when we had eaten, we went out into the sweet-scented woods and seated ourselves upon a bed of moss under a wide-spreading oak. The sun had set and the twilight fell down upon us warm and soft as the touch of velvet. The breeze had blown into the west, where great banks of clouds hid the last glorious rays of this wonderful day of ours. For a long time we sat silent, fearing to break upon the hush of the animate things about us. Every twig was sleeping and over us fell that deep mysterious spell of the giant forest which linked us with time. For the nonce we were instincts only, symbols of nature, apiece with eternity.

We were so happy that we knew how little was the meaning of mere words. At last Mademoiselle sighed deeply.

“It is the end of travail,” she said. “The world is as tired and as content as we.”

“Thou art so content?” I asked, bending over her.

She drew a little from me, smiling.

“Not too content, monsieur. Perhaps ’tis by contrast with what has gone before.” She said it with a touch of coquetry, that last ingredient which goes to make a woman. For all my boorishness, I understood.

“Yes, thou art happy. I can see it by thine eyes. As for me, I will be happy when I see the roses blooming in thy cheeks again.”

She made an impatient gesture. “For shame upon such a loutish speech! Thou art not happy!”

“I would say——”

“You would say that the roses bloom not in my cheeks——”

“But, Mademoiselle——”

“Am I so pale, monsieur? And so uncomely? In my life I have heard nothing so ungallant! Think you I can find mirror and lady’s-maid in this wild place? Monsieur—if you like me not——”

Scorning further parley, I had but one answer for this protesting.

A little soft gray squirrel, belated, had come down from a tree near by and sat upon his haunches, switching his tail and looking at us most curiously.

“Upon my word, I find you a most forward person,” said my lady, brushing back her hair from her temples.

“And I, by your leave, find you most impertinent, and therefore quite strong enough to make a journey with me.”

“Then we may get away to the ships on the morrow?”

“And you are willing for me to carry you.”

The color flushed again into her pale cheeks as she cast down her eyes upon her deer-skin leggings and then strove to pull the short skirt to cover over her knees.

“What matters it, my Diane?” I whispered. “And besides when the Fort is taken we may find a minister or priest——”

But she clapped her hand upon my mouth and would hear no more.