ALONE WITH DE ARTIGNY
Beyond this I knew nothing; with the coming of help, the sense that I
was no longer struggling unaided for life in those treacherous waters,
all strength and consciousness left me. When I again awoke, dazed,
trembling, a strange blur before my eyes, I was lying upon a sandy
beach, with a cliff towering above me, its crest tree-lined, and I
could hear the dash of waves breaking not far distant. I endeavored to
raise myself to look about, but sank back helpless, fairly struggling
for breath. An arm lifted my head from the sand, and I stared into a
face bending above me, at first without recollection.
"Lie still a moment," said a voice gently. "You will breathe easier
shortly, and regain strength."
I knew my fingers closed on the man's hand convulsively, but the water
yet blinded my eyes. He must have perceived this for he wiped my face
with a cloth, and it was then I perceived his face clearly, and
remembered.
"The Sieur de Artigny!" I exclaimed.
"Of course," he answered. "Who else should it be, Madame? Please do
not regret my privilege."
"Your privilege; 'tis a strange word you choose, Monsieur," I
faltered, not yet having control of myself. "Surely I have granted
none."
"Perchance not, as there was small chance," he answered, evidently
attempting to speak lightly. "Nor could I wait to ask your leave; yet
surely I may esteem it a privilege to bring you ashore alive."
"It was you then who saved me? I scarcely understood, Monsieur; I lost
consciousness, and am dazed in mind. You leaped into the water from
the canoe?"
"Yes; there was no other course left me. My boat was beyond yours, a
few yards farther out in the lake, when the storm struck. We were
partially prepared, for I felt assured there would be trouble."
"You told Monsieur Cassion so," I interrupted, my mind clearing. "It
was to bring him warning you returned."
"I urged him to land until we could be assured of good weather. My
Indians agreed with me."
"And he refused to listen; then you permitted your canoe to fall
behind; you endeavored to keep close to the boat I was in--was that
not true, Monsieur?"
He laughed, but very softly, and the grave look did not desert his
eyes.
"You noted me then! Faith, I had no thought you so much as glanced
toward us. Well, and why should I not? Is it not a man's duty to seek
to guard your safety in such an hour? Monsieur Cassion did not realize
the peril, for he knows naught of the treachery of this lake, while I
have witnessed its sudden storms before, and learned to fear them. So
I deemed it best to be near at hand. For that you cannot chide me."
"No, no, Monsieur," and I managed to sit up, and escape the pressure
of his arm. "To do that would be the height of ingratitude. Surely I
should have died but for your help, yet I hardly know now what
occurred--you sprang from the canoe?"
"Ay, when I found all else useless. Never did I feel more deadly
blast; no craft such as ours could face it. We were to your left and
rear when your canoe capsized, and I bore down toward where you
struggled in the water. An Indian got grip upon you as we swept by,
but the craft dipped so that he let go, and then I jumped, for we
could never come back, and that was the only chance. This is the whole
story, Madame, except that by God's help, I got you ashore."
I looked into his face, impressed by the seriousness with which he
spoke.
"I--I thank you, Monsieur," I said, and held out my hand. "It was most
gallant. Are we alone here? Where are the others?"
"I do not know, Madame," he answered, his tone now that of formal
courtesy. "'Tis but a short time since we reached this spot, and the
storm yet rages. May I help you to stand, so you may perceive better
our situation."
He lifted me to my feet, and I stood erect, my clothes dripping wet,
and my limbs trembling so that I grasped his arm for support, and
glanced anxiously about. We were on a narrow sand beach, at the edge
of a small cove, so protected the waters were comparatively calm,
although the trees above bowed to the blast, and out beyond the
headland I could see huge waves, whitened with foam, and perceive the
clouds of spray flung up by the rocks. It was a wild scene, the roar
of the breakers loud and continuous, and the black clouds flying above
with dizzy rapidity. All the horror which I had just passed through
seemed typified in the scene, and I covered my face with my hands.
"You--you think they--they are all gone?" I asked, forcing the words
from me.
"Oh, no," he answered eagerly, and his hand touched me. "Do not give
way to that thought. I doubt if any in your canoe made shore, but the
others need not be in great danger. They could run before the storm
until they found some opening in the coast line to yield protection.
The sergeant was no _voyageur_, and when one of the paddles broke he
steered wrong. With an Indian there you would have floated."
"Then what can we do?"
"There is naught that I see, but wait. Monsieur Cassion will be blown
south, but will return when the storm subsides to seek you. No doubt
he will think you dead, yet will scarcely leave without search. See,
the sky grows lighter already, and the wind is less fierce. It would
be my thought to attain the woods yonder, and build a fire to dry our
clothes; the air chills."
I looked where he pointed, up a narrow rift in the rocks, yet scarcely
felt strength or courage to attempt the ascent. He must have read this
in my face, and seen my form shiver as the wind struck my wet
garments, for he made instant decision.
"Ah, I have a better thought than that, for you are too weak to
attempt the climb. Here, lie down, Madame, and I will cover you with
the sand. It is warm and dry. Then I will clamber up yonder, and fling
wood down; 'twill be but a short time until we have a cheerful blaze
here."
I shook my head, but he would listen to no negative, and so, at last,
I yielded to his insistence, and he piled the white sand over me until
all but my face was covered. To me the position was ridiculous enough,
yet I appreciated the warmth and protection, and he toiled with
enthusiasm, his tongue as busy as his hands in effort to make me
comfortable.
"'Tis the best thing possible; the warmth of your body will dry your
clothes. Ah, it is turning out a worthy adventure, but will soon be
over with. The storm is done already, although the waves still beat
the shore fiercely. 'Tis my thought Monsieur Cassion will be back
along this way ere dusk, and a canoe can scarce go past without being
seen while daylight lasts, and at night we will keep a fire. There, is
that better? You begin to feel warm?"
"Yes, Monsieur."
"Then lie still, and do not worry. All will come out right in a few
hours more. Now I will go above, and throw down some dry wood. I shall
not be out of sight more than a few minutes."
From where I lay, my head on a hummock of sand, my body completely
buried, I could watch him scale the rocks, making use of the rift in
the face of the cliff, and finding no great difficulty. At the top he
looked back, waved his hand, and then disappeared among the trees. All
was silent about me, except for the dash of distant waves, and the
rustle of branches far overhead. I gazed up at the sky, where the
clouds were thinning, giving glimpses of faintest blue, and began to
collect my own thoughts, and realize my situation.
In spite of my promise to Cassion I was here alone with De Artigny,
helpless to escape his presence, or to be indifferent for the service
he had rendered me. Nor had I slightest wish to escape. Even although
it should be proven that the man was the murderer of my uncle, I could
not break the influence he had over me, and now, when it was not
proven, I simply must struggle to believe that he could be the
perpetrator of the deed. All that I seemed truly conscious of was a
relief at being free from the companionship of Cassion. I wanted to be
alone, relieved from his attentions, and the fear of what he might
attempt next. Beyond this my mind did not go, for I felt weak from the
struggle in the water, and a mere desire to lie quiet and rest took
possession of all my faculties.
De Artigny appeared at the edge of the cliff, and called to reassure
me of his presence. He had his arms filled with broken bits of wood
which were tossed to the sand, and, a moment later, he descended the
rift in the wall, and paused beside me.
"No sign of anyone up there," he said, and I felt not regretfully.
"The canoes must have been blown some distance down the coast."
"Were you able to see far?"
"Ay, several leagues, for we are upon a headland, and there is a wide
sweep of bay below. The shore line is abrupt, and the waves still
high. Indeed I saw no spot in all that distance where a boat might
make safe landing. Are you becoming dry?"
"I am at least warm, and already feel much stronger. Would it not be
best, Monsieur, for us to scale the cliff, and wait our rescuers
there, where we can keep lookout?"
"If you feel able to climb the rocks, although the passage is not
difficult. A boat might pass us by here and never be seen, or know of
our presence, unless we keep up a fire."
I held out my hand to him, and he helped me to my feet. The warmth of
the sand while it had not entirely dried my clothing, had given me
fresh vigor, and I stood erect, requiring no assistance. With this
knowledge a new assurance seemed to take possession of me, and I
looked about, and smiled.
"I am glad to know you can laugh," he said eagerly. "I have felt that
our being thus shipwrecked together was not altogether to your
liking."
"And why?" I asked, pretending surprise. "Being shipwrecked, of
course, could scarcely appeal to me, but I am surely not ungrateful to
you for saving my life."
"As to that, I did no more than any man might be expected to do," he
protested. "But you have avoided me for weeks past, and it can
scarcely be pleasant now to be alone with me here."
"Avoided you! Rather should I affirm it was your own choice, Monsieur.
If I recall aright I gave you my confidence once, long ago on the
Ottawa, and you refused my request of assistance. Since then you have
scarcely been of our party."
He hesitated, as though doubtful of what he had best say.
"It was never through indifference as to your welfare," he answered at
last, "but obedience to orders. I am but an employee on this
expedition."
My eyes met his.
"Did Monsieur Cassion command that you keep in advance?" I asked, "and
make your night camps beyond those of the main company?"
"Those were his special orders, for which I saw no need, except
possibly his desire to keep us separated. Yet I did not know his
reason, nor was it my privilege to ask. Had Monsieur Cassion any
occasion to distrust me?"
"I know not as to occasion, Monsieur, but he left Quebec disliking you
because of our conference there, and some words La Barre spoke gave
him fresh suspicion that you and I were friends, and should be
watched. I do not altogether blame the man for he learned early that I
thought little of him, and held it no honor to be his wife. Yet that
distrust would have died, no doubt, had it not been fanned into flame
by accident.
"I was kept in his boat, and every instant guarded by either himself,
or Père Allouez, his faithful servitor, until long after we passed
Montreal, and entered the wilderness. That day I met you on the bluff
was the first opportunity I had found to be alone. Your crew were
beyond the rapids, and Cassion felt there could be no danger in
yielding me liberty, although, had the _père_ not been ill, 'tis
doubtful if I had been permitted to disappear alone."
"But he knew naught of our meeting?"
"You mistake, Monsieur. Scarcely had you gone when he appeared, and,
by chance, noted your footprints, and traced them to where you
descended the cliff. Of course he had no proof, and I admitted
nothing, yet he knew the truth, and sought to pledge me not to speak
with you again."
"And you made such pledge?"
"No; I permitted him to believe that I did, for otherwise there would
have been an open quarrel. From then until now we have never met."
"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."