mmr
A Romance of Early Days
in the Middle
Authorof "Keith of the Border,M"My Lady
of Doubt," "The Maid of the
SYNOPSIS.
Adele la Chesnayne, a belle of New
Prance, ia among conspirators at her un
cle's house. Casslon. the commlssalre,
has enlisted her Undo Chevet's aid
agralnst La Salle. D'Artigny, La Salle's
friend, offers his services as1 guide to Cas
sion's party on the Journey to the wilder
ness. The uncle Informs Adele that he
has betrothed her to Cassion and forbids
her to see D'Artigny again. In Quebec
Adele visits her friend, Sister Celeste,
who brings D'Artigny to her. She tells
him her story and he vows to release her
from the bargain with Casslon. D'Artig
ny leaves promising to see her at the
'dance. CasBlon escorts Adole to the hall.
She meets the governor, La Barre, and
hears him warn the commissaire against
D'Artigny. D'Artigny's ticket to the ball
has been recalled, but he gains entrance
toy tho window. Adele Informs him of the
governor's words to Casslon. For her
eavesdropping at the ball Adele Is ordered
by the governor to marry Cassion at once
and to accompany him to the Illinois
country. He summons Chevet and directs
that he atttend them on the Journey. They
leave In the boats. Adele's future depend
ing on the decision of D'Artigny whom
she now knows she loves. Casslon and
D'Artigny have words. Uncle Chevet for
the first time hears that his niece is an
heiress,' and begins to suspect Cassion's
motives. Adele refuses to permit her hus
band to share her sleeping quarters.
Chevet agrees to help her. She talks se
cretly to D'Artigny. but he declines to
give her active aid against her husband.
Bad luck frequently comes In
bunches. Adele has been buf
feted by fate for months, nay for
several years. In this fight
against Commissaire Cassion
she needs direly every aid she
can muster, yet one after an
other her sources of help fall
away. This is a thrilling Install
ment, which describes how she
receives two serious shocks.
One of them blackens her love
affair. The other frightens her.
Cassion finds his wife alone on the
hill and discovers a man's footprints.
He accuses her angrily.
CHAPTER XI Continued.
"The print is fresh, not ancient, and
none of the men from my camp have
come this way."
He strode forward across the nar
row open space and disappeared into
the fringe of trees bordering the edge
of the bluff. It would have been easy
for me to depart, to escape to the se
curity of the tent below, but curiosity
held me motionless. I knew what he
would discover, and preferred to face
the consequences where I was free to
answer him face to face. I wished
him to be suspicious, to feel that he
had a rival; I would fan his Jealousy
to the very danger point. Nor had I
long to wait. Forth from the shade
of the trees he burst and came toward
me, his face white, his eyes blazing.
" "Tis the fellow I thought," he burst
forth, "and he went down the face of
the blufT yonder. So you dared to have
tryst with him?"
"With whom, monsieur?"
"D'Artigny, the young fool! Do you
think me' blind? Did I not know you
were together in Quebec? What are
you laughing at?"
"I was not laughing, monsieur. Your
ridiculous charge does not amuse me.
I am a woman; you insult me; I am
your wife; you charge me with indis
cretion. If you think to win me with
such cowardly insinuations you know
little of my nature. I will not talk
with you, nor discuss the matter. I
return to the camp."
His hands clinched as though he
had the throat of an enemy between
them, but angry as he was, some
vague doubt restrained him.
"Mon dieu! I'll fight the dog!"
"D'Artigny, you mean? 'Tis his
trade, I hear, and he is good at it."
"Bah! a bungler of the woods. I
doubt If he ever crossed blades with
a swordsman. But mark you this,
madame, the lad feels my steel if ever
you so much as speak to him again."
There was contempt in my eyes, nor
did I strive to disguise it
"Am I your wife, monsieur, or your
slave?"
"My wife, and I know how to hold
you! Mon dieu! but you shall learn
that lesson. I was a fool to ever give
the brat place in the boats. La Barre
warned me that he would make trou-'
ble. Now I tell you what will occur
If you play false with me."
"You may spare your threats they
weigh nothing. The Sleur d'Artigny
is my friend, and I shall address him
when it pleases me. With whatever
quarrel may arise between you I have
no interest. Let that suffice, and now
I bid you good night, monsieur."-
lie made no effort to halt me, nor
to follow, and I made my, way down
the darkening path, without so much
as turning my head to observe his
movements. It was almost like a play
to me, and I was reckless of the con
sequences, Intent only on my purpose.
In the early dawn we broke camp
as usual, except that chosen boatmen
'guided the emptied canoes through the
rapids, while the others of the party
made portage along the rough shore.
Ia the smooth water above we all em
West
Forest," etc.
tOPYBIOIIlVA C. M.CLURG o '
barked again, and won slow way
against the current. The advance com
pany had departed before our arrival,
nor did I again obtain glimpse of
D'Artigny for many days.
I would not say that Cassion pur
posely kept us apart, for the arrange
ment might have been the same had
I not been of the party, yet the only
communication between the two divi
sions occurred when some messenger
brought back warning of dangerous
water ahead. Usually this messenger
was an Indian, but once D'Artigny
himself came and guided our canoes
through a torrent of white, raging wa
ter, amid a maze of murderous rocks.
During these days and weeks Casslon
treated me with consideration and out
ward respect. Not that he failed to
talk freely, and to boast of his ex
ploits and adventures, yet he refrained
from laying hand on me, nor did he
once refer to the incident of the bluff.
Nor was the journey lacking in in
terest or adventure. Never shall I
forget the charm of those days and
nights, amid which we made slow and
toilsome passage through the desolate
wilderness, ever gaining new leagues
to the westward. Only twice in weeks
did we encounter human beings once
a camp of Indians on the shore of a
lake, and once a Capuchin monk, alone
but for a single voyageur as com
panion, passed us upon the river. And
when, at last, we, made the long por
tage, tramping through the dark for
est aisles, bearing on our shoulders
heavy loads, scarcely able to see the
sun even at midday through the leafy
screen of . leaves, and came forth at
twilight on the shores of the mighty
lake, no words can express the rap
tures with which I stood and gazed
across that expanse of heaving, rest
less water. The men launched their
canoes upon the surface and made
camp in the edge of the forest, but
I could not move, could not-restrain
my eyes, until darkness descended and
left all before me a void.
It was scarcely more than daybreak
when we broke camp and headed our
canoes out into the lake. With the
dawn, and the glint of sunlight over
the waters, much of my dread depart
ed, and I could appreciate the wild
song of delight with which our Indian
paddlers bent to their work. The
sharp-prowed canoes swept through
the waters swiftly, no longer battling
against a current, and the shore line
ever In view was fascinating in its
green foliage. We kept close to the
northern shore, and soon found pas
sage amid numerous islands, forest
covered, but with high, rocky outlines
For four days we coasted thus, never
out of sight of shore, and usually with
islands between us and the main body
of water. In all that time we had no
sign of man not even a wisp of
smoke, nor heard the crack of distant
rifle. About us extended loneliness
and desolation, great waters never
still, vast forests grim and somber,
tall, menacing rocks, bright-colored in
the sun.
As last we left the .chain of islands
behind, and one morning struck out
from the shore into the waste of wa
ters, the prows of the canoes turned
westward, the steersman guiding our
course by the sun. For several hours
we were beyond view of land, with
naught to rest the eye upon save the
gray sea, and then, when it was nearly
night, we reached the shore and
beached our canoes at St. Ignace.
So much had been said of St. Ignace,
and so long had the name been fa
miliar throughout New France, that
my first view of the place brought
me bitter disappointment.
The miserable little village was upon
a point of land, originally covered with
heavy growth of forest. A bit of this
had been rudely cut, the rotting
stumps still standing, ' and from the
timber a dozen rough log houses had
been constructed facing the lake. A
few rods back, on slightly higher land,1
was a log chapel and a house, some
what more pretentious than the others,
in which the priests lodged. The whole
aspect of the place was, peculiarly
desolate and depressing, facing that
vast waste of water, the black forest
shadows behind, and those rotting
stumps in the foreground.
Nor was our welcome one to make
the heart rejoice. Scarce a dozen per
sons gathered at the beach to aid us
In making landing, rough engages
mostly, and not among them all a face
familiar. It was only later, when
two priests from the mission came
hurrying forward, that we were greet
ed by cordial speech. These invited a
few of us to become guests at the
mission house, and assigned the re
mainder of our party to vacant huts.
Casslon, Chevet and Pere Allouez
accompanied me as I walked beside a
young priest up the beaten path, but
D'Artigny was left behind with the
men. I overheard Casslon order him
to remain, but he added some word
ia lower voice, which brought a flush
A
of anger into the younger man's face,
although he merely turned on his heel
without reply.
We remained at St. Ignace three
days, busily engaged in repairing our
canoes and rendering them fit for the
long voyage yet before us. From this
point we were to venture on treacher
ous waters, as yet scarcely explored,
the shores inhabited by savage, un
known tribes, with not awhlte man
In all the long distance from Green
Bay to the Chicago portage. Once I
got out the map and traced the dis
tance, feeling sick at heart as I thus
realized more clearly the weary jour
ney. Those were dull, lonely days I
passed In the desolate mission house,
while the others were busy at their
various tasks. Only at night time, or
as they straggled in to their meals, did
I see anyone but Pere Allouez, who
was always close at hand, a silent
shadow from whose presence I could
not escape. I visited the priest's gar
den, climbed the rocks overlooking
the water and even ventured into the
dark forest, but he was ever beside
me, suave but Insistent on doing his
master's will. The only glimpse I had
of D'Artigny was at a distance, for
not once did he approach the mission
house. So I was glad enough when
the canoes were ready, and' all prep
arations made for departure.
Yet we were not destined to escape
thus easily from St. Ignace. Of what
occurred I must write as it happened
to me then, and not as its full signi
ficance became later clear to my un
derstanding. It was after nightfall
when Cassion returned to the mission
house. The lights were burning on
the table, and the three priests were
rather impatiently waiting tneir even'
lng meal, occasionally exchanging
brief sentences, or peering out through
the open window toward the dark
water.
Cassion came in alone, yet I ob
served nothing strange about his ap
pearance,' except 'that he failed to
greet me with the usual attempt at
gallantry, although his sharp eyes
swept our faces as he closed the door,
and stared about the room.
"What! not eaten yet?" he ex
claimed. "I anticipated my fate to
be a lonely meal, for the rascals
worked like snails, and I would not
leave them rest unjtll all was finished.
Faith, the odor is appetizing, and I am
hungry as a bear."
The younger priest waved his hand
to the servant yet asked softly:
"Monsieur Chevet he is delayed
also?"
"He will sup with his men tonight,
returned Casslon shortly, seating him
self on the bench. "The sergeant
keeps guard of the canoes, and Chevet
will be useful with those off duty."
The man ate as though nearly fam
ished, his ready tongue unusually si
lent, and at the conclusion of the meal,
appeared so fatigued that I made early
excuse to withdraw so he might ret
in comfort, climbing the ladder in one
corner to my own bed beneath the
eaves. This apartment, whose only
advantage was privacy, was no more
than a narrow space between the slop
ing rafters of the roof, unfurnished,
but with a small window in the end,
closed by a wooden shutter. A parti
tion of axe-hewn planks divided this
attic into two compartments, thus com
posing the priests' sleeping chambers.
While I was there they both occupied
the one to the south, Cassion, Chevet
and Pere Allouez resting in the main
room below.
As I lowered the trap in the floor,
shutting out the murmur of voices, I
was conscious of no desire to sleep,
my mind busily occupied with possi
bilities of the morrow. I opened the
window and seated myself on the
floor gazing out at the night Below
extended the priests' garden, and be
yond the dark gloom of forest depths.
The way of egress was easy a mere
step to the flat roof of the kitchen,
the dovetailed logs of which afforded
The Way of Egress Was Easy.
a ladder to the ground. I had no ob
ject in such adventure, but a restless
impulse urged me, and, almost before
I realized my action, I was upon the
ground. Avoiding the gleam of light
which streamed from the open win
dow of-the room below, I crossed the
garden and reached the path leading
downward to the shore. From this
point I could perceive the wide sweep
of water, showing silvery in the dim
moonlight, and detect the darker rim
of the land. There was fire on the
point below the huts, and its red glare
afforded glimpses of the canoes mere
blurred outlines and occasionally the
figure of a man, only recognizable as
he moved.
I was still staring at this-dim pic
ture when some noise, other than the
wind, startled me and I drew 6ilently
back behind a great stump to avoid
discovery. My thought was that some
one had left the mission house Cas
sion perhaps with final orders to those
on the beach but a moment later I
realized my mistake, yet only crouched
lower In the shadow a man was ad
vancing from the black concealment
of the woods and crossing the open
space.
He moved cautiously, yet boldly
enough, and his movements were not
those of an Indian, although the low
bushes between us and the house
shadow, prevented my distinguishing
more than his mere outline. It was
only when he lifted his head into the
gleam of light, and took hasty survey
through the window of the scene with
in, that I recognized the face of
D'Artigny. He lingered scarcely a
moment, evidently satisfied with what
he saw, and then drew silently back,
hesitating a brief space, as though de
bating his next movement.
I waited breathless, wondering what
his purpose could be, half inclined to
intercept and question him. Was he
seeking to serve my cause? to learn
the truth of my relationship with Cas
sion? or did he have some other ob
ject some personal feud in which he
sought revenge? The first thought
sent the warm blood leaping through
my veins; the second left me shivering
as if with sudden chill.
Even as I stood, hesitating, uncer
tain, he turned and retraced his steps
along the same path of his approach,
passing, me not ten steps away and
vanishing into the wood. I thought
he paused at the edge and bent down,
yet before I found voice or determin-
Uatlbn to stop him, he had disappeared.
My courage returned, spurred by cur
iosity. Why should he take so round
about a way to reach the shore? What
was that black, shapeless thing he had
paused to examine? I could see" some
thing there, dark and motionless,
though to my eyes no more than a
shadow.
I ventured toward it creeping be
hind the bushes .bordering the path,
conscious of an odd fear as I drew
closer. Yet it was not until I emerged
from the fringe of shrubbery that even
the faintest conception of what the
object was I saw occurred to me.
Then I stopped, frozen by horror, for
I confronted a dead. body,
For an instant I could not utter a
sound or move a muscle of my body.
My hands clung convulsively to a
nearby branch, thus supporting me
erect in spite of trembling limbs and
I stared at the gruesome object,
black and almost shapeless in the
moonlight. Only part of the trunk
was revealed, the lower portion con
cealed by bushes, yet I could no longer
doubt it was a man's body a large,
heavily built man, his Jat still crushed
on his head, but with face turned
away.
What courage overcame my horror
and urged me forward I cannot tell;
I seemed impelled by some power not
nfy own, a vague fear of recognition
tugging at my heart. I crept nearer,
almost inch by inch, trembling at
every noise, dreading to discover the
truth. At last I could perceive the
ghastly features the dead man was
Hugo Chevet.
I nerved myself to the effort, and
turned the body sufficiently to enable
me to discover the wound be had
been pierced by a knife from behind;
had fallen, no doubt, without uttering
a cry, dead ere he struck the ground.
Then it was murder, foul mupder, a
blow in the back. Why had the deed
been done? What Spirit of revenge,
of hatred, of fear, could have led to
such an act? I got again to my feet,
staring about through the weird moon
light," every nerve throbbing, as I
thought to grip the fact and find its
cause. Slowly I drew back, shrinking
In growing terror from the corpse,
until I was safely in the priest's gar
den. There I paused Irresolute, my
dazed, benumbed brain beginning to
grasp the situation and assert itself.
CHAPTER XII.
The Murdei of Chevet
Who had killed him? What should
I do? These were the -two questions
haunting my mind, and becoming more
and more Insistent. The light still
burned in the mission house, and I
could picture the scene within the
three priests reading, or talking softly
to each other, and Casslon asleep on
his bench in the corner, wearied with
the day.
I could not understand, could not
imagine a cause, and yet the assassin
must have been D'Artigny. now else
could I account for his presence there
In the night his efforts at conceal
ment, his bending over the dead body,
and then hurrying away without
sounding an alarm. The evidence
against the man seemed conclusive,
and yet I would not condemn. There
might be other reasons for his si
lence, for his secret presence, and If
I rushed into tbe house, proclaiming
my discovery and confessing what I !
had seen, he would be left without
defense. J
Shrinking, shuddering at every
shadow, at every sound, my nerves
throbbing with agony, I managed to
drag my body up the logs, and In
throush the window. I was safe there,
but there was no banishing from mem
ory what I had seen what I knew
lay yonder in the wood shadow. I
sank to the floor, clutching the sill, my
eyes staring through the moonlight.
Once I thought I saw a man's indii-
tinct figure move across an open space,
and once I heard voices far away.
I do not know that I was called,
yet when I awoke a faint light pro
claiming the dawn was in the sky,
and sounds of activity reached my
ears from the room below. I felt tired
and cramped from my unnatural posi
tion, but hastened to join the others.
The morning meal was already on the
table, and we ate as usual, no one
mentioning Chevet, thus proving the
body had not been discovered. I could
scarcely choke the food down, antici
pating every instant the sounding of
an alarm. Cassion hurried, excited, no
doubt, by the prospect of getting away
n our journey, but seemed in excel
lent humor. Pushing back the box on
which he sat he buckled his pistol belt,
seized his hat and strode to the door.
"We depart at once," he proclaimed
briefly. "So I will leave you here to
bring the lady."
Pere Allouez, still busily engaged,
murmured some indistinct reply and
Cassion's eyes met mine.
"You look pale and weary this morn
ing," he said. "Not fear of the voy
age, I hope?"
"No, monsieur," I managed to an-
"He Is Dead the Big Man," He Stam
mered. swer quietly. "I slept ill, but shall be
better presently shall I bear my
blankets to the boats?"
"The servant will see to that, only
let there be as little delay as possible.
Ah! here comes a messenger from
below what is it, my man?"
The fellow, one of the soldiers whose
face I did not recall, halted in the
open door, gasping 'for breath, his eyes
roving about the room.
"He Is dead the big man," he stam
mered. "He is there by the woods."
"The big man dead!" Cassion drew
back, as though struck a blow. "What
big man? Whom do you mean?"
"The one in the second canoe, mon
sieur; the one who roared."
"Chevet? nugo Chevet? What has
happened to him? Come, speak up, or
I'll slit your tongue!"
The man gulped, gripping the door
with one hand, the other pointing out
ward. He is there, monsieur, beyond the
trail, at the edge of the wood. I saw
him with his face turned up Mon
dieu! so white; I dare not touch him,
but there was blood where a knife
had entered his back."
All were on their feet, their faces
picturing the sudden horror, yet Cas
slon was first to recover his wits, and
lead the way without. Grasping the
soldier's arm and bidding him 6how
where the body lay, he thrust him
through the door. I lingered behind
shrinking from being again compelled
to view the sight of the dead man,
yet unable to keep entirely away. Cas
sion stopped, looking down at the ob
ject on the grass, but made no effort
to touch it with his hands. The sol
dier bent and rolled the body over, and
one of the priests felt in the pockets
of the Jacket, bringing forth a paper
or two. Cassion took these, gripping
them in his fingers, his face appearing
gray in the early light.
"Mon dieu! the man has been mur
dered," he exclaimed, "a dastard blow
in the back. Look about and see if
you find a knife. Had he quarrel with
anyone, Moulin?"
The soldier straightened up.
"No, monsieur; I heard of none,
though he was often rough and harsh
of tongue to the men. Ah! now I re
call, he had words with Sleur d'Arti
gny on the beach at dusk. I know not
the cause, yet the younger man left
him angrily and passed by where I
stood, with his hands clinched."
"D'Artizny. hey!" Cassion's volon
had a ring of pleasure in it. "Ay! h-t
is a hothead. Know you where the
young cock Is now?"
"He, with tbe chief, left an hour
ago. Was it not your order, mon
sieur?" Cassion made a swift gesture, but
what It might signify I could" not de
termine, as his face was turned away.
A moment there was silence, as he
shaded his eyes and peered out across
the water.
!t certainly looks bad for
D'Artigny. Do you believe that
:-.e has murdered Chevet in a fit
of temper? Is there a possibil
ity that Cassion knows more of
Ahe tragsdy than his manner in
dicates? (TO BE COXTIN"T2D-.;
Virtues of
Faithfulness
By REV. T. H. RALSTON
Secretary of Correspondence Department,
Moody Bible Institute ot Chicago
TEXT Wherefore, holy brethren, par
takers of the heavenly calling, considci
the apostle and high priest of our profes
slon, Christ Jesus; who was faithful t
him that appointed him, as also Mose
was faithful In all his house. Heb. 8:1, s
Man may lack nearly all the virtue?
that are ordinarily prized, but If hi
retains jusf th
virtue of faithful!
ness he cannot b
overlooked. If htf
add to the othe
virtues that . o
faithfulness he a
one goes to thd
front
' W may not'
that the faithful
nesiS of Jesu
Christ had some
thing In view ev
evy moment th
commission o
him who had ap
pointed him. Hi
had come to dJ
the father's will and he never for a
moment let that drop out of sight until
he was ready to say, "I have finishec
the work that thou gavest me to do.'
Every man has his appointed worl
and ordinarily he knows what It is
and if he keeps that in view, especially
if he keeps in view the one who gavtf
him the appointment, he will not fall.
Jesus Christ realized every moment
that he was an apostle, that Is a "sent
one," and he carried out his work a?
sent to be the high priest for his peo
ple, viz.: to make a reconciliation oi
men to God, in short to make their re
demption complete.
This faithfulness of Jesus Christ
was compared with the faithfulness o!
Moses who was declared to be "faith
ful in all his house." Nothing omitted!
as far as human scrutiny could go!
But the faithfulness of Jesus Christ
was greater not so much In the qual
ity of it but In that he was faithful
as the son over his own house, whose
bouse we are. Here, as In other qual
ities of the high priest, Jesus was bet
ter than man or the best of men.
It Is In this faithfulness of Jesus
Christ that the believer has the guar
anty of his ultimate salvation. While
man must not forget that he must
hold fast to the "confidence and re
joicing of the hope firm unto the end,"
yet emphasis must always be placed
on the fidelity of the Redeemer. Paul
was confident that he that had begun a
good work In him would perform it, or
perfect It until the day of Jesus
Christ. To him Jesus was looked upon
as taking hold of a man and guaran
teeing his salvation. It Is not presump
tion to look upon Jesus as undertaking
the redemption of a man and believ
ing that he will complete the work.
It is very rarely that you find a Chris
tian man or woman who is instrumen
tal in bringing a man to the Lord who
is thus faithful, and the belief er might
from two standpoints do well to think
of Jesus as faithful to him. Some
times when he is In the way of temp
tation and Jesus is having a hard time
to hold him; sometimes when a man
is really doing his best with tremend
ous opposition, Jesus Is near at hand
keeping him from falling.
This faithfulness of Jesus is some
thing in which we may all share. As
we look upon men we find many of
ttiem possessing the talents that we
do not possess. They have splendid
physiques, fine personalities, good
voices, high intellectual attainments,
suavity and many other qualities, and
as we look at ourselves we find our
selves to be utterly lacking, and such
as we have are very inferior, and so
we despair of making a mark in con
nection with them.
There is another thing about the
faithfulness of Jesus that completes
our confidence ; his faithfulness i9
coupled with transcendent ability.
Paul again comes to us and says : "For
I know In whom I have believed, and
am persuaded that he is able to keep
that which I have committed unto
him against that day." There was a
day when Paul committed his eternal
salvation to Jesus Christ. . ne left it
all in the hands of Jesus; he trusted
him as faithful. At that time Faul did
not know much about the ability of
Jesus, but now, near the end of his
life, after the lapse indeed of many
years, we know that he has tested
Jesus and his testimony Is that not
only was he faithful but that he was
able. We cannot doubt but that Paul
had many hard battles, and as he was
passing through some of them it would
seem that he must fafl, but just as he
was going down Jesus held out his
strong hand and delivered him. "That
day" was not far distant to Paul al
though it has not arrived yet, but Paul
knew that his eternal Interests were
safe in Jesus because he had tested
him for so long. Faul knew that God
was rich in glory and could supply all
his needs, as he wrote to the Philippian
Christians.
To every man that has a serious
thought about the salvation of his own
soul Jesus Christ is presented as a
mediator between God and man, In the
position of the high priest, and he
has three qualities that are absolutely
necessary to the completion of that
work. First, he has the ability to do
It; secondly, he has the willingness
to do it; thirdly, he has the faithful
ness to do it