19. 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."
"True, yet there was a reason which I can confess to you. You also discovered the body that night, yet aroused no alarm. I saw you. Why did you remain silent? Was it to protect me from suspicion?"
I bent my head, but failed to find words with which to answer. De Artigny scarcely permitted me time.
"That is the truth; your silence tells me it was for my sake you remained still. Is it not possible, Adele, that my purpose was the same? Listen to me, my girl, and have faith in my words--I am not guilty of Hugo Chevet's death. I did not like the man, it is true, and we exchanged words in anger while loading the boats, but I never gave the matter second thought. That was not the first night of this journey that I sought to assure myself of your safety.
"I know Monsieur Cassion, and of what he is capable, and felt that some time there would occur between you a struggle--so at every camping place, where it was possible, I have watched. It was for that purpose I approached the Mission House. I gained glimpse within, and saw Cassion asleep on a bench, and knew you had retired to the chamber above. I was satisfied, and started to return to the camp. On my way back I found Chevet's body at the edge of the wood. I discovered how he had been killed--a knife thrust in the back."
"But you made no report; raised no alarm."
"I was confused, unable to decide what was best for me to do. I had no business being there. My first impulse was to arouse the Mission House; my second to return to camp, and tell the men there. With this last purpose in view I entered the wood to descend the hill, but had hardly done so when I caught sight of you in the moonlight, and remained there hidden, watching your movements with horror. I saw you go straight to the body, assure yourself the man was dead; then return to the Mission House, and enter your room by way of the kitchen roof. Do you realize what your actions naturally meant to me?"
I stared at him, scarcely able to speak, yet in some way my lips formed words.
"You--you thought I did it?"
"What else could I think? You were hiding there; you examined the body; you crept secretly in through the window, and gave no alarm."
The horror of it all struck me like a blow, and I covered my eyes with my hands, no longer able to restrain my sobs. De Artigny caught my hands, and uncovered my face.
"Do not break down, little girl," he entreated. "It is better so, for now we understand each other. You sought to shield me, and I endeavored to protect you. 'Twas a strange misunderstanding, and, but for the accident to the canoe, might have had a tragic ending."
"You would never have told?"
"Of seeing you there? of suspecting you? Could you think that possible?"
"But you would have been condemned; the evidence was all against you."
"Let us not talk of that now," he insisted. "We have come back to a faith in each other. You believe my word?"
"Yes."
"And I yours."
His hand clasp tightened, and there was that in his eyes which frightened me.
"No, no, Monsieur," I exclaimed, and drew back quickly. "Do not say more, for I am here with you alone, and there will be trouble enough when Cassion returns."
"Do I not know that," he said, yet releasing my hands. "Still it can surely do no harm for us to understand each other. You care nothing for Cassion; you dislike, despise the man, and there is naught sacred in your marriage. We are in the wilderness, not Quebec, and La Barre has little authority here. You have protected me with your silence--was it not because you cared for me?"
"Yes, Monsieur; you have been my friend."
"Your friend! Is that all?"
"Is that not enough, Monsieur? I like you well; I would save you from injustice. You could not respect me if I said more, for I am Monsieur Cassion's wife by rite of Holy Church. I do not fear him--he is a coward; but I fear dishonor, Monsieur, for I am Adele la Chesnayne. I would respect myself, and you."
The light of conquest vanished from the gray eyes. For a moment he stood silent and motionless; then he drew a step backward, and bowed.
"Your rebuke is just, Madame," he said soberly.
"We of the frontier grow careless in a land where might is right, and I have had small training save in camp and field. I crave your pardon for my offense."
So contrite was his expression I had to smile, realizing for the first time the depth of his interest in my good will, yet the feeling which swayed me was not altogether that of pleasure. He was not one to yield so quietly, or to long restrain the words burning his tongue, yet I surrendered to my first impulse, and extended my hand.
"There is nothing to pardon, Sieur de Artigny," I said frankly. "There is no one to whom I owe more of courtesy than you. I trust you fully, and believe your word, and in return I ask the same faith. Under the conditions confronting us we must aid each other. We have both made mistakes in thus endeavoring to shield one another from suspicion, and, as a result, are both equally in peril. Our being alone together here will enrage Monsieur Cassion, and he will use all his power for revenge. My testimony will only make your case more desperate should I confess what I know, and you might cast suspicion upon me--"
"You do not believe I would."
"No, I do not, and yet, perchance, it might be better for us both if I made full confession. I hesitate merely because Cassion would doubt my word; would conclude that I merely sought to protect you. Before others--fair-minded judges at St. Louis--I should have no hesitancy in telling the whole story, for there is nothing I did of which I am ashamed, but here, where Cassion has full authority, such a confession would mean your death."
"He would not dare; I am an officer of the Sieur de la Salle."
"The more reason why he would. I know Monsieur Cassion even better than you do. He has conversed with me pretty freely in the boat, and made clear his hatred of La Salle, and his desire to do him evil. No fear of your chief will ever deter him, for he believes La Barre has sufficient power now in this country to compel obedience. I overheard the Governor's orders to keep you under close surveillance, and Cassion will jump at the chance of finding you guilty of crime. Now my broken pledge gives him ample excuse."
"But it was not broken except through necessity," he urged. "He surely cannot blame you because I saved your life."
"I doubt if that has slightest weight. All he will care about is our being here alone together. That fact will obscure all else in his mind."
"He believes then that you feel interest in me?"
"I have never denied it; the fact which rankles, however, is his knowledge that I feel no interest whatever in him. But we waste time, Monsieur, in fruitless discussion. Our only course is a discovery of Hugo Chevet's real murderer. Know you anything to warrant suspicion?"
De Artigny did not answer at once, his eyes looking out on the white crested waters of the lake.
"No, Madame," he said at length gravely. "The last time Chevet was seen alive, so far as I now know, was when he left the boats in company with Monsieur Cassion to return to the Mission House."
"At dusk?"
"It was already quite dark."
"They did not arrive together, and Cassion reported that Chevet had remained at the beach in charge of the canoes."
"You saw Cassion when he arrived?"
"Yes, and before; I was at the window, and watched him approach across the open space. He was alone, and appeared at ease."
"What did he do, and say, after he entered the house?"
"Absolutely nothing to attract notice; he seemed very weary, and, as soon as he had eaten, lay down on the bench, and fell asleep."
"Are you sure he slept?"
"I felt no doubt; there was nothing strange about his actions, but as soon as possible I left the room. You surely do not suspect him?"
"He was the last to be seen with Chevet; they left the beach together, yet the murdered man failed to appear at the Mission House, and Cassion falsely reported him left in charge at the beach."
"But no one could act so indifferent, after just committing such a crime. When you looked in through the window what did you see?"
"Only the priests about the table talking, and Cassion seemingly sound asleep. Could there be any reason why he should desire the death of Chevet?"
"I know of none. My uncle felt bitter over the concealment of my fortune, and no doubt the two had exchanged words, but there was no open quarrel. Chevet was rough and headstrong, yet he was not killed in fight, for the knife thrust was from behind."
"Ay, a coward's blow. Chevet possessed no papers of value?"
I shook my head.
"If so, no mention was ever made to me. But, Monsieur, you are still wet, and must be cold in this wind. Why do you not build the fire, and dry your clothing?"
"The wind does have an icy feel," he admitted, "but this is a poor spot. Up yonder in the wood shadow there is more warmth, and besides it affords better outlook for the canoes. Have you strength now to climb the bluff?"
"The path did not appear difficult, and it is dreary enough here. I will try."
I did not even require his aid, and was at the top nearly as soon as he. It was a pleasant spot, a heavy forest growing almost to the edge, but with green carpet of grass on which one could rest, and gaze off across the wide waste of waters. Yet there was little to attract the eyes except the ceaseless roll of the waves, and the curve of the coast line, against which the breakers still thundered, casting high in air their white spray. It was a wild, desolate scene, a wilderness wherever the eyes turned.
I stood silent, gazing to the southward, but there were no canoes visible, although the storm had ceased, and the waves were no longer high enough to prevent their return. They must have been driven below the distant point, and possibly so injured as to make repairs necessary. When I finally turned away I found that De Artigny had already lighted a fire with flint and steel in a little hollow within the forest. He called to me to join him.
"There is nothing to see," he said, "and the warmth is welcome. You had no glimpse of the boats?"
"No," I admitted. "Do you really believe they survived?"
"There was no reason why they should not, if properly handled. I have controlled canoes in far worse storms. They are doubtless safely ashore beyond the point yonder."
"And will return seeking us?"
"Seeking you, at least. Cassion will learn what occurred, and certainly will never depart without seeking to discover if you are alive. The thought that you may be with me will only serve to spur him to quicker action. My fear is he may be delayed by some accident, and we might suffer from lack of food."
"I had not thought how helpless we were."
"Oh, we are not desperate," and he laughed, getting up from his knees. "You forget I am bred to this life, and have been alone in the wilderness without arms before. The woods are full of game, and it is not difficult to construct traps, and the waters are filled with fish which I will devise some means of catching. You are not afraid to be left alone?"
"No," in surprise. "Where are you going?"
"To learn more of our surroundings, and arrange some traps for wild game. I will not be away long but someone should remain here to signal any canoe returning in search."
I watched him disappear among the trees, without regret, or slightest sense of fear at thus being left alone. The fire burned brightly, and I rested where the grateful warmth put new life into my body. The silence was profound, depressing, and a sense of intense loneliness stole over me. I felt a desire to get away from the gloom of the woods, and climbed the bank to where I could look out once more across the waters.