“That is what renders my heart so heavy in this peril, Geoffrey Benteen.  I could die easily, without tremor, beside you; nor would I shrink back from torture, did it of necessity come to me, for I possess a faith in Christ which would sustain me in such an ordeal.  But this—­O God!—­it is too much!  The thought that I may be reserved for a worse fate than death, may be compelled to live for months, perhaps years, as the humiliated companion of these murderous savages—­I, a lady of France!  It is more than I can bear.”

I saw tears shining in her eyes, and my hand, seeking her own, closed over it with sympathetic pressure.

“God grant there be some escape,” I said earnestly; it was all that came to my lips.

“But I feel there is none.  I have not lived upon the border of this vast wilderness all my life without learning something regarding the customs of savages.  If they spare a woman from stake or knife it is that they may doom her to a fate more horrible, making of her their degraded slave.  I know this, and have read the truth anew in those faces glaring upon me to-day.  There remains but one faint hope—­that woman who seems to exercise control over them may incline the savages to mercy.”

“I cannot encourage you to place much trust in such tenderness,” I confessed sadly. “’T is not likely, despite her white face, and certain graces bespeaking knowledge of civilization, she will prove any less a savage than those she governs.  She would not be here, able to control so wild a brood of wolves, if she were not of their breed in heart; nor do women chiefs have much choice against the vote of the tribe.  I do not trust her, Madame; I studied her face—­a fair one, I grant—­as she stood in the sun upon the rock summit.  It was hard set, and savage with the scent of blood and battle.  No mercy led her to protect us then; like a great cat she prefers playing with her mice before killing.  Has she been here while I slept?”

“No one has visited us excepting the old chief who led the assault; he did nothing but strike the Puritan, who sought speech with him.”

She paused a moment, her head bent low; then she lifted her face to mine again, and I read within it the quick determination of her soul.

“Geoffrey Benteen, listen.  What would you do to save her who was Eloise Lafreniere from such a fate of horror as now overhangs her?”

“Anything within the power of a man,” I answered instantly, a painful throbbing at the heart.  “I would even drive the saving steel into your heart to keep you unsoiled from the clutch of such foul hands.  Ay! hard as the task must prove, yet I could do it, believing I performed the will of God as I struck the blow.  But even for that I am helpless, as I possess no weapon.”

I felt her hands touch mine, something cold being pressed against my flesh.

“I thank thee, Father, there is one whom I may trust even unto death,” she sobbed prayerfully.  “Take this knife, Geoffrey Benteen.  The Indians did not think to search a woman for such weapons of war.  If the moment comes when all hope is gone, when naught else is left, I pray you, as a helpless woman utterly dependent upon your aid, let that sharp point save me endless shame and agony.  Have I your promise?”