H E acted so like a crazed man, grovelling face downward in the grass, that I had to hold him, fearful lest his noise might attract attention from our enemies.  
"Be quiet, De Croix!" I commanded sternly, my hand hard upon him, my eyes peering through the darkness to determine if possible the cause for his mysterious fright. "What is it that has so driven you out of your senses?"
 
He half rose, staring back at the black shadow of the dim doorway, his face white as chalk in the star-light and faint glare of the distant fires.
 
"'Twas the face of a dead woman," he gasped, pointing forward, "there, just within the door! I saw her buried three years ago, I swear; yet, God be merciful! she awaited me yonder in the gloom."
 
"Pish!" I exclaimed, thoroughly disgusted at his ? 293 ? weakness, and rising to my feet. "Your nerves are unstrung by what we have been through, and you dream of the dead."
 
"It is not so!" he protested, his voice faltering pitifully; "I saw her, Monsieur,—nor was she once this day in my thought until that moment."
 
"Well, I shall soon know if there is a ghost within," I answered shortly, determined to make quick end of it. "Remain here, while I go into the house and see what I can find."
 
For a moment he clung to me like a frightened child; but I shook off his hands a bit roughly, and stepped boldly across the threshold. That was an age when faith in ghostly visitations yet lingered to harass the souls of men. I confess my heart beat more rapidly than usual, as I paused an instant to peer through the shadowy gloom within. It was a small, low room, with a litter of broken furniture strewing the earthen floor; but the log-walls were quite bare. The flicker of the still blazing Fort illuminated the interior sufficiently to enable me to make out these simple details, and to see that the place was without living occupant.
 
There was only one other apartment in the building, and I walked back until I came upon the door which separated the two, and flung it open. As I did so I thought I saw a shadow, the dim flitting of a woman's form between me and the farther wall; but ? 294 ? as I sprang hastily forward, grasping after the spectral vision, I touched nothing save the rough logs. Twice I made the circuit of that restricted space, so confident was I of my own eye-witness; but I found nothing, and could only pause perplexed, staring about in wonder.
 
It occurred to me that my own overtaxed nerves were at fault, and that if I was to accomplish anything before daylight I must say nothing likely to alarm De Croix further.
 
"Come, Monsieur!" I said, as I came out and shook him into attention, "there is naught within more dangerous than shadows, or perchance a rat. Nor have I any time longer to dally over such boyishness. I had supposed you a soldier and a brave man, not a nerveless girl to be frightened in the dark. Come, there is ample hiding-space behind the walls, and I purpose leaving you here to regain some measure of your lost courage while I try a new venture of my own."
 
"Where go you?"
 
"To learn if I may gain entrance to the Indian camp unobserved. There can be no better time than while they are occupied yonder."
 
He looked uneasily about him into the dark corners, shuddering.
 
"I would rather go with you," he protested, weakly. "I have not the heart to remain here alone."
 
? 295 ?
 
"Nevertheless, here you stay," I retorted shortly, thoroughly exasperated by his continued childishness; "you are in no spirit to meet the perils yonder. Conquer your foolishness, Monsieur, for I know well 'tis not part of your nature so to exhibit fear."
 
"'Tis naught alive that I so shrink from; never have I been affrighted of living man."
 
"True; nor have I ever found the dead able greatly to harm. But now I go forth to a plain duty, and you must wait me here."
 
I did not glance back at him, although I knew he had sunk dejected on a bench beside the door; but with careful look at the priming of my rifle, I stepped forth into the open, and started down the slight slope leading to the river. A fringe of low, straggling trees hid my movements from observation by possible watchers along the southern bank; nor could I perceive with any definiteness what was going on there. The fires had died down somewhat, and I thought the savage yelling and clamor were considerably lessened.
 
I confess I went forward hesitatingly, and was doubtful enough about the outcome; but I saw no other means by which I might hope to locate Mademoiselle definitely, and I valued my own life now only as it concerned hers. The selfish cowardice of De Croix if cowardice it truly was served merely to stir me to greater recklessness and daring, and I felt ready to venture all if I might thereby only pluck her ? 296 ? from the grasp of those red fiends. As I crept through the fringe of bushes which lined the bank, my eyes were on the darkened upper extremity of the Indian camp, and all my thoughts were concentrated upon a plan of entrance to it. I may have been somewhat careless, for I had no conception of any serious peril until after I had crossed the stream, and it certainly startled me to hear a voice at my very elbow,—a strange voice, beautifully soft and low.
 
"You have the movement of an Indian; yet I think you are white. What seek you here?"
 
I turned quickly and faced the speaker, my rifle flung forward ready for action. The light was poor enough there amid the shadows, yet the single glimpse I had told me instantly I faced the mysterious woman of the Indian camp. For a moment I made no response, held speechless by surprise; and she questioned again, almost imperatively.
 
"I asked, why are you here?"
 
"I am one, by the grace of God, spared from the massacre," I answered blindly. "But you?—I saw you within the Indian camp only last night. Surely you are not a savage?"
 
"That I know not. I sometimes fear the savage is part of all our natures, and that I am far removed from the divine image of my Master. But I am not an Indian, if that is what you mean. If to be white is a grace in your sight, I am of that race, though there ? 297 ? are times when I would have been prouder to wear the darker skin. The red men kill, but they do not lie, nor deceive women. I remember you now,—you were with the White Chief from Dearborn, and tried to approach me when Little Sauk interfered. Why did you do that?"
 
Her manner and words were puzzling, but I knew no better way than to answer frankly.
 
"I sought Elsa Matherson,—are you she?"
 
The girl—for she could certainly have been little more—started perceptibly at the name, and bent eagerly forward, peering with new interest into my face.
 
"Elsa Matherson?" she questioned, dwelling upon the words as though they awoke memories. "It is indeed long since I have heard the name. Where knew you her?"
 
"I have never known her; but her father was my father's friend, and I sought her because of that friendship."
 
"Here?"
 
"At Fort Dearborn, where she was left an orphan."
 
"How strange! how very strange indeed! 'Tis a small world. Elsa Matherson! and at Dearborn?"
 
Was it acting, for some purpose unknown to me,—or what might be the secret of these strange expressions?
 
? 298 ?
 
"Then you are not the one I seek?"
 
She hesitated, looking keenly toward me through the dim light.
 
"I have not said who I may be," she answered evasively. "Whatever name I may once have borne was long ago forgotten, and to the simple children about me I am only Sister Celeste. 'Tis enough to live by in this wilderness, and the recording angel of God knows whether even that is worthy. But I have been waiting to learn why you are here, creeping through the bushes like a savage! Nor do I believe you to be altogether alone. Was there not one with you yonder at the house? Why did he cry out so loudly, and fall?"
 
"He imagined he saw a ghost within. He claimed to have recognized the face of a dead woman he once knew."
 
"A dead woman? What is the man's name? Who is he?"
 
"Captain de Croix, an officer of the French army."
 
She sighed quickly, as if relieved, one hand pressed against her forehead, and sat thinking.
 
"I know not the name, but it seems strange that the chance sight of my face should work such havoc with his nerves. Spoke he not even the name of the woman?"
 
"I think he cried some name as he fell, but I recall it not."
 
? 299 ?
 
"And you? You are only seeking a way of escape from the savages?"
 
For a moment I hesitated; but surely, I thought, this strange young woman was of white blood, and seemingly an enthusiast in the religion I also professed, and I might safely trust her with my purpose.
 
"I am seeking entrance within the encampment, hoping thus to rescue a maiden whom I believe to be prisoner in the hands of the Indians."
 
"A maiden,—Elsa Mather............