Now for my poor Iberville." He took Iberville's head to his knee and thrust the drinking-horn between his teeth, as he had done with Jessica, calling him in much the same fashion.

Iberville came to with a start.

For a moment he stared blindly at his rescuer, then a glad intelligence flashed into his eyes.
"Perrot! dear Nick Perrot!" he cried.

"Oh, good--good," he added softly.
Then with sudden anxiety: "Where is she?
Where is she ?" "I am safe, monsieur," Jessica said gently; "but you--you are wounded." She came over and dropped on her knees beside him.
"A little," he said; "only a little.

You cared for her first ?" he asked of Perrot.
Perrot chuckled.