It was intensely dark, and I was still fearful lest he might cry out if I startled him.
"De Croix," I whispered, "make no alarm; I am Wayland." "Wayland!" I could mark the amazement in his tone, as he instantly sat upright, peering through the gloom in the direction whence my voice came.

"_Mon Dieu_! You are here?
You saw all of it ?" "Ay," I answered, reaching out and groping in the darkness until I grasped his hand.

"You have had a hard time, my lad; but the worst is over, and hope remains for us both." He shuddered so violently I could feel the spasm shake his body.
"'Twas not the dying," he protested; "but did you see her, Wayland?
Merciful God! was it really a living woman who stood there, or a ghost returned from the other world to haunt me and make living worse than death ?" "You mean the sister who interposed to save you ?" I asked.

"She was as truly alive as either of us.

Think you she is not a stranger ?" He groaned, as if the confession was wrung from him by the terror of eternal torment.
"_Mon Dieu_! She is my wife!" "Your wife ?" "Ay, my wife,--Marie Faneuf, of Montreal." "But how comes she here, Monsieur, living in the Pottawattomie camp?
And how comes it that you sought another in this wilderness, if you were already long wedded ?" "Saint Guise! but I cannot tell you," and his voice shook with the emotion that swept him.