Five Mile Beach weekly journal., 1916-08-04

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His Handclasp frightened, and There
Was That In His Eyes Which
Frightened Me.
fords better outlook for the canoes.
Have you strength now to climb the
bluff"
1.-The path did not appear difficult,
and it is dreary enough here. l will
try"
l did not even require his aid, and
was at the top nearly as soon as he.
1t 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. When / fin.
ally turned away l found that DART.
gny 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,
land the warmth is welcome. You
had no glimpse of the boatsT'
NV, L dOllllllCd- Nv JOa ACoAy
believe they survivedY'
"There was no reason why they
should not, If properly handled. l
have controlled canoes in far worse
storms. They are doubtless safely
ashore beyond the point yonder. You
are not afraid to be left alone?"
mo" in surprise. where are you
goingT'
ITO learn more of u surroundings
and arrange some traps for wild game.
l will not be away long, but someone
should remain here to signal any
ano returning in search"
1 watched him disappear among
the trees without regret or slightest
sense Of teal at thus being left alone.
The fire burned brightly and l rested
where the grateful warmth put new
life into my body. The silence was
profound, depressing, and a sense of
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.
. The view outspread before me re-
vealed nothing new; the same dread
waste of water extended to the hori-
zon, while down the shore no move
ment was visible. AS 1 rested there,
oppressed by the loneliness, l felt little
hope that the others of our party had
escaped without disaster.
D'Artigny did not believe his own
words; l even suspected that be had
gone now alone to explore the shore
line; seeking to discover the truth and
the real fate Of our companions. At
first this conception of our situation
startled me, and yet, strange as it may
SEEM, my realization brought no deep
regret. I was conscious of a feeling
of freedom, of liberty, such as had not
been mine since we departed from
Quebec. 1 was no longer watched,
spied upon, my every movement or
dered, my speech criticized. More, l
was delivered from the hated presence
of Cassion, ever reminding me that l
was his wife, and continually threaten
ing to exercise his authority. Ay, and
1 was with D'Artigny, alone with him,
and the JOY of this was so deep that
l came to a sudden realization of the
TRUTH loved him.
In a way l must have known this
before, yet, not until that moment
did the fact dawn upon me in full
acknowledgment. 1 sank my head on
my hands, my breath quickened by
surprise, by shame, and felt my cheeks
burn. l loved him, and believed he
loved NE. l knew then that all the
happiness of life centered In this one
fact; while between us arose the
shadow of Cassion, my husband. True
/ loved him not; true l was to him
wife only In name; true our marriage
was a thing Of shame, yet no less a
fact, no less a barrier. / was a La
Chesnayne to whom honor was a re-
ligion; a Catholic bowling humbly to
the VOW of Holy church; a French
woman taught that marriage was a
sacred rite.
The knowledge Of my love for DAT
tgny brought me more fear than
pleasure. I dare not dream, or hope;
I must escape his presence while I
retained moral strength to resist temp
tation. I got to my feet, not knowing
what l could do, yet with a wild con-
ception of returning to the beach, and
seeking to find a passage southwark.
I would go now along the shore, before
D'Artigny came back, and meet those
returning canoes. In such action lay
my only safety-he would find me
gone, would trace me along the sand,