The Greenville journal. [volume] (Greenville, Ohio) 1850-1918, 1916-09-14
CHAPTER XIV.
We Exchange Condolences.

| look INTO MS race, yet L mad sense
that he was actually glad to hear my
words. There was no anger, rather
happiness and relief in the gray eyes
And you actually believed l struck
the blOw2 You thought me capable
of driving a knife into the mans back
! to gain revenge?"
Monsieur, what could I think?"
urged eagerly. 1T did not seem pos
sibIe, yet l saw you with my own
eyes. You knew of the murder, but
you made no report, raised no alarm,
and in the morning your boat was
gone before the body was found by
Others"
True, yet there was reason which
can confess to you. You also dis
covered the body that night, yet
aroused no alarm. l saw you. Why
did you remain silent? Was it to
protect me from suspicion?
bent my head, but failed to find
words with which to answer. D'Arti-
gny scarcely permitted me time.
THAT is the truth; your silence tells
me it was for my sake you remained
still. Is it not possible, Adele, that
my purpose was the same? Listen to
me, my girl, and have faith in my
words-I am not guilty of Hugo Che
vets death. 1 did not like the man,
it is true, and we exchanged words in
anger while loading the boats, but l
never gave the matter second thought.
That was not the first night Of this
journey that l sought to assure my
self of your safety"
Il know Monsieur Cassion and of
what he is capable, and felt that
some time there would occur between
you struggle-so at every camping
place, where it was possible, 1 have
watched. 1t was for that purpose l
approached the Mission house. l
gained glimpse within, and saw Cas-
sion asleep on a bench, and knew you
had retired to the chamber above. l
was satisfied, and started to return
to the camp. On my way back
found CheVet's body at the edge of
the wood. 1 discovered how he had
been killed "a knife thrust in the
back"
But you made no report; raised no
alarm"
Il was confused, unable to decide
what was best for me to do. | had no
business being there. My first i'm
pulse was to arouse the Mission house;
my second to return to camp and tell
the men there. With this last pur-
pose in view l entered the wood to
descend the hill, but had hardly done
so when l caught sight of you in the
moonlight, and remained there hidden,
watching your movements with hOr-
ror. l saw you go straight to the
body, assure yourself the man was
dead; then return to the Mission house
and enter your room by way of the
kitchen roof. Do you realize what
your actions naturally meant to me?"
I stared at him, scarcely able to
speak, yet in some way my lips
formed words.
''You-you thought l did it?'
What else could 1 think? You
were hiding there; you examined the |
body; you crept secretly in through |
the window and gave no alarm"
The horror of it all struck me like |
a blow, and l covered my eyes with |
my hands, no longer able to restrain |
my sobs. D'Artigny caught my hands |
and uncovered my face.
"DO not break down, little girl" he |
antreated. ''It is better so, for now
we understand each other. You sought |
% shield me, and l endeavored to pro-
ect you. Twas a strange misunder-
standing, and, but for the accident to
he canoe, might have had tragic
ending"
you would never have told?"
"Of seeing you there? of suspecting
yOu? Could you think that possible?''
But you would have been con-
lemned; the evidence waS all against
you."
Let us not talk of that nOw," he
insisted. 1--WE have come back to a
aith in each other. You believe my
yord?"
"Yes."
"And l yours"
His handclasp tightened, and there
vas that in his eyes which frightened
ne.
mo, no, monsieur" exclaimed and
rev back quickly. "Do not say more.
or 1 am here with you alone, and
here will be trouble enough when
IassiOn returns"
'DO not know that?' he said. vet
eleasing my hands "Still it can sure
? do no harm for us to understand
ach other. You care nothing for
'assion; you dislike, despise the man,
nd there is naught sacred in your
marriage. We are In the wilderness,
ot Quebec, and La Barre has little
uthority here. You have protected I
lie with your silence-was it not be- |
ause you cared for me?"
eyes, monsieur; you have been my :
'iend." ,
"YOur friend! Is that aIl?"
SIS that not enough, monsieur? IIt
Ike you well; would save you from