I bowed in silence, astounded by her words and appearance.

"Yet you are not of the garrison,--not of Dearborn. I have never seen
your face before. Yet you are surely a man, and white. Holy Mother!
can it indeed be that you have come to save me?"

"I am here to serve you by every means in my power," I answered
soberly, for the wildness of her speech almost frightened me. "God, I
truly think, must have led me to you."

Her wonderful eyes, questioning, anxious, doubtful, never once left my
face.

"Who are you? How came you here?"

"I am named John Wayland," I replied, striving to speak as simply as
might be, so that she would comprehend, "and form one of a small party
travelling overland from the east toward the Fort. We are encamped
yonder at the edge of the sand. I left the camp an hour ago, and
wandered hither that I might look out upon the waters of the Great
Lake; and here, through the strange providence of God, I have found
you."

She glanced apprehensively backward over her shoulder across the
darkened waters, and her slight form shook.

"Oh, please, take me away from it!" she cried, a note of undisguised
terror in her voice, and her hands held out toward me in a pitiful
gesture of appeal. "Oh, that horrible, cruel water! I have loved it