Moyne."

But he was busy as he spoke. With the native chivalry of the woodsman,
he cared first for the girl. Between her lips he thrust his drinking-
horn and held her head against his shoulder.

"My little ma'm'selle-ma'm'selle!" he said. "Wake up. It is nothing--
you are safe. Ah, the sweet lady! Come, let me see the colour of your
eyes. Wake up--it is nothing."

Presently the girl did open her eyes. He put the drinking-horn again to
her lips. She shuddered and took a sip, and then, invigorated, suddenly
drew away from him. "There, there," he said; "it is all right. 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.