THE INTERNET WIRETAP ELECTRONIC EDITION OF

                          The
                  Forge in the Forest
                           
                         Being
       The Narrative of the Acadian Ranger, Jean
          de Mer, Seigneur de Briart; and how
           he crossed the Black Abbe; and of
              his Adventures in a Strange
                      Fellowship
                           
                          By
                 Charles G. D. Roberts
     Author of "The Kindred of the Wild," "Barbara
         Ladd," "A Sister to Evangeline," etc.
                           
                        Boston
                 L. C. Page & Company
                           
                       MDCCCCII




                   Copyright, 1896,
                           
            By Lamson, Wolffe and Company.
                           
                 All rights reserved.
                           
                           
                          To
                George E. Fenety, Esq.
               This Story of a Province
           arnong whose Honoured Sons he is
                not least distinguished
                     is dedicated
               with esteem and affection



   Prepared by John Hamm <John_Hamm@MindLink.bc.ca>

           This text is in the PUBLIC DOMAIN,
                 released October 1993

   Scanned with OmniPage Professional OCR software
             donated by Caere Corporation.




The Forge in the Forest

A Foreword

WHERE the Five Rivers flow down to meet the swinging of
the Minas tides, and the Great Cape of Blomidon bars
out the storm and the fog, lies half a county of rich
meadow-lands and long-arcaded orchards.  It is a
deep-bosomed land, a land of fat cattle, of well-filled
barns, of ample cheeses and strong cider; and a
well-conditioned folk inhabit it.  But behind this
countenance of gladness and peace broods the memory of
a vanished people.  These massive dykes, whereon twice
daily the huge tide beats in vain, were built by hands
not suffered to possess the fruits of their labour.
These comfortable fields have been scorched with the
ruin of burning homes, drenched with the tears of women
hurried into exile.  These orchard lanes, appropriate
to the laughter of children or the silences of lovers,
have rung with battle and run deep with blood.  Though
the race whose bane he was has gone, still stalks the
sinister shadow of the Black Abbe.

The low ridge running between the dykelands of the
Habitants and the dykelands of the Canard still carries
patches of forest interspersed among its farms, for its
soil is sandy and not greatly to be coveted for
tillage.  These patches are but meagre second growth,
with here and there a gnarled birch or overpeering
pine, lonely survivor of the primeval brotherhood.  The
undergrowth has long smoothed out all traces of what a
curious eye might fifty years ago have discerned, --
the foundations of the chimney of a blacksmith's forge.
It is a mould well steeped in fateful devisings, this
which lies forgotten under the creeping roots of
juniper and ragged-robin, between the diminished stream
of Canard and the yellow tide of Habitants.

The forest then was a wide-spreading solemnity of shade
wherein armies might have moved unseen.  The forge
stood where the trail from Pereau ran into the more
travelled road from the Canard to Grand Pre.  The
branches of the ancient wood came down all about its
low eaves; and the squirrels and blue jays chattered on
its roof.  It was a place for the gathering of restless
spirits, the men of Acadie who hated to accept the flag
of the English king.  It was the Acadian headquarters
of the noted ranger, Jean de Mer, who was still called
by courtesy, and by the grace of such of his people as
adhered to his altered fortunes, the Seigneur de
Briart.  His father had been lord of the whole region
between Blomidon and Grand Pre; but the English
occupation had deprived him of all open and formal
lordship, for the de Briart sword was notably
conspicuous on the side of New France.  Nevertheless,
many of Jean de Mer's habitants maintained to him a
chivalrous allegiance, and paid him rents for lands
which in the English eye were freehold properties.
He cherished his hold upon these faithful folk, willing
by all honest means to keep their hearts to France.
His one son, Marc, grew up at Grand Pre, save for the
three years of his studying at Quebec.  His faithful
retainer, Babin, wielding a smith's hammer at the
Forge, had ears of wisdom and a tongue of discretion
for the men who came and went.  Once or twice in the
year, it was de Mer's custom to visit the Grand Pre
country, where he would set his hand to the work of the
forge after Babin's fashion, playing his part to the
befooling of English eyes, and taking, in truth, a
quaint pride in his pretended craft.  At the time,
however, when this narrative opens, he had been a whole
three years absent from the Acadian land, and his
home-coming was yet but three days old.



Chapter I

The Capture at the Forge

IT was good to be alive that afternoon.  A speckled
patch of sunshine, having pushed its way through the
branches across the road, lay spread out on the dusty
floor of the forge.  On a block just inside the door
sat Marc, his lean, dark face, -- the Belleisle face,
made more hawklike by the blood of his Penobscot
grandmother, -- all aglow with eagerness.  The lazy
youngster was not shamed at the sight of my diligence,
but talked right on, with a volubility which would have
much displeased his Penobscot grandmother.  It was
pleasant to be back with the lad again, and I was
aweary of the war, which of late had kept my feet
forever on the move from Louisbourg to the Richelieu.
My fire gave a cheerful roar as I heaved upon the
bellows, and turned my pike-point in the glowing
charcoal.  As the roar sighed down into silence there
was a merry whirr of wings, and a covey of young
partridges flashed across the road.  A contented mind
and a full stomach do often make a man a fool, or I
should have made shift to inquire why the partridges
had so sharply taken wing.  But I never thought of it.
I turned, and let the iron grow cool, and leaned with
one foot on the anvil, to hear the boy's talk.  My soul
was indeed asleep, lulled by content, or I would surely
have felt the gleam of the beady eyes that watched me
through a chink in the logs beside the chimney.  But I
felt those eyes no more than if I had been a log myself.

"Yes, Father," said Marc, pausing in rich contemplation
of the picture in his mind's eye," you would like her
hair!  It is unmistakably red, -- a chestnut red.
But her sister's is redder still!"  I smiled at his
knowledge of my little weakness for hair of that
colour; but not of a woman's hair was I thinking at
that moment, or I should surely have made some question
about the sister.  My mind ran off upon another trail.

"And what do the English think they're going to do when
de Ramezay comes down upon them?" I inquired.  "Do they
flatter themselves their tumble-down Annapolis is
strong enough to hold us off?"

The lad flushed resentfully and straightened himself up
on his seat.

"Do you suppose, Father, that I was in the fort, and
hobnobbing with the Governor?" he asked coldly.
"I spoke with none of the English save Prudence and her
sister, and the child."

"But why not?" said I, unwilling to acknowledge that I
had said anything at which he might take offence.
"Every one knows your good disposition toward the
English, and I should suppose you were in favour at
Annapolis.  The Governor, I know, makes much of all our
people who favour the English cause."

Marc stood up, -- lean, and fine, and a good half head
taller than his father, -- and looked at me with eyes
of puzzled wrath.

"And you think that I, knowing all I do of de Ramezay's
plans, would talk to the English about them!" he
exclaimed in a voice of keen reproach.

Now, I understood his anger well enough, and in my
heart rejoiced at it; for though I knew his honour
would endure no stain, I had nevertheless feared lest I
should find his sympathies all English.  He was a lad
with a way of thinking much and thinking for himself,
and even now, at twenty year, far more of a scholar
than I had ever found time to be.  Therefore, I say,
his indignation pleased me mightily.  Nevertheless I
kept at him.

"Chut!" said I, "all the world knows by now of de
Ramezay's plans.  There had been no taint of treachery
in talking of them !"

Marc sat down again, and the ghost of a smile flickered
over his lean face.  Though free enough of his speech
betimes, he was for the most part as unsmiling as an
Indian.

"I see you are mocking me, Father," he said presently,
relighting his pipe.  "Indeed, you know very well I am
on your side, for weal or ill.  As long as there was a
chance of the English being left in peaceable
possession of Acadie, I urged that we should accept
their rule fully and in good faith.  No one can say
they haven't ruled us gently and generously.  And I
feel right sure they will continue to rule us, for the
odds are on their side in the game they play with
France.  But seeing that the game has yet to be played
out, there is only one side for me, and I believe it to
be the losing one.  Though as a boy I liked them well
enough, I have nothing more to do with the English now
except to fight them.  How could I have another flag
than yours?"

"You are my own true lad, whatever our difference of
opinion!" said I.  And if my voice trembled in a manner
that might show a softness unsuited to a veteran of my
training, bear in mind that, till within the past three
days, I had not seen the lad for three years, and then
but briefly.  At Grand Pre, and in Quebec at school,
Marc had grown up outside my roving life, and I was
just opening my eyes to find a comrade in this tall son
of my boyhood's love.  His mother, a daughter of old
Baron St. Castin by his Penobscot wife, had died while
he was yet at the breast.  A babe plays but a small
part in the life of a ranging bush-fighter, though I
had ever a great tenderness for the little lad.  Now,
however, I was looking upon him with new eyes.

Having blown the coals again into a heat, I returned to
Marc's words, certain of which had somewhat stuck in my crop.

"But you speak with despondence, lad, of the chances of
the war, and of the hope of Acadie!  By St. Joseph,
we'll drive the English all the way back of the
Penobscot before you're a twelvemonth older.  And
Acadie will see the Flag of the Lilies flapping once
more over the ramparts of Port Royal."

Marc shook his head slowly, and seemed to be following
with his eyes the vague pattern of the shadows on the floor.

"It seems to me," said he, with a conviction which
caught sharply at my heart even though I bore in mind
his youth and inexperience, "that rather will the Flag
of the Lilies be cast down even from the strong walls
of Quebec.  But may that day be far off!  As for our
people here in Acadie, during the last twelvemonth it
has been made very clear to me that evil days are
ahead.  The Black Abbe is preparing many sorrows for us
here in Acadie."

"I suppose you mean La Garne!" said I.  "He's a
diligent servant to France; but I hate a bad priest.
He's a dangerous man to cross, Marc!  Don't go out of
your way to make an enemy of the Black Abbe!"

Again that ghost of a smile glimmered on Marc's lips.

"I fear you speak too late, Father!" said he, quietly.
"The reverend Abbe has already marked me.  He so far
honours me as to think that I am an obstacle in his
path.  There be some whose eyes I have opened to his
villany, so that he has lost much credit in certain of
the parishes.  I doubt not that he will contrive some
shrewd stroke for vengeance."

My face fell somewhat, for I am not ashamed to confess
that I fear a bad priest, the more so in that I yield
to none in my reverence for a good one.  I turned my
iron sharply in the coals, and then exclaimed:

"Oh, well, we need not greatly trouble ourselves.
There are others, methinks, as strong as the Black
Abbe, evil though he be!"  But I spoke, as I have often
found it expedient to do, with more confidence than I felt.

Even at this moment, shrill and clear from the leafage
at one end of the forge, came the call of the big
yellow-winged woodpecker.  I pricked up my ears and
stiffened my muscles, expectant of I knew not what.

Marc looked at me with some surprise.  "It's only a
woodpecker!" said he.  "But it's only in the spring,"
I protested, "that he has a cry like that!"

"He cries untimely, as an omen of the ills to come!"
said Marc, half meaning it and half in jest.

Had it been anywhere on the perilous frontier, --
on the Richelieu or in the West, or nigh the bloody
Massachusetts line, my suspicions would have sprung up
wide awake.  But in this quiet land between the
Habitants and the Canard I was off my guard, --
and what a relief it was, indeed, to let myself be careless
for a little!  I thought no more of the woodpecker, but
remembered that sister with the red hair.  I came back
to her by indirection, however.

"And how did you manage, lad, to be seeing Mistress
Prudence, and her sister, and the child, and yet no
others of the English?  A matter of dark nights and
back windows?  Eh?  But come to think of it, there was
a clear moon this day four weeks back, when you were at
Annapolis."

"No, Father," answered Marc, "it was all much more
simple and less adventurous than that.  Some short way
out of the town is a little river, the Equille, and a
pleasant hidden glade set high upon its bank.  It is a
favoured resort of both the ladies; and there I met
them as often as I was permitted.  Mizpah would
sometimes choose to play apart with the child, down by
the water's edge if the tide were full, so I had some
gracious opportunity with Prudence. -- My time being
brief, I made the most of it!" he added drily.  His
quaint directness amused me mightily, and I chuckled as
I shaped the red iron upon the anvil.

"And who," I inquired, "is this kind sister, with the
even redder hair, who goes away with such a timely
discretion?"

"Oh, yes," said Marc, "I forgot you knew nothing of
her.  She is Mistress Mizpah Hanford, the widow of a
Captain Hanford who was some far connection of the
Governor's.  Her property is in and about Annapolis,
and she lives there to manage it, keeping Prudence with
her for companionship.  Her child is four or five years
old, a yellow-haired, rosy boy called Philip.  She's
very tall, -- a head taller than Prudence, and older,
of course, by perhaps eight years; and very fair,
though not so fair as Prudence; and altogether -- "

But at this point I interrupted him.

"What's the matter with the Indian?" I exclaimed,
staring out across Marc's shoulders.

He sprang to his feet and looked around sharply.  An
Indian, carrying three shad strung upon a sapling, had
just appeared on the road before the forge door.  As he
came in view he was reeling heavily, and clutching at
his head.  He dropped his fish; and a moment later he
himself fell headlong, and lay face downward in the
middle of the road.  I remember thinking that his legs
sprawled childishly.  Marc strolled over to him with
slow indifference.

"Have a care!" I exclaimed.  "There may be some trap in
it!  It looks not natural!"

"What trap can there be?" asked Marc, turning the body
over.  "It's Red Moose, a Shubenacadie Micmac.  I like
not the breed; but ever since he got a hurt on the
head, in a fight at Canseau last year, he has been
subject to the falling sickness.  Let us carry him to a
shady place, and he'll come to himself presently!"

I was at his side in a moment, and we stooped to lift
the seemingly lifeless figure.  In an instant its arms
were about my neck in a strangling embrace.  At the
same time my own arms were seized.  I heard a fierce
cry from Marc, and a groan that was not his.  The next
moment, though I writhed and struggled with all my
strength, I found myself bound hand and foot, and
seated on the ground with my back against the door-post
of the forge.  Marc, bound like myself, lay by the
roadside; and a painted savage sat near him nursing
with both hands a broken jaw.  A dozen Micmacs stood
about us.  Leaning against the door-post over against
me was the black-robed form of La Garne.  He eyed me,
for perhaps ten seconds, with a smile of fine and
penetrating sarcasm.  Then he told his followers to
stand Marc up against a tree.



Chapter II

The Black Abbe

WHEN first I saw that smile on the Black Abbe's face,
and realized what had befallen us, I came nigh to
bursting with rage, and was on the point of telling my
captor some truths to make his ears tingle.  But when I
heard the order to stand Marc up against a tree my
veins for an instant turned to ice.  Many men -- and
some women, too, God help me, I then being bound and
gagged, -- had I seen thus stood up against a tree, and
never but for one end.  I could not believe that such
an end was contemplated now, and that by a priest of
the Church, however unworthy of his office!  But I
checked my tongue and spoke the Abbe fair.

"It is quite plain to me, Monsieur," said I, quietly,
"that my son and I are the victims of some serious
mistake, for which you will, I am sure, feel
constrained to ask our pardon presently.  I await your
explanations."

La Garne, still smiling, looked me over slowly.  Never
before had I seen him face to face, though he had more
than once traversed my line of vision.  I had known the
tireless figure, as tall, almost, as Marc himself,
stoop-shouldered, but robust, now moving swiftly as if
propelled by an energy irresistible, now languid with
an affectation of indolence.  But the face -- I hated
the possessor of it with a personal hate the moment my
eyes fell upon that face.  Strong and inflexible was
the gaunt, broad, and thin jaw, cruel and cunning the
high, pinched forehead and narrow-set, palely glinting
eyes.  The nose, in particular, greatly offended me,
being very long, and thick at the end.  "I'll tweak it
for him, one fine day," says I to myself, as I boiled
under his steady smile.

"There is no mistake, Monsieur de Briart, believe me!"
he said, still smiling.  There could be no more fair
words, of course, after that avowal.

"Then, Sir Priest," said I, coldly, "you are both a
madman and a scurvy rogue, and you shall yet be on your
knees to me for this outrage.  You will see then the
nature of your mistake, I give you my word."

The priest's smile took on something of the complexion
of a snarl.

"Don't be alarmed, Monsieur de Briart," said he.
"You are quite safe, because I know you for a good servant
to France; and for your late disrespect to Holy Church,
in my person, while in talk with your pestilent son,
these bonds may be a wholesome and sufficient lesson to
you!"

"You shall have a lesson sufficient rather than
wholesome, I promise you!" said I.

"But as for this fellow," went on the Abbe, without
noticing my interruption, "he is a spy.  You understand
how spies fare, Monsieur!"  And a malignant light made
his eyes appear like two points of steel beneath the
ambush of his ragged brows.

I saw Marc's lean face flush thickly under the gross
accusation.

"It is a lie, you frocked hound!" he cried, careless of
the instant peril in which he stood.

But the Black Abbe never looked at him.

"I wish you joy of your son, a very good Englishman,
Monsieur, and now, I fear, not long for this world,"
said he, in a tone of high civility.  "He has long been
fouling with his slanders the names of those whom he
should reverence, and persuading the people to the
English.  But now, after patiently waiting, I have
proofs.  His treachery shall hang him!"

For a moment the dear lad's peril froze my senses, so
that it was but dimly I heard his voice, ringing with
indignation as he hurled back the charge upon the lying
lips that made it.

"If the home of lies be anywhere out of Hell, it is in
your malignant mouth, you shame of the Church," he
cried in defiance.  "There can be no proof that I am a
spy, even as there can be no proof that you are other
than a false-tongued assassin, defiling your sacred
office."

It was the galling defiance of a savage warrior at the
stake, and even in my fear my heart felt proud of it.
The priest was not galled, however, by these
penetrating insults.

"As for the proofs," said he, softly, never looking at
Marc, but keeping his eyes on my face, "Monsieur de
Ramezay shall judge whether they be proofs or not.
If he say they are not, I am content."

At a sign, a mere turn of his head it seemed to me, the
Indians loosed Marc's feet to lead him away.

"Farewell, Father," said he, in a firm voice, and
turned upon me a look of unshakable courage.

"Be of good heart, son," I cried to him.  "I will be
there, and this devil shall be balked!"

"You, Monsieur," said the priest, still smiling, "will
remain here for the present.  To-night I will send a
villager to loose your bonds.  Then, by all means, come
over and see Monsieur de Ramezay at Chignecto.  I may
not be there then myself, but this business of the spy
will have been settled, for the commander does not
waste time in such small matters!"

He turned away to follow his painted band, and I,
shaking in my impotent rage and fear, called after him:-

"As God lives and is my witness, if the lad comes to
any harm, these hands will visit it upon you an
hundredfold, till you scream for death's mercy!"

But the Black Abbe moved off as if he heard no word,
and left me a twisted heap upon the turf, gnawing
fiercely at the tough deer-hide of my bonds.



Chapter III

Tamin's Little Stratagem

I HAD been gnawing, gnawing in an anguish at the
thongs, for perhaps five minutes.  There had been no
more than time for the Abbe's wolf-pack to vanish by a
turn of the road.  Suddenly a keen blade slit the
thongs that bound my wrists.  Then my feet felt
themselves free.  I sat up, astonished, and saw
stooping over me the droll, broad face of Tamin the
Fisher, -- or Tamin Violet, as he was rightly, though
seldom, called.  His mouth was solemn, as always,
having never been known to wear a smile; but the little
wrinkles laughed about his small bright eyes.  I sprang
up and grasped his hand.

"We must not lose a moment, Tamin, my friend!" I
panted, dragging him into the thick shade of the wood.

"I was thinking you might be in a hurry, M'sieu," said
my rescuer.  "But unless the mouse wants to be back in
the same trap I've just let it out of, you'd better
keep still a half-minute and make up your mind.
They've a round road to go, and we'll go straight!"

"You saw it all?" I asked, curbing myself as best I
could, for I perceived the wisdom of his counsel.

"Oh, ay, M'sieu, I saw it!" replied the Fisher.  "And I
laughed in my bones to hear the lad talk up to the good
father.  There was more than one shot went home, I
warrant, for all the Black Abbe seemed so deaf.
They're festering under his soutane even now, belike!"

"But come!" said I.  "I've got my wind!"  And we darted
noiselessly through the cool of the great trees,
turning a little east from the road.

We ran silently for a space, my companion's short but
massive frame leaping, bending, gliding even as lightly
as my own, which was ever as lithe as a weasel's.
Tamin was a rare woodsman, as I marked straightway,
though I had known him of old rather as a faithful
tenant, and marvellously patient to sit in his boat all
day a-fishing on the drift of the Minas tides.

Presently he spoke, under his breath.

"Very like," said he, drily, "when we come up to them
they will all fall down.  So, we will take the lad and
walk away! eh, what, M'sieu?"

"Only let us come up to them," said I, "and learn their
plans.  Then we will make ours!"

"Something of theirs I know," said Tamin.  "Their
canoes are on the Canard maybe three furlongs to east
of the road.  Thence they will carry the lad to de
Ramezay, for the Black Abbe will have things in due
form when he can conveniently, and now it is plain he
has a scheme well ripe.  But if this wind holds, we'll
be there before them.  My boat is lying hard by."

"God be praised!" I muttered; for in truth I saw some
light now for the first time.  Presently, drawing near
the road again, I heard the voice of La Garne.  We at
once went softly, and, avoiding again, made direct for
where lay the canoes.  There we disposed ourselves in a
swampy thicket, with a little breadth of water lying
before and all the forest behind.  The canoes lay just
across the little water, and so close that I might have
tossed my cap into them.  The clean smell of the wet
salt sedge came freshly into the thicket.  The shadows
lay long on the water.  We had time to grow quiet, till
our breathing was no longer hasty, our blood no longer
thumped in our ears.  A flock of sand-pipers, with thin
cries, settled to feed on the red clay between the
canoes and the edge of the tide.  Suddenly they got up,
and puffed away in a flicker of white breasts and brown
wings; and I laid a hand on Tamin's shoulder.  The
painted band, Marc in their midst, La Garne in front,
were coming down the slope.

The lad's face was stern and scornful.  To my joy I saw
that there was to be no immediate departure.  The
redskins flung themselves down indolently.  The Black
Abbe saw his prisoner made fast to a tree, and then,
telling his followers that he had duties at Pereau
which would keep him till past sunset, strode off
swiftly up the trail.  Tamin and I, creeping as
silently as snakes back into the forest, followed him.

For half an hour we followed him, keeping pace for pace
through the shadow of the wood.  Then said I softly to
Tamin:-

"This is my quarrel, my friend!  Do you keep back, and
not bring down his vengeance on your head."

"That for his vengeance!" whispered Tamin, with a
derisive gesture.  "I will take service with de Ramezay,
as a regular soldier of France!"

"Even there," said I, "his arm might reach and pluck
you forth.  Keep back now, and let him not see your face!"

"Priest though he be, M'sieu," urged Tamin, anxiously,
"he is a mighty man of his hands!"

I turned upon him a face of scorn which he found
sufficient answer.  Then, signing to him to hold off,
I sped forward silently.  No weapon had I but a light
stick of green ash, just cut.  There was smooth, mossy
ground along the trail, and my running feet made no
more sound than a cat's.  I was within a pace of
springing upon his neck, when he must have felt my
coming.  He turned like a flash, uttered a piercing
signal cry, and whipped out a dagger.

"They'll never hear it," mocked I, and sent the dagger
spinning with a smart pass of my stick.  The same stroke
went nigh to breaking his wrist. He grappled bravely,
however, as I took him by the throat, and I was
astonished at his force and suppleness.  Nevertheless
the struggle was but brief, and the result a matter to
be sworn to beforehand; for I, though not of great
stature, am stronger than any other man, big or little,
with whom I have ever come to trial; and more than
that, when I was a prisoner among the English, I
learned their shrewd fashion of wrestling.  In a
little space the Black Abbe lay choked into submission,
after which I bound him in a way to endure, and seated
him against a tree.  Behind him I caught view of Tamin,
gesturing drolly, whereat I laughed till I marked an
amazement growing in the priest's malignant eyes.

"How like you my lesson, good Father?" I inquired.

But he only glared upon me.  I suppose, having no speech
that would fitly express his feelings, he conceived
that his silence would be most eloquent.  But I could
see that my next move startled him.  With my knife I cut
a piece from my shirt, and made therewith a neat gag.

"Though you seem so dumb at this present," said I,
"I suspect that you might find a tongue after my
departure.  Therefore I must beseech you to wear this
ornament, for my sake, for a little." And very civilly
prying his teeth open, I adjusted the gag.

"Do not be afraid!" I continued.  "I will leave you in
this discomfort no longer than you thought it necessary
to leave me so.  You shall be free after to-morrow's
sunrise, if not before.  Farewell, good Father, and may
you rest well!  Let me borrow this ring as a pledge for
the safe return of the fragment of my good shirt which
you hold so obstinately between your teeth!" And
drawing his ring from his finger I turned away and
plunged into the forest, where Tamin presently joined me.

Tamin chuckled, deep in his stomach.

"My turn now!" said he.  "Give me the ring, M'sieu, and
I'll give you the boy!"

"I see you take me!" said I, highly pleased at his
quick discernment.

We now made way at leisure back to the canoes, and our
plans ripened as we went.

Before we came within hearing of the Indians I gave
over the ring with final directions, to Tamin, and then
hastened toward the point of land which runs far out
beyond the mouth of the Habitants.  Around this point,
as I knew, lay the little creek-mouth wherein Tamin
kept his boat.  Beyond the point, perchance a furlong,
was a narrow sand-spit covered deep at every flood
tide.  In a thicket of fir bushes on the bluff over
against this sand-spit I lay down to wait for what
Tamin should bring to pass.  I had some little time to
wait; and here let me unfold, as I learned it after,
what Tamin did whilst I waited.

About sunset, the tide being far out, and the Indians
beginning to expect their Abbe's return, came Tamin to
them running in haste along the trail from Pereau, as
one who carried orders of importance.  Going straight to
the chief, he pointed derisively at Marc, whose back
was towards him, and cried:-

"The good father commands that you take this dog of a
spy straightway to the sand-spit that lies off the
point yonder.  There you will drive a strong stake into
the sand, and bind the fellow to it, and leave him
there, and return here to await the Abbe's coming.  You
shall do no hurt to the spy, and set no mark upon him.
When the tide next ebbs you will go again to the
sand-spit and bring his body back; and if the Abbe finds
any mark upon him, you will get no pay for this venture.
You will make your camp here to-night, and if the good
father be not returned to you by sunrise to-morrow, you
will go to meet him along the Pereau trail, for he will
be in need of you."

The tall chief grunted, and eyed him doubtfully.  After
a brief contemplation he inquired, in broken French:-

"How know you no lie to me?"

"Here is the holy father's ring, in warranty; and you
shall give it back to him when he comes."

"It is well," said the chief, taking the ring, and
turning to give some commands in his own guttural
tongue.  Tamin repeated his message word by word, then
strode away; and before he got out of sight he saw two
canoes put off for the sand-spit.  Then he made all
haste to join me on the point.

Long before he arrived the canoes had come stealing
around the point and were drawn up on the treacherous
isle of sand.

My heart bled for the horror of death which, as I knew,
must now be clutching at Marc's soul; but I kept
telling myself how soon I would make him glad.  It
wanted yet three hours or more till the tide should
cover the sand-spit.  I lay very still among the young
fir trees, so that a wood-mouse ran within an arm's
length of my face, till it caught the moving of my eyes
and scurried off with a frightened squeak.  I heard the
low change in the note of the tide as the first of the
flood began to creep in upon the weeds and pebbles.
Then with some farewell taunts, to which Marc answered
not a word, the savages went again to their canoes and
paddled off swiftly.

When they had become but specks on the dim water,
I doffed my clothes, took my knife between my teeth,
and swam across to the sand-spit.  There was a low moon,
obscured by thin and slowly drifting clouds, and as I
swam through the faint trail of it, Marc must have seen
me coming.  Nevertheless he gave no sign, and I could
see that his head drooped forward upon his breaSt. An
awful fear came down upon me, and for a second or two I
was like to sink, so numb I turned at the thought that
perchance the savages had put the knife to him before
quitting.  I recovered, however, as I called to mind the
orders which Tamin had rehearsed to me ere starting on
his venture; for I knew how sorely the Black Abbe was
feared by his savage flock.  What they deemed him to
have commanded, that would they do.

Drawing closer now, I felt the ground beneath my feet.

"Marc," I called softly, "I'm coming, lad!"

The drooped head was lifted.

"Father!" he exclaimed.  And there was something like a
sob in that cry of joy.  It caught my heart strangely,
telling me he was still a boy for all he had borne
himself so manfully in the face of sudden and appalling
peril.  Now the long tension was loosed.  He was alone
with me.  As I sprang to him and cut the thongs that
held him, one arm went about my neck and I was held
very close for the space of some few heart-beats.
Then he fetched a deep breath, stretched his cramped limbs
this way and that, and said simply, "I knew you would
come, Father!  I knew you would find a way!"



Chapter IV

The Governor's Signature

THE clouds slipped clear of the moon's face, and we
three -- Marc, I, and the stake -- cast sudden long
black shadows which led all the way down to the edge of
the increeping tide.  I looked at the shadows, and a
shudder passed through me as if a cold hand had been
laid upon my back.  Marc stood off a little, -- never
have I seen such quick control, such composure, in one
so inexperienced, -- and remarked to me:-

"What a figure of a man you are, Father, to be sure!"

I fell into his pretence of lightness at once, a high
relief after the long and deadly strain; and I laughed
with some pleasure at the praise.  In very truth,
I cherished a secret pride in my body.

"'Tis well enough, no doubt, in a dim light," said I,
"though by now surely somewhat battered!"

Marc was already taking off his clothes.  As he knotted
them into a convenient bundle, there came from the
woods, a little way back of the point, the hollow
"Too-hoo-hoo-whoo-oo!" of the small gray owl.

"There's Tamin!" said I, and was on the point of
answering in like fashion, when the cry was reiterated
twice.

"That means danger, and much need of haste for us,"
I growled.  Together we ran down into the tide, striking
out with long strokes for the fine white line that
seethed softly along the dark base of the point.
I commended the lad mightily for his swimming, as we
scrambled upon the beach and slipped swiftly into our
clothes.  Though carrying his bundle on his head, he had
given me all I could do to keep abreast of him.

We climbed the bluff, and ran through the wet,
keen-scented bushes toward the creek where lay the boat.
Ere we had gone half-way Tamin met us, breathless.

"What danger?" I asked.

"I think they're coming back to tuck the lad in for the
night, and see that he's comfortable!" replied Tamin,
panting heavily.  "I heard paddles when they should have
been long out of earshot."

"Something has put them in doubt!" said Marc.

"Sure," said I, "and not strange, if one but think of it!"

"Yet I told them a fair tale," panted Tamin, as he went
on swiftly toward his boat.

The boat lay yet some yards above the edge of tide,
having been run aground near high water.  The three of
us were not long in dragging her down and getting her
afloat.  Then came the question that was uppermost.

"Which way?" asked Tamin, laconically, taking the
tiller, while Marc stood by to hoist the dark and
well-patched sail.

I considered the wind for some moments.

"For Chignecto!" said I, with emphasis.  "We must see de
Ramezay and settle this hound La Garne.  Otherwise Marc
stands in hourly peril."

As the broad sail drew, and the good boat, leaning well
over, gathered way, and the small waves swished and
gurgled merrily under her quarter, I could hardly
withhold from laughing for sheer gladness.  Marc was
already smoking with great composure beside the mast,
his lean face thoughtful, but untroubled.  He looked,
I thought, almost as old as his war-battered sire who now
watched him with so proud an eye.  Presently I heard
Tamin fetch a succession of mighty breaths, as he
emptied and filled the ample bellows of his lungs.  He
snatched the green and yellow cap of knitted wool from
his head, and let the wind cool the sweating black
tangle that coarsely thatched his broad skull.

"Hein!" he exclaimed, with a droll glance at Marc,
"that's better than _that!_"  And he made an expressive
gesture as of setting a knife to his scalp.  To me this
seemed much out of place and time; but Tamin was ever
privileged in the eyes of a de Mer, so I grumbled not.
As for Marc, that phantom of a smile, which I had
already learned to watch for, just touched his lips,
as he remarked calmly:

"Vraiment, much better.  That, as you call it, my Tamin,
came so near to-night that my scalp needs no cooling
since!"

"But whither steering?" I inquired; for the boat was
speeding south-eastward, straight toward Grand Pre.

Tamin's face told plainly that he had his reasons, and
I doubted not that they were good.  For some moments
that wide, grave mouth opened not to make reply, while
the little, twinkling, contradictory eyes were fixed
intently on some far-off landmark, to me invisible.
This point being made apparently to his satisfaction,
he relaxed and explained.

"You see, M'sieu," said he, "we must get under the loom
o' the shore, so's we'll be out of sight when the
canoes come round the point.  If they see a sail, at
this time o' night, they'll suspicion the whole thing
and be after us.  Better let 'em amuse themselves for a
spell hunting for the lad on dry land, so's we won't be
rushed.  Been enough rush!"

"Yes!  Yes!" assented I, scanning eagerly the point
behind us.  And Marc said:-

"Very great is your sagacity, my Tamin.  The Black Abbe
fooled himself when he forgot to take you into his
reckoning!"

At this speech the little wrinkles gathered thicker
about Tamin's eyes.  At length, deeming us to have gone
far enough to catch the loom of the land, as it lay for
one watching from the sand-spit, Tamin altered our
course, and we ran up the basin.  Just then we marked
two canoes rounding the point.  They were plainly
visible to us, and I made sure we should be seen at
once; but a glance at Tamin's face reassured me.
The Fisher understood, as few even among old woodsmen
understand it, the lay of the shadow-belts on a wide
water at night.

Noiselessly we lowered our sail and lay drifting,
solicitous to mark what the savages might do.  The
sand-spit was by this so small that from where we lay it
was not to be discerned; but we observed the Indians run
their canoes upon it, disembark, and stoop to examine
the footprints in the sand.  In a moment or two they
embarked again, and paddled straight to the point.

"Shrewd enough!" said Marc.

"Yes," said I, "and now they'll track us straight to
Tamin's creek, and understand that we've taken the
boat.  But they won't know what direction we've taken!"

"No, M'sieu," muttered Tamin, "but no use loafing round
here till they find out!"

Which being undoubted wisdom of Tamin's, we again
hoisted sail and continued our voyage.

Having run some miles up the Basin, we altered our
course and stood straight across for the northern
shore.  We now felt secure from pursuit, holding it
highly improbable that the savages would guess our
purpose and destination.  As we sat contenting our eyes
with the great bellying of the sail, and the fine
flurries of spray that ever and again flashed up from
our speeding prow, and the silver-blue creaming of our
wake, Marc gave us a surprise.  Thrusting his hand into
the bosom of his shirt he drew out a packet and handed
it to me.

"Here, perhaps, are the proofs on which the gentle Abbe
relied!" said he.

Taking the packet mechanically, I stared at the lad in
astonishment.  But there was no information to be
gathered from that inscrutable countenance, so I
presently recollected myself, and unfolded the papers.
There were two of them.  The moon was partly clear at
the moment, and I made out the first to be an order,
written in English, on one Master Nathaniel Apthorp,
merchant, of Boston, directing him to pay Master Marc
de Mer, of Grand Pre in Nova Scotia, the sum of two
hundred and fifty pounds.  It was signed "Paul
Mascarene, Govr of Nova Scotia." The other paper was
written in finer and more hasty characters, and I could
not decipher it in the uncertain light.  But the
signature was the same as that appended to the order on
Mr. Apthorp.

"I cannot decipher this one, in this bad light," said
I; "but what does it all mean, Marc?  How comes the
English Governor to be owing you two hundred and fifty
pounds?"

"Does he owe me two hundred and fifty pounds?  That's
surely news of interest!" said Marc.

I looked at him, amazed.

"Do you mean to say that you don't know what is in
these papers?" I inquired, handing them back.

"How should I know that?" said Marc, with a calmness
which was not a little irritating.  "They were placed in
my pocket by the good Abbe; and since then my
opportunities of reading have been but scant!"

Tamin ejaculated a huge grunt of indignant
comprehension; and I, beholding all at once the whole
wicked device, threw up my hands and fell to whistling
an idle air.  It seemed to me a case for which curses
would seem but tame and pale.

"This other, then," said I, presently, "must be a
letter that would seem to have been written to you by
the Governor, and worded in such a fashion as to
compromise you plainly!"

"'Tis altogether probable, Father," replied Marc,
musingly, as he scanned the page.  He was trying to
prove his own eyesight better than mine, but found the
enterprise beyond him, -- as I knew he would.

"I can make out nothing of this other, save the
signature," he continued.  "We must even wait for
daylight.  And in the meanwhile I think you had better
keep the packet, Father, for I feel my wits and my
experience something lacking in this snarl."

I took the papers and hid them in a deep pocket which I
wore within the bosom of my shirt.

"The trap was well set, and deadly, lad," said I,
highly pleased at his confidence in my wisdom to
conduct the affair.  "But trust me to spring it.
Whatever this other paper may contain, de Ramezay shall
see them both and understand the whole plot."

"'Twill be hard to explain away," said Marc,
doubtfully, "if it be forged with any fair degree of
skill!"

"Trust my credit with de Ramezay for that.  It is
something the Black Abbe has not reckoned upon!" said
I, with assurance, stuffing my pipe contentedly with
the right Virginia leaf.  Marc, being well tired with
all that he had undergone that day, laid his head on
the cuddy and was presently sound asleep.  In a low
voice, not to disturb the slumberer, I talked with
Tamin, and learned how he had chanced to come so pat
upon me in my bonds.  He had been on the way up to the
Forge, coming not by the trail, but straight through
the forest, when he caught a view of the Indians, and
took alarm at the stealth of their approach.  He had
tracked them with a cunning beyond their own, and so
achieved to outdo them with their own weapons.

The moon now swam clear in the naked sky, the clouds
lying far below.  By the broad light I could see very
well to read the letter.  It was but brief, and ran
thus:-


To my good friend and trusted Helper Monsieur
Marc de Mer:-

DEAR SIR, -- As touching the affair which you have so
prudently carried through, and my gratitude for your so
good help, permit the enclosed order on Master Apthorp
to speak for me.  If I might hope that you would find it
in your heart and within your convenience to put me
under yet weightier obligations, I would be so bold as
to desire an exact account of the forces at Chignecto,
and of the enterprize upon which Monsieur de Ramezay is
purposing to employ them.

Believe me to be, my dear Sir, yours with high esteem
and consideration,

PAUL MASCARENE.


With a wonder of indignation I read it through, and
then again aloud to Tamin, who cursed the author with
such ingenious Acadian oaths as made me presently
smile.

"It is right shrewdly devised," said I, "but the
deviser knew little of the blunt English Governor, or
never would he have made him write with such courtly
circumlocutions.  De Ramezay, very like, will have seen
communications of Mascarene's before now, and will
scarce fail to note the disagreement."

"The fox has been known to file his tongue too smooth,"
said Tamin, sententiously.

By this we were come over against the huge black front
of Blomidon, but our course lay far outside the shadow
of his frown, in the silvery run of the seas.  The moon
floated high over the great Cape, yellow as gold, and
the bare sky was like an unruffled lake.  Far behind us
opened the mouth of the Piziquid stream, a bright gap
in the dark but vague shore-line.  On our right the
waters unrolled without obstruction till they mixed
pallidly with the sky in the mouth of Cobequid Bay.
Five miles ahead rose the lofty shore which formed the
northern wall of Minas Channel, -- grim and forbidding
enough by day; but now, in such fashion did the
moonlight fall along it wearing a face of fairyland,
and hinting of fountained palaces in its glens and high
hollows.  After I had filled my heart with the fairness
and the wonder of it, I lay down upon a thwart and fell
asleep.



Chapter V

In the Run of the Seas

IT seemed as if I had but fairly got my eyes shut, when
I was awakened by a violent pitching of the boat.  I sat
up, grasping the gunwale, and saw Marc just catching my
knee to rouse me.  The boat, heeling far over and hauled
close to the wind, was heading a little up the channel
and straight for a narrow inlet which I knew to be the
joint mouth of two small rivers.

"Where are you going?  Why is our course changed?"
I asked sharply, being nettled by a sudden notion that
they had made some change of plan without my counsel.

"Look yonder, Father!" said Marc, pointing.

I looked, and my heart shook with mingled wrath and
apprehension.  Behind us followed three canoes, urged on
by sail and paddle.

"They outsail us?" I inquired.

"Ay, before the wind, they do, M'sieu!" said Tamin.
"On this tack, maybe not.  We'll soon see!"

"But what's this but a mere trap we are running our
heads into?" I urged.

"I fear there's nothing else but to quit the boat and
make through the woods, Father," explained Marc; "that
is, if we're so fortunate as to keep ahead till we
reach land."

"In the woods, I suppose, we can outwit them or outfoot
them," said I; "but those Micmacs are untiring on the
trail."

"I know a good man with a good boat over by Shulie on
the Fundy shore," interposed Tamin.  "And I know the way
over the hills.  We'll cheat the rogue of a priest yet!"
And he shrewdly measured the distance that parted us
from our pursuers.

"It galls me to be running from these dogs!" I growled.

"Our turn will come," said Marc, glowering darkly at
the canoes.  "Do you guess the Black Abbe is with them?"

"Not he!" grunted Tamin.

"Things may happen this time," said I, "and the good
father may wish to keep his soutane clear of them.
It's all plain enough to me now.  The Indians, finding
themselves tricked, have gone back on the Pereau trail
and most inopportunely have released the gentle Abbe
from his bonds.  He has seen through our game, and has
sent his pack to look to it that we never get to de
Ramezay.  But _he_ will have no hand in it.  Oh, no!"

"What's plain to me now," interrupted Tamin, with some
anxiety in his voice, "is that they're gaining on us
faSt. They've put down leeboards; an' with leeboards
down a Micmac canoe's hard to beat."

"Oh!" I exclaimed bitterly, "if we had but our muskets!
Fool that was, thus to think to save time and not go
back for our weapons!  Trust me, lad, it's the first
time that Jean de Mer has had that particular kind of
folly to repent of!"

"But there was nought else for it, Father," said Marc.
"And if, as seems most possible, we come to close
quarters presently, we are not so naked as we might be.
Here's your two pistols, my good whinger, and Tamin's
fishy dirk.  And Tamin's gaff here will make a pretty
lance.  It is borne in upon me that some of the good
Abbe's lambs will bleat for their shepherd before this
night's work be done!"

There was a steady light in his eyes that rejoiced me
much, and his voice rose and fell as if fain to break
into a war song; and I said to myself, "The boy is a
fighter, and the fire is in his blood, for all his
scholar's prating of peace!" Yet he straightway turned
his back upon the enemy and with great indifference
went to filling his pipe.

"Ay, an' there be a right good gun in the cuddy!"
grunted Tamin, after a second or two of silence.

"The saints be praised!" said I.  And Marc's long arm
reached in to capture it.  It was a huge weapon, and my
heart beat high at sight of it.  Marc caressed it for an
instant, then reluctantly passed it to me, with the
powder-horn.

"I can shoot, a little, myself," said he, "but I would
be presumptuous to boast when you were by, Father!"

"Ay, vraiment," said Tamin, sharply; "don't think you
can shoot with the Sieur de Briart yet!"

"I don't," replied Marc, simply, as he handed me out a
pouch of bullets and a pouch of slugs.

The pursuing canoes were by this come within fair
range.  There came a strident hail from the foremost:-

"Lay to, or we shoot!"

"Shoot, dogs!" I shouted, ramming home the good measure
of powder which I had poured into my hand.  I followed
it with a fair charge of slugs, and was wadding it
loosely, when -

"Duck!" cries Tamin, bobbing his head lower than the
tiller.

Neither Marc nor I moved a hair.  But we gazed at the
canoes.  On the instant two red flames blazed out, with
a redoubled bang; and one bullet went through the sail
a little above my head.

"Not bad!" said Marc, glancing tranquilly at the bullet
hole.

But for my own part, I was angry.  To be fired upon
thus, at a priest's orders, by a pack of scurvy savages
in the pay of our own party, -- never before had Jean
de Briart been put to such indignity.  I kneeled, and
took a very cautious aim, -- not, however, at the
savages, but at the bow of the nearest canoe.

Tamin's big gun clapped like a cannon, and kicked my
shoulder very vilely.  But the result of the shot was
all that we could desire.  As I made haste to load again
I noticed that the savage in the bow had fallen
backward in his place, hit by a stray slug.  The bulk of
the charge, however, had torn a great hole in the bark,
close to the water-line.

"You've done it, Father!" said Marc, in a tone of quiet
exultation.

"Hein!" grunted Tamin.  "They don't like the wet!"

The canoe was going down by the bow.  The other two
craft ranged hurriedly alongside, and took in the
gesticulating crew, -- all but one, whom they left in
the stern to paddle the damaged canoe to land, being
loth to lose a serviceable craft.  With broken bow high
in air the canoe spun around, and sped off up the Basin
before the wind.  The remaining two resumed the chase of
us.  We had gained a great space during the confusion,
yet they came up upon us fast.

But now, ere I judged them to be within gunshot, they
slackened speed.

"They think better of it!" said I, raising the gun
again to my shoulder.  As I did so they sheered off in
haste to a safer distance.

"They are not such fools as I had hoped!" said Marc.

"I so far flatter myself as to think," said I, with
some complacency, "that they won't trust themselves
willingly again within range of this good barker."

By this we were come well within the wide mouth of the
estuary, and a steep, wooded point thrust out upon our
right.  All at once I muttered a curse upon my dulness.

"What fools we are, to be sure!" I cried.  "No reason
that we should toil across the mountains to your good
man's good boat at Shulie, my Tamin.  Put her about, and
we'll sail in comfort around to Chignecto; and let
these fellows come in range again at their peril!"

"To be sure, indeed!" grunted Tamin; and with a lurch
and great flapping we went about.

The canoes, indeed, now fled before us with excellent
discretion.  Our new course carried us under the gloom
of the promontory, whence, in a few minutes, we shot
out again into the moonlight.  It was pleasant to see
our antagonists making such courteous haste to give us
room.  I could not forbear to chuckle over it, and
wished mightily that the Black Abbe were in one of the
canoes.

"I fear me there's to be no work for Tamin's fishy dirk
or my good whinger," sighed Marc, with a nice air of
melancholy; and Tamin, with the little wrinkles thicker
than ever about his eyes, yelled droll taunts after our
late pursuers.  In fact, we were all three in immense
high feather, -- when on a sudden there came a crashing
bump that tumbled us headlong, the mast went overboard,
and there we were stuck fast upon a sharp rock.  The
boat was crushed in like an egg-shell, and lay over on
her side.  The short, chopping seas huddled upon us in a
smother.  As I rose up, sputtering, I took note of
Tamin's woollen cap washing away debonairly, snatched
off, belike, by a taut rope as the mast fell.  Then,
clinging all three to the topmost gunwale, the waves
jumping and sousing us derisively, we stared at each
other in speechless dismay.  But a chorus of triumphant
screeches from the canoes, as they noted our mishap and
made to turn, brought us to our senses.

"Nothing for it but to swim!" said I, thrusting down
the now useless musket into the cuddy, where I hoped it
might stay in case the wrecked boat should drift
ashore.  It was drenched, of course, and something too
heavy to swim with.  I emptied the slugs from my pocket.
Tamin ducked his head under water and fumbled in the
cuddy till I was on the point of plucking him forth,
fearing he would drown, -- Marc, meanwhile, looking on
tranquilly and silently, with that fleeting remembrance
of a smile.  But now Tamin arose, gasping, with a small
sack and a salted hake in his hands.  The fish he passed
over to me.

"Bread, M'sieu!" said he, holding up the drenched sack
in triumph.  "Now for the woods!"

'Twas but the toss of a biscuit to shore, and we had
gained it ere our enemies were come within gunshot.
Running swiftly along the strip of beach that skirted
the steep, we put the shoulder of the cape between,
and were safe from observation for a few minutes.

"To the woods, M'sieu!" cried Tamin, in a suppressed
voice.

"No!" said I, sternly.  "Straight along the beach,
till I give the word to turn in! Follow me!"

"'Tis the one chance, to get out of sight now!"
grumbled Tamin, running beside me, and clutching at his
wet sack of bread.

"Don't you suppose he knows what he is doing, my
Tamin?" interrupted Marc.  "'Tis for you and me to obey
orders!"

Tamin growled, but said no more.

"Now in with you to cover," I commanded, waving my salt
fish as it had been a marshal's baton.  At the same
moment I turned, ran up the wet slope where a spring
bubbled out of the wood's edge and spread itself over
the stones, and sprang behind a thick screen of
viburnums.  My companions were beside me on the instant,
-- but it was not an instant too soon.  As we paused to
look back, there were the canoes coming furiously
around the point.

Staying not long to observe them, I led the way
straight into the darkness of the woods, aiming for the
seashore at the other side of the point.  But Tamin was
not satisfied.

"Our road lies straight up yon river," said he

"My friend," said I, "we must e'en find another road to
Shulie.  Those fellows will be sure to agree that we
have gone that way.  Knowing that I am a cunning
woodsman, they will say, 'He will make them to run in
the water, and so leave no trail.' And they will give
hot chase up the river."

"But there be two rivers," objected Tamin.

"Bien," said I, "they will divide their party, and give
hot chase up two rivers!"

"And in the meanwhile?" inquired Marc.

"I'll find the way to Shulie," said I.  "The stars and
the sun are guide enough I know the main lay of all
these coasts."



Chapter Vl

Grul

THE undergrowth into which we had now come was thick
and hindering, so there was no further chance of
speech.  A few minutes more and we came out upon the
seaward slope of the point.  We pushed straight down to
the water, here sheltered from the wind and little
troubled.  That our footprints might be hidden, at least
for a time, we ran, one behind the other, along the lip
of the tide, where the water was about ankle deep.
In the stillness our splashing sounded dangerously loud,
and Tamin, yet in a grumbling humour, spoke of it.

"But you forget, my friend," said I, gently, "that
there is noise and to spare where our enemies are, --
across there in the wind!"

In a moment Tamin spoke again, pointing some little way
ahead.

"The land drops away yonder, M'sieu, 'twixt the point
and the main shore!" he growled, with conspicuous
anxiety in his voice.  He was no trembler; but it
fretted him to be taking what he deemed the weaker
course.  "Nothing," he added, "but a bit of bare beach
that the waves go over at spring tides when the wind's
down the Basin!"

I paused in some dismay.  But my mind was made up.

"We must go on," said I.  "But we will stoop low, and
lose no time in the passage.  They'll scarce be landed
yet."

And now, as I came to see how low indeed that strip of
perilous beach was, I somewhat misdoubted of success in
getting by unseen.  But we went a little deeper in the
tide, and bowed our bodies with great humbleness, and
so passed overwith painful effort but not a little
speed.  Being come again under shelter, we straightened
ourselves, well pleased, fetched a deep breath or two,
and ran on with fresh celerity.

"But if a redskin should think to step over the beach,
there'd be our goose cooked!" muttered Tamin.

"Well said!" I answered.  "Therefore let us strike
inland at once!" And I led the way again into the
darkness of the forest.

Dark as it was, there was yet light enough from the
moon to enable me to direct my course as I wished.
I struck well west of the course which would have taken
us most speedily to Shulie, being determined to avoid
the valley of the stream which I considered our
pursuers were most likely to ascend.  To satisfy Tamin's
doubts I explained my purpose, which was to aim
straight for Shulie as soon as we were over the water-shed.
And I must do him the justice to say he was
content, beginning now to come more graciously to my
view.  We went but slowly, climbing, ever climbing.
At times we would be groping through a great blackness of
hemlocks.  Again the forest would be more open, a
mingling of fir trees, and birches, and maples.
Coming at last to more level ground, we were still much
hindered by innumerable rocks, amid which the under-brush
and wild vines prepared pitfalls for our weary
feet.  But I was not yet willing to call a halt for
breath.  On, on we stumbled, the wet branches buffeting
our faces, but a cool and pleasant savour of the wild
herbs which we trod upon ever exhaling upwards to
refresh our senses.  As we crossed a little grassy
glade, I observed that Marc had come to Tamin's help,
and was carrying the sack of bread.  I observed, also,
that Tamin's face was drawn with fatigue, and that he
went with a kind of dogged heaviness.  I took pity upon
him.  We had put, I guessed, good miles between
ourselves and our pursuers, and I felt that we were, in
all reason, safe for the time.  At the further limit of
the glade there chattered a shallow brook, whose sweet
noise reminded me that I was parched with thirSt. The
pallor of first dawn was now coming into the sky, and
the tree tops began to lift and float in an aerial
grayness.  I glanced at Marc, and his eyes met mine with
a keen brightness that told me he was yet unwearied.
Nevertheless I cried:-

"Halt, and fall out for breakfast." And with the words
I flung myself down by the brook, thrust my burning
face into the babbling chill of it, and drank
luxuriously.  Tamin was beside me in an instant; but
Marc slaked his thirst at more leisure, when he had
well enjoyed watching our satisfaction.

We lay for a little, till the sky was touched here and
there with saffron and flying wisps of pink, and we
began to see the colour of grass and leaves.  Then we
made our meal, -- a morsel each of the salt hake which
I had clung to through our flight, and some bits of
Tamin's black bread.  This bread was wholesome, as I
well knew, and to our hunger it was not unsavoury; but
it was of a hardness which the seawater had scarce
availed to mitigate.

As we ground hastily upon the meagre fare, I felt,
rather than heard, a presence come behind me.  I turned
my head with a start, and at the same instant heard a
high, plangent voice, close beside us, crying slowly:-

"Woe, woe to Acadie the Fair, for the day of her
desolation cometh."

It was an astonishing figure upon which my eyes fell, --
a figure which might have been grotesque, but was
not.  Instead of laughing, my heart thrilled with a kind
of awe.  The man was not old, -- his frame was erect and
strong with manhood; but the long hair hanging about
his neck was white, the long beard streaming upon his
half-naked breast was white.  He wore leathern breeches,
and the upper portion of his body was covered only by a
cloak of coarse woollen stuff, woven in a staring
pattern of black and yellow.  On his head was a rimless
cap of plaited straw, with a high, pointed crown; and
this was stuck full of gaudy flowers and feathers.
From the point of the crown rose the stump of what had been,
belike, a spray of goldenrod, broken by a hasty
journeying through the obstructions of the forest.
The man's eyes, of a wild and flaming blue, fixed
themselves on mine.  In one hand he carried a white
stick, with a grotesque carven head, dyed scarlet,
which he pointed straight at me.

"Do you lie down, like cows that chew the cud, when the
wolves are on the trail?" demanded that plangent voice.

"It's Grul!" cried Tamin, springing to his feet and
thrusting a piece of black bread into the stranger's
hand.

But the offering was thrust aside, while those wide
eyes flamed yet more wildly upon me.

"They are on the trail, I tell you!" he repeated.
"I hear their feet even now!  Go!  Run!  Fly!" and he
stooped, with an ear toward the ground.

"But which way should we fly?" I asked, half in doubt
whether his warning should be heeded or derided.
I could see that neither Marc nor Tamin had any such
doubts.  They were on the strain to be off, and only
awaited my word.

"Go up the brook," said he, in a lower voice.
"The first small stream on your left hand turn up that a
little way, and so -- for the wolves shall this time be
balked.  But the black wolf's teeth bite deep.  They
shall bite upon the throats of the people!" he
continued, his voice rising keenly, his white staff,
with its grinning scarlet head, waving in strange,
intricate curves.  We were already off, making at almost
full speed up the brook.  Glancing back, I saw the
fantastic form running to and fro over the ground where
we had lain; and when the trees hid him we heard those
ominous words wailed slowly over and over with the
reiterance of a tolling bell:-

"Woe, woe for Acadie the Fair, for the day of her
desolation cometh!"

"He'll throw them off the trail!" said Tamin,
confidently.

"But how did they ever get on it?" queried Marc.

"'Tis plain that they have seen or heard us as we
passed the strip of beach!" said I, in deep vexation,
for I hated to be overreached by any one in woodcraft.
"If we outwit them now, it's no thanks to my tactics,
but only to that generous and astonishing madman.
You both seemed to know him.  Who, in the name of all
the saints, might he be?  What was it you called him,
Tamin?"

"Grul!" replied Tamin; and said no more, discreetly
husbanding his wind.  But Marc spoke for him.

"I have heard him called no other name but Grul!  Madman
he is, at times, I think.  But sane for the most part,
and with some touches of a wisdom beyond the wisdom of
men.  The guise of madness he wears always; and the
Indians, as well as our own people, reverence him
mightily.  It is nigh upon three years since he first
appeared in Acadie.  He hates the Black Abbe, -- who,
they say, once did him some great mischief in some
other land than this, -- and his strange ravings, his
prodigious prophesyings, do something here and there to
weaken the Abbe's influence with our people."

"Then how does he evade the good father's wrath?"
I questioned, in wonder.

"Oh," said Marc, "the good father hates him cordially
enough.  But the Indians could not be persuaded, or
bullied, or bribed, to lift a hand against him.  They
say a Manitou dwells in him."

"Maybe they're not far wrong!" grunted Tamin.

And now I, like Tamin, found it prudent to spare my
wind.  But Marc, whose lungs seemed untiring, spoke from
time to time as he went, and told me certain incidents,
now of Grul's acuteness, now of his gift of prophecy,
now of his fantastic madness.  We came at length, after
passing two small rivulets on the right, to the stream
on the left which Grul had indicated.  It had a firm
bed, wherein our footsteps left no trace, and we
ascended it for perhaps a mile, by many windings.
Then, with crafty care, we crept up from the stream,
in such a fashion as to leave no mark of our divergence
if, as I thought not likely, our pursuers should come that
way.  After that we fetched a great circuit, crossed the
parent brook, and shortly before noon judged that we
might account ourselves secure.  Where a tiny spring
bubbled beneath a granite boulder and trickled away
north toward the Fundy shore, we stopped to munch black
bread and the remnant of the fish.  We rested for an
hour, -- Tamin and I sleeping, while Marc, who
protested that he felt no motion toward slumber, kept
watch.  When he roused us, we set off pleasantly
refreshed, our faces toward Shulie.

Till late that night we journeyed, having a clear moon
to guide us.  Coming at length to the edge of a small
lake set with islands, "Here," said I, "is the place
where we may sleep secure!"

We stripped, took our bundles on our heads, and swam
out into the shining stillness.  We swam past two
islets, and landed upon one which caught my fancy.
There we lay down in a bed of sweet-smelling fern, and
were well content.  As we supped on Tamin's good black
bread, two loons laughed to each other out on the
silver surface.  We saw their black, watchful heads,
moving slowly.  Then we slept.  It was high day when we
awoke.  The bread was now scarce, so we husbanded it,
and made such good speed all day that while it wanted
yet some hours of sunset we came out upon a bluff's
edge and saw below us the wash and roll of Fundy.  We
were some way west of Shulie, but not far, Tamin said,
from the house of his good friend with the good boat.

To this house we came within the hour.  It was a small,
home-like cabin, among apple trees, in a slant clearing
that over-hung a narrow creek.  There, by a little
jetty, I rejoiced to see the boat.  The man of the
house, one Beaudry, was in the woods looking for his
cow, but the goodwife made us welcome.  When Beaudry
came in he and Tamin fell on each other's necks.  And I
found, too, that the name of Jean de Briart, with
something of his poor exploits, was not all unknown in
the cabin.

How well we supped that night, on fresh shad well
broiled, and fresh sweet barley bread, and thin brown
buckwheat cakes!  It was settled at once that Beaudry
should put us over to de Ramezay's camp with the first
of the morrow's tide.  Then, over our pipes, sitting
under the apple tree by the porch, we told our late
adventures.  I say we, but Tamin told them, and gave
them a droll colouring which delighted me.  It must have
tickled Marc's fancy, too, for I took note that he let
his pipe out many times during the story.  Beaudry kept
crying "Hein!" and "Bien!" and "Tiens!" in an ecstasy
of admiration.  The goodwife, however, was seemingly
most touched by the loss of Tamin's knitted cap.  With a
face of great concern, as who should say "Poor soul!"
she jumped up, ran into the house, was gone a few
moments, and returned beaming benevolence.

"V'la!" she cried; and stuck upon Tamin's wiry black
head a bran-new cap of red wool.



Chapter VII

The Commander is Embarrassed

NEXT day we set out at a good hour, and came without
further adventure to Chignecto.  Having landed, amid a
little swarm of fishing-boats, we then went straight to
de Ramezay's head-quarters, leaving Beaudry at the
wharf among his cronies.  We crossed a strip of dyked
marsh, whereon were many sleek Acadian cattle cropping
the rich aftermath, and ascended the gentle slope of
the uplands.  Amid a few scattered cabins were ranged
the tents of the soldiers.  Camp fires and sheaves of
stacked muskets gave the bright scene a warlike
countenance.  Higher up the hill stood a white cottage,
larger than the rest, its door painted red, with green
panels; and from a staff on its gable, blown out
bravely by the wind which ever sweeps those Fundy
marshlands, flapped the white banner with the Lilies of
France.

The sentry who challenged us at the foot of the slope
knew me, -- had once fought under me in a border
skirmish, -- and, saluting with great respect, summoned
a guard to conduct us to headquarters.  As we climbed
the last dusty rise and turned in, past the long well-sweep
and two gaunt, steeple-like Lombardy poplars, to
the yard before the cottage, the door opened and the
commander himself stood before us.  His face lit up
gladly as I stepped forward to greet him, and with
great warmth he sprang to embrace me.

"My dear Briart!" he cried.  "I have long expected you!"

"I am but just returned to Acadie, my dear friend,"
said I, with no less warmth than he had evinced, "or
you would surely have seen me here to greet you on your
coming.  But the King's service kept me on the
Richelieu!"

"And even your restless activity, my Jean, cannot put
you in two places at once," said he, as he turned with
an air of courteous inquiry to my companions.
Perceiving at once by his dress that Tamin was a
habitant, his eyes rested upon Marc.

"My son Marc, Monsieur de Ramezay," said I.

The two bowed, Marc very respectfully, as became a
young man on presentation to a distinguished officer,
but de Ramezay with a sudden and most noticeable
coldness.  At this I flushed with anger, but the moment
was not one for explanations.  I restrained myself; and
turning to Tamin, I said in an altered tone:-

"And this, de Ramezay, is my good friend and faithful
follower, Tamin Violet, of Canard parish, who desires
to enlist for service under you.  More of him, and all
to his credit, I will tell you by and by.  I merely
commend him to you now as brave, capable, and a good
shot!"

"I have ever need of such!" said de Ramezay, quickly.
"As you recommend him he shall serve in Monsieur de
Ville d'Avray's company, which forms my own guard."

Summoning an orderly, he gave directions to this
effect.  As Tamin turned to depart with the orderly,
both Marc and I stepped up to him and wrung his hands,
and thanked him many times for the courage and craft
which had saved Marc's life as well as the honour of
our family.

"We'll see you again to-night or in the morning, my
Tamin," said Marc.

"And tell you how goes my talk with the commander,"
added I, quietly.

"And for the boat we wrecked," continued Marc, "why, of
course, we won't remain in your debt for a small thing
like that; though for the great matter, and for your
love, we are always your debtors gladly!"

"And in the King's uniform," said I, cutting short
Tamin's attempted protestations, "even the Black Abbe
will not try to molest you."

I turned again to de Ramezay, who was waiting a few
paces aside, and said, with a courtesy that was
something formal after the warmth of our first
greeting:-

"Your pardon, de Ramezay!  But Tamin has gone through
much with us and for us.  And now, my son and I would
crave an undisturbed conversation with you."

At once, and without a word, he conducted us into his
private room, where he invited us to be seated.  As we
complied, he himself remained standing, with every sign
of embarrassment in his frank and fearless countenance.
I had ever liked him well.  Good cause to like him,
indeed, I had in my heart, for I had once stood over
his body in a frontier skirmish, and saved his scalp
from the knives of the Onondagas.  But now my anger was
hot against him, for it was plain to me that he had
lent ear to some slanders against Marc.  For a second or
two there was a silence, then Marc sprang to his feet.

"Perhaps if I stand," said he, coldly, "Monsieur de
Ramezay will do us the honour of sitting."

De Ramezay's erect figure -- a very soldierly and
imposing figure it was in its uniform of white and gold
-- straightened itself haughtily for an instant.  Then
he began, but with a stammering tongue:-

"I bitterly regret -- it grieves me, -- it pains me to
even hint it, -- " and he kept his eyes upon the floor
as he spoke, -- "but your son, my dear friend, is
accused -- "

Here I broke in upon him, springing to my feet.

"Stop!" said I, sternly.

He looked at me with a face of sorrowful inquiry, into
which a tinge of anger rose slowly.

"Remember," I continued, "that whatever accusation or
imputation you make now, I shall require you to prove
beyond a peradventure, -- or to make good with your
sword against mine!  My son is the victim of a vile
conspiracy.  He is -- "

"Then he _is_ loyal, you say, to France?" interrupted
de Ramezay, eagerly.

"I say," said I, in a voice of steel, "that he has done
nothing that his father, a soldier of France, should
blush to tell, -- nothing that an honest gentleman
should not do." My voice softened a little as I noticed
the change in his countenance.  "And oh, Ramezay," I
continued, "had any man an hour ago told me that you
would condemn a son of mine unheard, -- that you, on
the mere word of a false priest or his wretched tools,
would have believed that a son of Jean de Mer could be
a traitor, I would have driven the words down his
throat for a black lie, a slander on my friend!"

De Ramezay was silent for a moment, his eyes fixed upon
the floor.  Then he lifted his head.

"I was wrong.  Forgive me, my friend!" said he, very
simply.  "I see clearly that I ought to have held the
teller of those tales in suspicion, knowing of him what
I do know.  And now, since you give me your word the
tales are false, they are false.  Pardon me, I beg of
you, Monsieur!" he added, turning to Marc and holding
out his hand.

Marc bowed very low, but appeared not to see the hand.

"If you have heard, Monsieur de Ramezay," said he,
"that, before it was made plain that France would seek
to recover Acadie out of English hands, I, a mere boy,
urged my fellow Acadians to accept the rule in good
faith; -- if you have heard that I then urged them not
to be misled to their own undoing by an unscrupulous
and merciless intriguer who disgraces his priestly
office; -- if you have heard that, since then, I have
cursed bitterly the corruption at Quebec which is
threatening New France with instant ruin, -- you have
heard but truly!"

De Ramezay bit his lips and flushed slightly.  Marc was
not making the situation easier; but I could scarce
blame him.  Our host, however, motioned us to our seats,
taking his own chair immediately that he saw us seated.
For my own part, my anger was quite assuaged.  I
hastened to clear the atmosphere.

"Let me tell you the whole story, Ramezay," said I,
"and you will understand.  But first let me say that my
son is wholly devoted to the cause of France.  His
former friendly intercourse with the English, a boyish
matter, he brought to an utter end when the war came
this way."

"And let me say," interrupted de Ramezay, manfully
striving to amend his error, "that when one whom I need
not name was filling my ear with matter not creditable
to a young man named Marc de Mer, it did not come at
all to my mind -- and can you wonder? -- that the
person so spoken of was a son of my Briart, of the man
who had so perilled his own life to save mine!  I
thought your son was but a child.  It was thus that the
accusations were allowed to stick in my mind, -- which
I do most heartily repent of!  And for which I again
crave pardon!"

"I beg of you, Monsieur, that you will think no more of
it!" said Marc, heartily, being by this quite appeased.

Then with some particularity I told our story, -- not
omitting Marc's visit to his little Puritan at
Annapolis, whereat de Ramezay smiled, and seemed to
understand something which had before been dark to him.
When the Black Abbe came upon the scene (I had none of
our host's reluctance to mention the Abbe's name!) de
Ramezay's brows gathered gloomily.  But he heard the
tale through with breathless attention up to the point
of our landing at Chignecto.

"And now, right glad am I that you are here," he
exclaimed, stretching out a hand to each of us.  The
frank welcome that illuminated the strong lines of his
face left no more shadow of anger in our hearts.

"And here are the Abbe's precious documents!" said I,
fetching forth the packet.

De Ramezay examined both letters with the utmost care.

"The reward," he said presently, with a dry smile, "is
on a scale that savours of Quebec rather more than of
thrifty New England.  When Boston holds the purse-strings,
information is bought cheaper than that!  As for the signature,
it is passable.  But I fear it would scarce satisfy
Master Apthorp!"

"I thought as much," said I, "though I have seen
Mascarene's signature but once."

De Ramezay fingered the paper, and held it up to the
light.

"But a point which will interest you particularly,
Monsieur," he continued, addressing Marc, "is the fact
that this paper was made in France!"

"It is gratifying to know that, Monsieur!" replied
Marc, with his vanishing smile.

"It would be embarrassing to some people," said de
Ramezay, "if they knew we were aware of it.  But I may
say here frankly that they must not know it.  You will
readily understand that my hands are something less
than free.  As things go now at Quebec, there are
methods used which I cannot look upon with favour, and
which I must therefore seem not to see.  I am forced to
use the tools which are placed in my hands.  This priest
of whom you speak is a power in Acadie.  He is thought
to be indispensable to our cause.  He will do the things
that, alas, have to be done, but which no one else will
do.  And I believe he does love France, -- he is surely
sincere in that.  But he rests very heavily, methinks,
on the conscience of his good bishop at Quebec, who,
but for the powers that interfere, would call him to a
sharp account.  I tell you all this so that you will see
why I must not charge the Abbe with this villany of
his.  I am compelled to seem ignorant of it."

I assured him that I apprehended the straits in which
he found himself, and would be content if he would
merely give the Abbe to understand that Marc was not to
be meddled with.

"Of course," said Marc, at this point, "I wish to enter
active service, with Father; and I shall therefore be,
for the most part, beyond the good Abbe's reach.  But we
have business at Grand Pre and Canard that will hold us
there a week or thereabouts; and it is annoying to walk
in the hourly peril of being tomahawked and scalped for
a spy!"

"I'll undertake to secure you in this regard," laughed
de Ramezay; "and in return, perchance I may count on
your support when I move against Annapolis, as my
purpose is to do ere many weeks!"

"Assuredly!" said Marc, "if my father have made for me
no other plans!" And he turned to me for my word in the
matter.

As it chanced, this was exactly as I had purposed,
which I made at once to appear.  It was presently
agreed, therefore, that we should tarry some days at
Chignecto, returning thereafter to despatch our affairs
at home and await de Ramezay's summons.  As the
Commander's guests we were lodged in his own quarters,
and Tamin was detailed to act as our orderly.  The good
Beaudry, with his good boat, was sent home not empty-handed
to his goodwife near Shulie, with instructions
to come again for us in five days.  And Tamin, having
now no more need of it, sent back to Madame Beaudry,
with best compliments, her knitted cap of red wool.



Chapter VIII

The Black Abbe Comes to Dinner

OF the pleasant but something irrelevant matter of how
merrily we supped that night with de Ramezay and his
officers, -- many of whom I knew, all of whom knew me
or my adventurous repute, -- I will not linger to
discourse.  Nor of the costly dainties from France which
enriched the board, side by side with fair salmon from
the Tantramar and bursting-fat plover from the Joli-Coeur
marshes.  Nor of the good red wine of Burgundy
which so enhanced the relish of those delectable birds,
-- and of which I might perhaps have drunk more
sparingly had good Providence but made me more
abstemious.  Let it suffice to say, there was wit enough
to spice plainer fare, and courtesy that had shone at
Versailles.  The long bare room, with its low,
black-raftered ceiling and polished floor, its dark walls
patterned with shelves, was lit by the smoky flames of
two-score tallow candles.

By and by chairs were pushed back, the company sat with
less ceremony, the air grew clouded with the blue
vapours of the Virginia weed, and tongues wagged
something more loosely than before.  There were songs, --
catches from the banks of Rhone, rolling ballads of
our own voyageurs.  A young captain quite lately from
Versailles, the Sieur de Ville d'Avray, had an
excellent gift of singing.

But now, just when the Sieur de Ville d'Avray was
rendering, with most commendable taste and spirit, the
ballade of "Frere Lubin," there came an interruption.


"Il presche en theologien,
Mais pour boire de belle eau claire,
Faictes la boire a vostre chien,
Frere Lubin ne le peult faire," --


sang the gay voice, -- we all nodding our heads in
intent approval, or even, maybe, seeing that the wine
was generous, tapping the measure openly with our
fingers.  But suddenly, though there was no noise to
draw them, all eyes turned to the door-way, and the
singer paused in his song.  I tipped my chair back into
the shadow of a shelf, as did Marc, who sat a little
beyond me.  For the visitor, who thus boldly entered
unannounced, was none other than the Black Abbe
himself.

I flung de Ramezay a swift glance of anticipation,
which he caught as he arose in his place to greet the
new-comer.  On the faces around the table I took note of
an ill-disguised annoyance.  The Abbe, it was plain,
found small favour in that company.  But to do him
justice, he seemed but little careful to court favour.
He stood in the doorway, frowning, a piercing and
bitter light in his close-set eyes.  He waited for de
Ramezay to come forward and give him welcome, -- which
de Ramezay presently did, and would have led him to a
seat at the table.

But "No!" said the grim intruder.  "With all thanks for
your courtesy, Monsieur, I have no time, nor am I in
the temper, for revellings.  When I have said my word to
you I will get me to the house of one of my flock, and
sup plainly, and take what rest I may, for at dawn I
must set out for the Shubenacadie.  There is much to be
done, and few to do it, and the time grows short!" and
he swept a look of reprimand about the circle.

"Would you speak with me in private, Father?" asked de
Ramezay, with great civility.

"It is not necessary, Monsieur!" replied the Abbe.
"I have but to say that I arrested the pestilent young
traitor, Marc de Mer, on his father's estate at Canard,
and left him under guard while I went to attend to
other business.  I found upon his person clear proofs of
his treachery, which would have justified his hanging
on the instant.  But I preferred that you should be the
judge!"

"You did well!" said de Ramezay, gravely.  "I must ask
even you, Monsieur l'Abbe, to remember on all occasions
that I, and I only, am the judge, so long as I remain
in Acadie!"

To this rebuke, courteous though it was, the priest
vouchsafed no reply but a slight smile, which uncovered
his strong yellow teeth on one side, like a snarl.
He continued his report as if there had been no
interruption.

"In my brief absence his father, with some disaffected
habitants, deceived my faithful followers by a trick,
and carried off the prisoner.  But I have despatched a
strong party on the trail of the fugitives.  They will
certainly be captured, and brought at once -- "

But at this point his voice failed him.  His face worked
violently with mingled rage and amazement, and
following his gaze I saw Marc standing and bowing with
elaborate courtesy.

"They are already here, Sir Abbe," said he, "having
made haste that they might give you welcome!"

A ripple of laughter went around the table, as the
company, recovering from some moments of astonishment,
began to understand the situation.  I, too, rose to my
feet, smiling expectantly.  The priest's narrow eyes met
mine for a second, with a light that was akin to
madness.  Then they shifted.  But he found his voice
again.

"I denounce that man as a proved spy and traitor!" he
shouted, striding forward, and pointing a yellow finger
of denunciation across the table at Marc, while the
revellers over whom he leaned made way for him
resentfully.  "I demand his instant arrest."

"Gently, Monsieur l'Abbe," said de Ramezay.  "These are
serious charges to bring against French gentlemen, and
friends of the Commander; have you proofs -- such as
will convince me after the closest scrutiny?" he added,
with unmistakable significance.

"I have myself seen the proofs, I tell you," snarled
the Abbe, beginning to exert more self-control, but
still far unlike the cool, inexorable, smiling cynic
who had so galled my soul with his imperturbability
when I lay in his bonds beside the Forge.

"I would fain see them, too," insisted de Ramezay.

The priest glared at me, and then at Marc, baffled.

"I have them not," said he, in his slow and biting
tones; "but if you would do your duty as the King's
servant, Monsieur de Ramezay, and arrest yonder spy,
you would doubtless find the proofs upon his person,
if he has not taken the pains to dispose of them." Upon
this insolent speech, de Ramezay took his seat, and
left the priest standing alone.  When, after a pause, he
spoke, his voice was stern and masterful, as if he were
addressing a contumacious servant, though he retained
the forms of courtesy in his phrases.

"Monsieur," said he, "when I wish to learn my duty, it
will not be the somewhat well-known Abbe la Garne whom
I will ask to teach me.  I must require you not to
presume further upon the sacredness of your office.
Your soutane saves you from being called to account by
the gentleman whose honour you have aspersed.  Monsieur
Marc de Mer is the son of my friend.  He is also one of
my aides-de-camp.  I beg that you will understand me
without more words when I say that I have examined the
whole matter to which you refer.  For your own credit,
press it no further.  I trust you catch my meaning!"

"On the contrary," said the Abbe, coolly, being by this
time quite himself again, and seemingly indifferent to
the derisive faces confronting him -- "on the contrary,
your meaning altogether escapes me, Monsieur.  All that
I understand of your singular behaviour is what the
Governor and the Intendant, not I their unworthy
instrument, will be called to pass judgment upon."

"I will trouble you to understand also, Sir Priest,"
said de Ramezay, thoroughly aroused, his tones biting
like acid, "that if this young man is further troubled
by any of your faithful Shubenacadie flock, I will hold
you responsible; and the fact that you are useful,
having fewer scruples than trouble a mere layman, shall
not save you."

"Be not disturbed for your spy, Monsieur," sneered the
Abbe, now finely tranquil.  "I wash my hands of all
responsibility in regard to him; look you to that."

For the space of some seconds there was silence all
about that table of feasting, while the Abbe swept a
smiling, bitter glance around the room.  Last, his eyes
rested upon mine and leaped with a sudden light of
triumph, so that one might have thought not he but I
had been worsted in the present encounter.  Then he
turned on his heel and went out, scornful of courtesy.

A clamour of talk arose upon this most cherished
departure; but I heard it as in a dream, being wrapped
up in wonder as to the meaning of that look of triumph.

"Has the Black Abbe cast a spell upon you, Father?" I
heard Marc inquiring presently.  Whereupon I came to
myself with a kind of start, and made merry with the
rest of them.

It was late when Marc and I went to the little chamber
where our pallets were stretched.  There we found Tamin
awaiting us.  He was in a sweat of fear.

"What is it, my Tamin?" asked Marc.

"The Black Abbe," he grunted, the drollness all chased
out of the little wrinkles about his eyes.

"Well," said I, impatiently.  "The Black Abbe; and what
of him?  He is repenting to-night that he ever tried
conclusions with me, I'll wager."

I spoke the more confidently because in my heart I was
still troubled to know the meaning of the Abbe's
glance.

"Hein," said Tamin.  "He looked -- his eyes would lift a
scalp!  I was standing in the light just under the
window, when of a sudden the door closed; and there he
stood beside me, with no sound, and still as a heron.
He looked at me with those two narrow eyes, as if he
would eat my heart out; and I stood there, and shook.
Then, of a sudden, his face changed.  It became like a
good priest's face when he says the prayer for the soul
that is passing; and he looked at me with solemn eyes.
And I was yet more afraid.  'It is not for me to rebuke
you,' he said, speaking so that each word seemed an
hour long; 'Red runs your blood on the deep snow
beneath the apple tree.' And before I could steady my
teeth to ask him what he meant, he was gone.  'Red runs
your blood beneath the apple tree.' What did he mean by
that?"

"Oh," said I, speaking lightly to encourage him, though
in truth the words fell on me with a chill, "he said it
to spoil your sleep and poison your content.  It was a
cunning revenge, seeing that he dare not lift a hand to
punish you otherwise."

"To be sure, my Tamin, that is all of it," added Marc.
"Who has ever heard that the Black Abbe was a prophet?
Faith, 'tis as Father says, a cunning and a devilish
revenge.  But you can balk it finely by paying no heed
to it."

Tamin's face had brightened mightily, but he still
looked serious.

"Do you think so?" he exclaimed with eagerness.
"'Tis as you say indeed, -- the Black Abbe is no prophet.
Had it been Grul, now, that said it, there were something
to lie awake for, eh?"

"Yes, indeed, if Grul had said it," muttered Marc,
contemplating him strangely.

But for me, I was something impatient now to be asleep.

"Think no more of it, my friend," said I, and dismissed
him.  Yet sleepy as I was, I thought of it, and even I
must have begun to dream of it.  The white sheet of
moonlight that lay across my couch became a drift of
snow with blood upon it, and the patterned shadow upon
the wall an apparition leaning over, -- when out of an
immense distance, as it were, I heard Marc's voice.

"Father," he cried softly, "are you awake?"

"Yes, dear lad," said I.  "What is it?"

"I have been wondering," said he, "why the Black Abbe
looked at you, not me, in his going.  He had such a
countenance as warns me that he purposes some cunning
stroke.  But I fear his enmity has turned from me to
you."

"Well, lad, it was surely I that balked him.  What would
you have?" I asked.

"Oh," said he, heavily, "that I should have turned that
bloodhound onto your trail!"

"Marc, if it will comfort you to know it, carry this in
your memory," said I, with a cheerful lightness, like
froth upon the strong emotion that flooded my heart.
"When the Black Abbe strikes at me, it will be through
you.  He knows where I am like to prove most
vulnerable!"

"'Tis all right, then, so as we sink or swim together,
Father," said Marc, quietly.

"That's the way of it now, dear lad!  Sweet sleep to
you, and dreams of red hair!" said I.  And I turned my
face drowsily to the wall.



Chapter IX

The Abbe Strikes Again

THE few days of our stay at Chignecto were gay and busy
ones; and all through them hummed the wind steadily
across the pale green marshes, and buffeted the golden-rod
on our high shoulder of upland.  De Ramezay
gratified me by making much of Marc.  The three of us
rode daily abroad among the surrounding settlements.
And I spent many hours planning with de Ramezay a fort
which should be built on the site of this camp, in case
the coming campaign should fail to drive the English
out of Acadie.  De Ramezay, as was ever his wont, was
full of confidence in the event.  But of the sorry
doings at Quebec, of the plundering hands upon the
public purse, of the shamelessness in high places, he
hinted to me so broadly that I began to see much ground
for Marc's misgivings.  And my heart cried out for my
fair country of New France.

On the fifth day of our stay, -- it was a Wednesday,
and very early in the morning, -- the good Beaudry with
his good boat came for us.  The tide serving at about
two hours after sunrise, we set out then for Grand Pre,
well content with the jade Fortune whose whims had so
far favoured us.  De Ramezay and his officers were at
the wharf-end to bid us God-speed; and as I muse upon
it now they may have thought curiously of it to see the
loving fashion in which both Marc and I made a point to
embrace our faithful Tamin.  But that is neither here
nor there, so long as we let him plainly understand how
our hearts were towards him.

The voyage home was uneventful, save that we met
contrary winds, whereby it fell that not until evening
of the second day did we come into the Gaspereau mouth
and mark the maids of Grand Pre carrying water from the
village well.

The good Beaudry we paid to his satisfaction, and left
to find lodging in one of the small houses by the water
side; while Marc and I took our way up the long street
with its white houses standing amid their apple trees.
Having gone perhaps four or five furlongs, returning
many a respectful salutation from the doorways as we
passed, we then turned up the hill by a little lane
which was bordered stiffly with the poplar trees of
Lombardy, and in short space we came to a pleasant
cottage in a garden, under shadow of the tall white
church which stood sentinel over the Grand Pre roofs.
The cottage had some apple trees behind it, and many
late roses blooming in the garden.  It was the home of
the good Cure, Father Fafard, most faithful and most
gentle of priests.

With Father Fafard we lodged that night, and for some
days thereafter.  The Cure's round face grew unwontedly
stern and anxious as we told him our adventures, and
rehearsed the doings of the Black Abbe.  He got up from
time to time and paced the room, muttering once --
"Alas that such a man should discredit our holy office!
What wrath may he not bring down upon this land!" --
and more to a like purport.

My own house in Grand Pre, where Marc had inhabited of
late, and where I was wont to pay my flitting visits,
I judged well to put off my hands for the present,
foreseeing that troublous times were nigh.  I
transferred it in Father Fafard's presence to a trusty
villager by name Marquette, whom I could count upon to
transfer it back to me as soon as the skies should
clear again.  I knew that if, by any fortune of war,
English troops should come to be quartered in Grand
Pre, they would be careful for the property of the
villagers; but the house and goods of an enemy under
arms, such would belike fare ill.  I collected, also,
certain moneys due me in the village, for I knew that
the people were prosperous, and I did not know how long
their prosperity might continue.  This done, Marc and I
set out for my own estate beside the yellow Canard.
There I had rents to gather in, but no house to put off
my hands.  At the time when Acadie was ceded to England,
a generation back, the house of the de Mers had been
handed over to one of the most prosperous of our
habitants, and with that same family it had ever since
remained, yielding indeed a preposterously scant
rental, but untroubled by the patient conqueror.

My immediate destination was the Forge, where I
expected to find Babin awaiting me with news and
messages.  At the Forge, too, I would receive payment
from my tenants, and settle certain points which, as I
had heard, were at dispute amongst them.

As we drew near the Forge, through the pleasant autumn
woods, it wanted about an hour of noon.  I heard, far
off, the muffled thunder of a cock-partridge drumming.
But there was no sound of hammer on clanging anvil, no
smoke rising from the wide Forge chimney; and when we
entered, the ashes were dead cold.  It was plain there
had been no fire in the forge that day.

"Where can Babin be?" I muttered in vexation.  "If he
got my message, there can be no excuse for his
absence."

"I'll wager, Father," said Marc, "that if he is not off
on some errand of yours, then he is sick abed, or dead.
Nought besides would keep Babin when you called him."

I went to a corner and pulled a square of bark from a
seemingly hollow log up under the rafters.  In the
secret niche thus revealed was a scrap of birch bark
scrawled with some rude characters of Babin's, whence I
learned that my trusty smith was sick of a sharp
inflammation.  I passed the scrap over to Marc, and felt
again in the hollow.

"What, in the name of all the saints, is this?" I
exclaimed, drawing out a short piece of peeled stick.
A portion of the stick was cut down to a flat surface,
and on this was drawn with charcoal a straight line,
having another straight line perpendicular to it, and
bisecting it.  At the top of the perpendicular was a
figure of the sun, thus:-

[drawing]

"It's a message from Grul," said Marc, the instant that
his eyes fell upon it.

"H'm; and how do you know that?" said I, turning it
over curiously in my fingers.

"Well," replied Marc, "the peeled stick is Grul's sign
manual.  What does he say?"

"He seems to say that he is going to build a windmill,"
said I, with great seriousness; "but doubtless you will
give this hieroglyphic quite a different
interpretation."

Marc laughed, -- yes, laughed audibly.  And it is
possible that his Penobscot grandmother turned in her
grave.  It was good to know that the lad _could_ laugh,
which I had begun to doubt; but it was puzzling to me
to hear him laugh at the mere absurdity which I had
just uttered, when my most polished witticisms, of
which I had shot off many of late at Chignecto, and in
conversation with good Father Fafard, had never availed
to bring more than a phantom smile to his lips.
However, I made no comment, but handed him "Grul's sign
manual," as he chose to call it.

"Why, Father," said he, "you understand it well enough,
I know.  This is plainly the sun at high noon.  At high
noon, therefore, we may surely expect to see Grul.  He
has been here but a short time back; for see, the wood
is not yet dry."

"Sapristi!" said I, "do you call that the sun, lad?
It is very much like a windmill."

How Marc might have retorted upon me, I know not; for
at the moment, though it yet wanted much of noon, the
fantastic figure of the madman -- if he were a madman --
sped into the Forge.  He stopped abruptly before us
and scrutinized us for some few seconds in utter
silence, his eyes glittering and piercing like sword
points.  His long white hair and beard were disordered
with haste, the flowers and feathers in his pointed cap
were for the most part broken, even as when we had last
seen him, and his gaudy mantle was somewhat befouled
with river mud.  Yet such power was there in his look
and in his gesture, that when he stretched out his
little white staff toward me and said "Come," I had
much ado to keep from obeying him without question.
Yet this I would not permit myself, as was natural.

"Whither?" I questioned.  "And for what purpose?"

By this time he was out at the door, but he stopped.
Giving me a glance of scorn he turned to Marc, and
stretched out his staff.

"Come," he said.  And in a breath he was gone, springing
with incredible swiftness and smoothness through the
underbrush.

"We must follow, Father!" cried Marc; and in the same
instant was away.

For my own part, it was sorely against me to be led by
the nose, and thus blindly, by the madman -- whom I now
declared certainly to be mad.  But Marc had gone, so I
had no choice, as I conceived it, but to stand by the
lad.  I went too.  And seeing that I had to do it, I did
it well, and presently overtook them.

"What is this folly?" I asked angrily, panting a
little, I confess.

But Marc signed to me to be silent.  I obeyed, though
with ill enough grace, and ran on till my mouth was
like a board, my tongue like wool.  Then the grim light
of the forest whitened suddenly before us, and our
guide stopped.  Instinctively we imitated his motions,
as he stole forward and peered through a screen of
leafage.  We were on a bank overlooking the Canard.
A little below, and paddling swiftly towards the
river-mouth, were two canoes manned with the Abbe's
Micmacs. In the bottom of one canoe lay a little
fair-haired boy, bound.

"My God!" cried Marc, under his breath, "'tis the
child! 'tis little Philip Hanford."

Grul turned his wild eyes upon us.

"The power of the dog!" he muttered, "the power of the
dog!"

"We must get a canoe and follow them!" exclaimed Marc,
in great agitation, turning to go, and looking at me
with passionate appeal.  But before I could speak, to
assure him of my aid and support, Grul interfered.

"Wait!" he said, with meaning emphasis, thrusting his
little staff almost in the lad's face.  "Come!" and he
started up along the river bank, going swiftly but with
noiseless caution.  I expected Marc to demur, but not
so.  He evidently had a childlike faith in this
fantastic being.  He followed without a protest.
Needless to say, I followed also.  But all this mystery,
and this blind obedience, and this lordly lack of
explanation, were little to my liking.

We had not gone above half a mile when Grul stopped,
and bent his mad head to listen.  Such an attitude of
listening I had never seen before.  The feathers and
stalks in his cap seemed to lean forward like a horse's
ears; his hair and beard took on a like inclination of
intentness; even the grim little scarlet head upon his
staff seemed to listen with its master.  And Marc did as
Grul did.  Then came a sound as of a woman weeping, very
close at hand.  Grul motioned us to pass him, and creep
forward.  We did so, lying down and moving as softly as
lizards.  But I turned to see what our mysterious guide
was doing -- and lo, he was gone.  He might have faded
into a summer exhalation, so complete and silent was
his exit.

This was too much.  Only my experience as a woods-fighter,
my instinctive caution, kept me from springing
to my feet and calling him.  But my suspicions were all
on fire.  I laid a firm hand of detention on Marc's arm,
and whispered:-

"He's gone; 'tis a trap."

Marc looked at me in some wonder, and more impatience.

"No trap, Father; that's Grul's way."

"Well," I whispered, "we had better go another way, I'm
thinking."

As I spoke, the woman's weeping came to us more
distinctly.  Something in the sound seemed to catch
Marc's heart, and his face changed.

"'Tis all right, I tell you, Father!" came from between
his teeth.  "Come! come! Oh, I know the voice!" And he
crept forward resolutely.

And, of course, I followed.



Chapter X

A Bit of White Petticoat

WE had not advanced above a score of paces when,
peering stealthily between the stems of herbs and
underbrush, we saw what Grul had desired us to see.
Two more canoes were drawn up at the water's edge.
Four savages were in sight, sprawling in indolent attitudes
under the shade of a wide water-maple.  In their midst,
at the foot of the tree, lay a woman bound securely.
She was huddled together in a posture of hopeless
despair; and a dishevelled glory of gold-red tresses
fell over her face to hide it.  She lay in a moveless
silence.  Yet the sound of weeping continued, and Marc,
gripping my hand fiercely, set his mouth to my ear and
gasped:-

"'Tis my own maid!  'Tis Prudence!"

Then I saw where she sat, a little apart, a slender
maid with a lily face, and hair glowing dark red in the
full sun that streamed upon her.  She was so tied to
another tree that she might have no comfort or
companionship of her sister, -- for I needed now no
telling to convey it to me that the lady with the
hidden face and the unweeping anguish was Mistress
Mizpah Hanford, mother of the child whom I had just
seen carried away.

I grieved for Marc, whose eyes stared out upon the
weeping maid from a face that had fallen to the hue of
ashes.  But I praised the saints for sending to our aid
this madman Grul, -- whom, in my heart, I now
graciously absolved from the charge of madness.  Seeing
the Black Abbe's hand in the ravishment of these tender
victims, I made no doubt to cross him yet again, and my
heart rose exultantly to the enterprise.

"Cheer up, lad," I whispered to Marc.  "Come away a
little till we plot."

I showed my confidence in my face, and I could see that
he straightway took heart thereat.  Falling back softly
for a space of several rods, we paused in a thicket to
take counsel.  As soon as we could speak freely, Marc
exclaimed, "They may go at any moment, Father.  We must
haste."

"No," said I, "they'll not go till the cool of the day.
The others went because they have plainly been ordered
to part the child from his mother.  It is a most cunning
and most cruel malice that could so order it."

"It is my enemy's thrust at me," said Marc.  "How did he
know that I loved the maid?"

"His eyes are in every corner of Acadie," said I; "but
we will foil him in this as in other matters.  Marc, my
heart is stirred mightily by that poor mother's pain.
I tell you, lad," -- and I looked diligently to the
priming of my pistols as I spoke, -- "I tell you I will
not rest till I give the little one back into her
arms."

But Marc, as was not unnatural, thought now rather of
his lily maid sobbing under the tree.

"Yes, Father," said he, "but what is to be done now,
to save Prudence and Mizpah?"

"Of course, dear lad," I answered, smilingly, "that is
just what we are here for.  But let me consider." And
sitting down upon a fallen tree, I buried my face in my
hands.  Marc, the while, waited with what patience he
could muster, relying wholly upon my conduct of the
business, but fretting for instant action.

We were well armed (each with a brace of pistols and a
broadsword, the forest being no place for rapiers), and
I accounted that we were an overmatch for the four
redskins.  But there was much at stake, with always the
chance of accident.  And, moreover, these Indians were
allies of France, wherefore I was most unwilling to
attack them from the advantage of an ambush.  These
various considerations decided me.

"Marc, we'll fight them if needful," said I, lifting up
my head.  "But I'm going to try first the conclusions of
peace.  I will endeavour to ransom the prisoners.  These
Micmacs are mightily avaricious, and may yield.  It goes
against me to attack them from an ambush, seeing that
they are of our party and servants of King Louis."

At this speech Marc looked very ill content.

"But, Father," he objected, "shall we forego the
advantage of a surprise?  We are but two to their four,
and we put the whole issue at hazard.  And as for their
being of our party, they bring shame upon our party,
and greatly dishonour the service of King Louis."

"Nevertheless, dear lad," said I, "they have their
claim upon us, -- not lightly to be overlooked, in my
view of it.  But hear my plan.  You will go back to where
we lay a moment ago, and there be ready with your
pistols.  I will approach openly by the water side and
enter into parley with them.  If I can buy the captives,
well and good.  If they deny me, we quarrel.  You will
know when to play your part.  I am satisfied of that.
I shall feel safe under cover of your pistols, and shall
depend upon you to account for two of the four.
Only, do not be too hasty!"

"Oh, I'm cool as steel now, Father," said Marc.  "But I
like not this plan.  The danger is all yours.  And the
quarrel is mine.  Let us go into it side by side!"

"Chut, lad!" said I.  "Your quarrel's my quarrel, and
the danger is not more for me than for you, as you
won't be long away from me when the fight begins, --
if it comes to a fight.  And further, my plan is both an
honest one and like to succeed.  Come, let us be doing!"

Marc seized my hand, and gave me a look of pride and
love which put a glow at my heart.  "You know best,
Father," said he.  And turning away, he crept toward his
poSt. For me, I made a circuit, in leisurely fashion,
and came out upon the shore behind a point some rods
below the spot where the savages lay.  Then I walked
boldly up along the water's edge.

The Indians heard me before I came in view, and were on
their feet when I appeared around the point.  They
regarded me with black suspicion, but no hostile
movement, as I strode straight up to them and greeted,
fairly enough but coldly, a tall warrior, whom I knew
to be one of the Black Abbe's lieutenants.  He grunted,
and asked me who I was.

"You know well enough who I am," said I, seating myself
carelessly upon a rock, "seeing that you had a chief
hand in the outrages put upon me the other day by that
rascally priest of yours!"

At this the chief stepped up to me with an air of
menace, his high-cheeked, coppery face scowling with
wrath.  But I eyed him steadily, and raised my hand with
a little gesture of authority.  "Wait!" said I; and he
paused doubtfully.  "I have no grudge against you for
that," I went on.  "You but obeyed your master's orders
faithfully, as you will doubtless obey mine a few weeks
hence, when I take command of your rabble and try to
make you of some real service to the King.  I am one of
the King's captains."

At this the savage looked puzzled, while his fellows
grunted in manifest uncertainty.

"What you want?" he asked bluntly.

I looked at him for some moments without replying.  Then
I glanced at the form of Mizpah Hanford, still
unmoving, the face still hidden under that pathetic
splendour of loosened hair.  Prudence I could not catch
view of, by reason of another tree which intervened.
But the sound of her weeping had ceased.

"I am ready to ransom these prisoners of yours," said
I.

The savages glanced furtively at each other, but the
coppery masks of their features betrayed nothing.

"Not for ransom," said the chief, with a dogged
emphasis.

I opened my eyes wide.  "You astonish me!" said I.
"Then how will they profit you?  If you wanted their scalps,
those you might have taken at Annapolis."

At that word, revealing that I knew whence they came,
I took note of a stir in the silent figure beneath the
maple.  I felt that her eyes were watching me from
behind that sumptuous veil which her bound hands could
not put aside.  I went on, with a sudden sense of
exaltation.

"Give me these prisoners," I urged, half pleading, half
commanding.  "They are useless to you except for ransom.
I will give you more than any one else will give you.
Tell me your price."

But the savage was obstinate.

"Not for ransom," he repeated, shaking his head.

"You are afraid of your priest," said I, with slow
scorn.  "He has told you to bring them to him.  And what
will you get?  A pistole or two for each!  But I will
give you gold, good French crowns, ten times as much as
you ever got before!"

As I spoke, one of the listening savages got up, his
eyes a-sparkle with eagerness, and muttered something
in Micmac, which I could not understand.  But the chief
turned upon him so angrily that he slunk back, abashed.

"Agree with me now," I said earnestly.  "Then wait here
till I fetch the gold, and I will deliver it into your
hands before you deliver the captives."

But the chief merely turned aside with an air of
settling the question, and repeated angrily:-

"I say white girls not for ransom."

I rose to my feet.

"Fools, you are," said I, "and no men, but sick women,
afraid of your rascal prieSt. I offered to buy when I
might have taken!  Now I will take, and you will get no
ransom!  Unloose their bonds!"

And I pointed with my sword, while my left hand rested
upon a pistol in my belt.  I am a very pretty shot with
my left hand.

Before the words were fairly out of my lips the four
sprang at me.  Stepping lightly aside, I fired the
pistol full at the chief's breast, and he plunged
headlong.  In the next instant came a report from the
edge of the underbrush, and a second savage staggered,
groaned, and fell upon his knees, while Marc leaped
down and rushed upon a third.  The remaining one
snatched up his musket (the muskets were forgotten at
the first, when I seemed to be alone), and took a hasty
aim at me; but before he could pull the trigger my
second pistol blazed in his face, and he dropped, while
his weapon, exploding harmlessly, knocked up some mud
and grass.  I saw Marc chase his antagonist to the
canoes at the point of his sword, and prick him lightly
for the more speed.  But at the same instant, out of the
corner of my eye, I saw the savage whom Marc's shot had
brought down struggle again to his feet and swing his
hatchet.  With a yell I was upon him, and my sword point
(the point is swifter than the edge in an emergency)
went through his throat with a sobbing click.  But I was
just too late.  The hatchet had left his hand; and the
flying blade caught Marc in the shoulder.  The sword
dropped from his grasp, he reeled, and sat down with a
shudder before I could get to his side.  I paid no
further heed to the remaining Indian, but was dimly
conscious of him launching a canoe and paddling away in
wild haste.

I lifted the dear lad into the shade, and anxiously
examined the wound.

"'Tis but a flesh wound," said he, faintly; but I found
that the blow had not only grievously gashed the flesh,
but split the shoulder blade.

"Flesh wound!" I muttered.  "You'll do no more fighting
in this campaign, dear lad, unless they put it off till
next spring.  This shoulder will be months in mending."

"When it does mend, will my arm be the same as ever?"
he asked, somewhat tremulously.  "'Tis my sword arm."

"Yes, lad, yes; you need not trouble about that," said
I.  "But it is a case for care."

In the meantime, I was cleansing the wound with salt
water which I had brought from the river in my cap.
Now, I cast about in my mind for a bandage; and I
looked at the prisoner beneath the maple.  Marc first,
courtesy afterwards, I thought in my heart; for I durst
not leave the wound exposed with so many flies in the
air.

The lady's little feet, bound cruelly, were drawn up in
part beneath her dark skirt, but so that a strip of
linen petticoat shone under them.  I hesitated, but only
for a second.  Lifting the poor little feet softly to
one side, with a stammered, "Your pardon, Madame, but
the need is instant!" I slit off a breadth of the soft
white stuff with my sword.  And I was astonished to feel
my face flush hotly as I did it.  With strangely
thrilling fingers, and the help of my sword edge,
I then set free her feet, and with no more words turned
hastily back to Marc, abashed as a boy.

In a few moments I had Marc's wound softly dressed, for
I had some skill in this rough and ready surgery.
I could see by his contracting pupils that the hurt was
beginning to agonize, but the dear lad never winced
under my fingers, and I commended him heartily as a
brave patient.  Then placing a bundle of cool ferns
under his head for a pillow, I turned to the captives,
from whom there had been never a word this while.



Chapter XI

I Fall a Willing Captive

THE lady whose feet I had freed had risen so far as to
rest crouching against the gnarled trunk of the maple
tree.  The glorious abundance of her hair she had shaken
back, revealing a white face chiselled like a
Madonna's, a mouth somewhat large, with lips curved
passionately, and great sea-coloured eyes which gazed
upon me from dark circles of pain.  But the face was
drawn now with that wordless and tearless anguish which
makes all utterance seem futile, -- the anguish of a
mother whose child has been torn from her arms and
carried she knows not whither.  Her hands lay in her
lap, tight bound; and I noted their long, white
slenderness.  I felt as if I should go on my knees to
serve her -- I who had but just now served her with
such scant courtesy as it shamed my soul to think on.
As I bent low to loose her hands, I sought in my mind
for phrases of apology that might show at the same time
my necessity and my contrition.  But lifting my eyes for
an instant to hers, I was pierced with a sense of the
anguish which was rending her heart, and straightway I
forgot all nice phrases.

What I said -- the words coming from my lips abruptly --
was this: "I will find him!  I will save him!  Be
comforted, Madame!  He shall be restored to you!"

In great, simple matters, how little explanation seems
needed.  She asked not who I was, how I knew, whom I
would save, how it was to be done; and I thrill proudly
even now to think how my mere word convinced her.  The
tense lines of her face yielded suddenly, and she broke
into a shaking storm of tears, moaning faintly over and
over -- "Philip! -- Oh, my Philip! -- Oh, my boy!" I
watched her with a great compassion.  Then, ere I could
prevent, she amazed me by snatching my hand and
pressing it to her lips.  But she spoke no word of
thanks.  Drawing my hand gently away, in great
embarrassment, I repeated: "Believe me, oh, believe me,
Madame; I _will_ save the little one." Then I went to
release the other captive, whom I had well-nigh
forgotten the while.

This lily maid of Marc's, this Prudence, I found in a
white tremour of amazement and inquiry.  From where she
sat in her bonds, made fast to her tree, she could see
nothing of what went on, but she could hear everything,
and knew she had been rescued.  It was a fair, frank,
childlike face she raised to mine as I smiled down upon
her, swiftly and gently severing her bonds; and I laid
a hand softly on that rich hair which Marc had praised,
being right glad he loved so sweet a maid as this.
I forgot that I must have seemed to her in this act a
shade familiar, my fatherly forty years not showing in
my face.  So, indeed, it was for an instant, I think;
for she coloured maidenly.  But seeing the great
kindness in my eyes, the thought was gone.  Her own eyes
filled with tears, and she sprang up and clung to me,
sobbing, like a child just awakened in the night from a
bad dream.

"Oh," she panted, "are they gone? did you kill them?
how good you are!  Oh, God will reward you for being so
good to us!" And she trembled so she would certainly
have fallen if I had not held her close.

"You are safe now, dear," said I, soothing her, quite
forgetting that she knew me not as I knew her, and
that, if she gave the matter any heed at all, my speech
must have puzzled her sorely.  "But come with me!" And I
led her to where Marc lay in the shade.

The dear lad's face had gone even whiter than when I
left him, and I saw that he had swooned.

"The pain and shock have overcome him!" I exclaimed,
dropping on my knees to remove the pillow of ferns from
under his head.  As I did so, I heard the girl catch her
breath sharply, with a sort of moan, and glancing up, I
saw her face all drawn with misery.  While I looked in
some surprise, she suddenly threw herself down, and
crushed his face in her bosom, quite shutting off the
air, which he, being in a faint, greatly needed.  I was
about to protest, when her words stopped me.

"Marc, Marc," she moaned, "why did you betray us?  Oh,
why did you betray us so cruelly?  But oh, I love you
even if you _were_ a traitor.  Now you are dead" (she
had not heard me, evidently, saying he had swooned),
"now you are dead I may love you, no matter what you
did.  Oh, my love, why did you, why did you?" And while
I listened in bewilderment, she sprang to her feet, and
her blue eyes blazed upon me fiercely.

"You killed him!" she hissed at me across his body.

This I remembered afterwards.  At the moment I only knew
that she was calling the lad a traitor.  That I was well
tired of.

"Madame!" said I, sternly.  "Do not presume so far as to
touch him again."

It was her turn to look astonished now.  Her eyes
faltered from my angry face to Marc's, and back again
in a kind of helplessness.

"Oh, you do well to accuse him," I went on, bitterly, --
perhaps not very relevantly.  "You shall not dishonour
him by touching him, you, who can believe vile lies of
the loyal gentleman who loves you, and has, it may be,
given his life for the girl who now insults him."

The girl's face was now in such a confusion of distress
that I almost, but not quite, pitied her.  Ere she could
find words to reply, however, her sister was at her
side, catching her hands, murmuring at her ear.

"Why, Prudence, child," she said, "don't you see it
all?  Didn't you see it all?  How splendidly Marc saved
us" (I blessed the tact which led her to put the first
credit on Marc) -- "Marc and this most brave and
gallant gentleman?  It was one of the savages who struck
Marc down, before my eyes, as he was fighting to save
us.  That dreadful story was a lie, Prudence; don't you
see?"

The maid saw clearly enough, and with a mighty
gladness.  She was for throwing herself down again
beside the lad to cover his face with kisses -- and
shut off the air which he so needed.  But I thrust her
aside.  She had believed Marc a traitor.  Marc might
forgive her when he could think for himself.  I was in
no mind to.

She looked at me with unutterable reproach, her eyes
filling and running over, but she drew back
submissively.

"I know," she said, "I don't deserve that you should
let me go near him.  But -- I think -- I think he would
want me to, sir!  See, he wants me!  Oh, let me!" And I
perceived that Marc's eyes had opened.  They saw no one
but the maid, and his left hand reached out to her.

"Oh, well!" said I, grimly.  And thereafter it seemed to
me that the lad got on with less air than men are
accustomed to need when they would make recovery from a
swoon.

I turned to Mizpah Hanford; and I wondered what sort of
eyes were in Marc's head, that he should see Prudence
when Mizpah was by.  Before I could speak, Mizpah began
to make excuses for her sister.  With heroic fortitude
she choked back her own grief, and controlled her voice
with a brave simplicity.  Coming from her lips, these
broken excuses seemed sufficient -- though to this day
I question whether I ought to have relented so readily.
She pleaded, and I listened, and was content to listen
so long as she would continue to plead.  But there was
little I clearly remember.  At last, however, these
words, with which she concluded, aroused me:-

"How could we any longer refuse to believe," she urged,
"when the good priest confessed to us plainly, after
much questioning, that it was Monsieur Marc de Mer who
had sent the savages to steal us, and had told them
just the place to find us, and the hour?  The savages
had told us the same thing at first, taunting us with
it when we threatened them with Marc's vengeance.  You
see, Monsieur, they had plainly been informed by some
one of our little retreat at the riverside, and of the
hour at which we were wont to frequent it.  Yet we
repudiated the tale with horror.  Then yesterday, when
the good priest told us the same thing, with a
reluctance which showed his horror of it, what _could_
we do but believe?  Though it did seem to us that if
Marc were false there could be no one true.  The priest
believed it.  He was kind and pitiful, and tried to get
the savages to set us free.  He talked most earnestly,
most vehemently to them; but it was in their own
barbarous language, and of course we could not
understand.  He told us at last that he could do nothing
at the time, but that he would exert himself to the
utmost to get us out of their hands by and by.  Then he
went away.  And then -- "

"And then, Madame," said I, "your little one was taken
from you at his orders!"

"Why, what do you mean, Monsieur?" she gasped, her
great sea-coloured eyes opening wide with fresh terror.
"At his orders?  By the orders of that kind priest?"

"Of what appearance was he?" I inquired, in return.

"Oh," she cried breathlessly, "he was square yet spare
of figure, dark-skinned almost as Marc, with a very
wide lower face, thin, thin lips, and remarkably light
eyes set close together, -- a strange, strong face that
might look very cruel if he were angry.  He looked angry
once when he was arguing with the Indians."

"You have excellently described our bitterest foe, and
yours, Madame," said I, smiling.  "The wicked Abbe La
Garne, the pastor and master of these poor tools of his
whom I would fain have spared, but could not." And I
pointed to the bodies of the three dead savages, where
they lay sprawling in various pathetic awkwardnesses of
posture.

She looked, seemed to think of them for the first time,
shivered, and turned away her pitiful eyes.

"Those poor wretches," I continued, "were sent by this
kind priest to capture you.  He knew when and where to
find you, because he had played the eaves-dropper when
Marc and I were talking of you."

"Oh," she cried, clenching her white hands desperately,
"can there be a priest so vile?"

"Ay, and this which you have heard is but a part of his
villany.  We have but lately baulked him in a plot
whereby he had nearly got Marc hanged.  This, Madame, I
promise myself the honour of relating to you by and by;
but now we must get the poor lad removed to some sort
of house and comfort."

"And, oh," cried this poor mother, in a voice of
piercing anguish and amazement, as if she could not yet
wholly realize it, -- "my boy, my boy!  He is in the
power of such a monster!"

"Be of good heart, I beseech you," said I, with a kind
of passion in my voice.  "I will find him, I swear I
will bring him back to you.  I will wait only so long as
to see my own boy in safe hands!"

Again that look of trust was turned upon me, thrilling
me with invincible resolve.

"Oh, I trust you, Monsieur!" she cried.  Then pressing
both hands to her eyes with a pathetic gesture, and
thrusting back her hair -- "I knew you, somehow, for
the Seigneur de Briart," she went on, "as soon as I
heard you demanding our release.  And I immediately felt
a great hope that you would set us free and save
Philip.  I suppose it is from Marc that I have learned
such confidence, Monsieur!"

I bowed, awkward and glad, and without a pretty word to
repay her with, -- I who have some name in Quebec for
well-turned compliment.  But before this woman, who was
young enough to be my daughter, I was like a green boy.

"You are too kind," I stammered.  "It will be my great
ambition to justify your good opinion of me."

Then I turned away to launch a canoe.

While I busied myself getting the canoe ready, and
spreading ferns in the bottom of it for Marc to lie on,
Mizpah walked up and down in a kind of violent
speechlessness, as it were, twisting her long white
hands, but no more giving voice to her grief and her
anxiety.  Once she sat down abruptly under the maple
tree, and buried her face in her hands.  Her shoulders
shook, but not a sound of sob or moan came to my ears.
My heart ached at the sight.  I determined that I would
give her work to do, such as would compel some
attention on her part.

As soon as the canoe was ready I asked:

"Can you paddle, Madame?"

She nodded an affirmative, her voice seeming to have
gone from her.

"Very well," said I, "then you will take the bow
paddle, will you not?"

"Yes, indeed!" she found voice to cry, with an
eagerness which I took to signify that she thought by
paddling hard to find her child the sooner.  But the
manner in which she picked up the paddle, and took her
place, and held the canoe, showed me she was no novice
in the art of canoeing.

I now went to lift Marc and carry him to the canoe.

"Let me help you," pleaded Prudence, springing up from
beside him.  "He must be so heavy!" Whereat I laughed.

"I can walk, I am sure, Father," said Marc, faintly,
"if you put me on my feet and steady me."

"I doubt it, lad," said I, "and 'tis hardly worth while
wasting your little strength in the attempt.  Now,
Prudence," I went on, turning to the girl, "I want you
to get in there in front of the middle bar, and make a
comfortable place for this man's head, -- if you don't
mind taking a _live_ traitor's head in your lap!"

At this the poor girl's face flushed scarlet, as she
quickly seated herself in the canoe; and her lips
trembled so that my heart smote me for the jest.

"Forgive me, child.  I meant it not as a taunt, but
merely as a poor jest," I hastened to explain.  "Your
sister has told me all, and you were scarce to blame.
Now, take the lad and make him as comfortable as a man
with a shattered shoulder can hope to be." And I laid
Marc gently down so that he could slip his long legs
under the bar.  He straightway closed his eyes from
sheer weakness; but he could feel his maid bend her
blushing face over his, and his expression was a
strangely mingled one of suffering and content.

Taking my place in the stern of the canoe, I pushed
out.  The tide was just beginning to ebb.  There was no
wind.  The shores were green and fair on either hand.
My dear lad, though sore hurt, was happy in the sweet
tenderness of his lily maid.  As for me, I looked
perhaps overmuch at the radiant head of Mizpah, at the
lithe vigorous swaying of her long arms, the play of
her gracious shoulders as she paddled strenuously.  I
felt that it was good to be in this canoe, all of us
together, floating softly down to the little village
beside the Canard's mouth.



Part II

Mizpah



Chapter XII

In a Strange Fellowship

I TOOK Marc and the ladies to the house of one Giraud,
a well-tried and trusted retainer, to whom I told the
whole affair.  Then I sent a speedy messenger to Father
Fafard, beg