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T A Sister to Evangeline Being the Story of Tvonne de Lamourie, and how she went into exile with the villagers of Grand PrS By Charles G. D. Roberts Author of The Forge in the Forest, The Heart of the Ancient Wood, By the Marshes of Minas, Earth* s Enigmas, New York Nocturnes, ^c. New Edition, with Illustrations GROSSET 6- DUNLAP NEW YORK PUBLISHERS 45881) Copyright, 1898, By Lamson, Wolffe and Company. All rights reserved. Copyright, 1900, By Silver, Burdett and Company. All rights reserved. MY MOTHER EMMA WETMORE BLISS ROBERTS Contents Chapter I. II. III. IV. V. VI. VII. VIII. IX. X. XI. XII. XIII. XIV. XV. XVI. XVII. XVIII. XIX. Paul Grande's Home-coming to Grand Pre Grul's Warning . Charms and Counter-charms . "Habet!" • • • The Black Abbe Defers A New England Englishman Guard ! • • • The Moon in the Apple-bough In Sleep a King; but Waking, no such Matter . A Grand Pre Morning Father Fafard Le Furet at the Ferry . Unwilling to be Wise . Love Me, Love My Dog Ashes as it were Bread The Way of a Maid . Memory is a Child For a Little Summer's Sleep The Borderland of Life Page 1 II 15 *3 3» 36 43 50 58 66 n 87 94 100 105 112 117 125 135 • • • Vlll Contents '. Chapter XX. But Mad Nor-nor-west . . . Page 142 XXI. Beausejour, and After . 149 XXII. Grul's Case . . . . . 156 XXIII. At Gacpereau Lower Ford 161 XXIV. '*If you love me, leave me" 168 XXV. Over Gaspereau Ridge . . . ^11 XXVI. The Chapel Prison . . . • . 182 XXVII. Dead Days and Withered Dreams . 191 XXVIII. The Ships of her Exile , 200 XXIX. The Hour of her Desolation . 208 XyvX. A Woman's Privilege . 218 XXXI. Young Will and Old Wisdom . . 229 XXXII. Aboard the ** Good Hope " . 238 XXXIII. The Divine Right of Queens . 246 XXXIV. The Soul's Supremer Sense . 254 XXXV. The Court in the Cabin . . 260 XXXVI. Sword and Silk . 268 XXXVII. Fire in Ice .... . 279 XXXVIII. Of Long Felicity Brief Word . 28s Illustrations " I saw her as she stood in the orchard ** Frontispiece FACING PAGE " I ... sat gazing dumbly at the white figure in the moonlight " , . , , 52 ** Anderson let him drop upon the under- brush'* 132 ** But what more engrossed their eyes was the end of Grand Pre " .... 232 # « on bei iti me sui Cli St. the my ex] pul fou cle cor A Sister to Evangeline Chapter I Paul Grande's Home-coming to Grand Pr^ ft R EVEN ANT a la Belle Acadte" --the words sang themselves over and over in my brain, but I could get no further than that one line, try as I might. I felt that it was the beginning of a song which, if only I could imprison it in my rhyme, would stick in the hearts of our men of Acadie, and live upon their lips, and be sung at every camp and hearth fire, as "A la Claire Fontaine " is sung by the voyageurs of the St. Lawrence. At last I perceived, however, that the poem was living itself out at that moment in my heart, and did not then need the half-futile expression that words at best can give. But I did put it into words at a later day, when at last I found myself able to set it apart and view it with clear eyes ; and you shall judge, maybe, when I come to put my verses into print, whether I sue- A Sister to Evangeline ceeded in making the words rhyme fairly and the volatile syllables march at measured pace. The art of verse has never been much practised among us Acadians, and it is a matter of some pride to me that I, a busy soldier, now here at Grand Pre and anon at Mackinaw or Natchez, taking in my hand my life more often than a pen, should have mastered even the rudiments of an art so lofty and exacting. So, for awhile, " Home again to Acadie the Fair " was all that I could say. It was surely enough. I had come over from Piziquid afoot, by the upper trail, and now, having crossed the Gaspereau where it narrows just above tide-water, I had come out upon the spacious brow of the hill that overlooks Grand Pre village. Not all my wanderings had shown me another scene so wonderful as that wide prospect. The vale of the Five Rivers lay spread out before me, with Grand Pre, the quiet metropolis of the Aca- dian people, nestling in her apple-bloom at my feet. There was the one long street, thick-set with its wide-eaved gables, and there its narrow sub- sidiary lane descending from the slopes upon my left. Near the angle rose the spire of he village church, glittering like gold in the clear flood of the sunset. And everywhere the dear apple-blos- soms. For it was spring in Acadie when I came home. • 46 A Sister to Evangeline His face clouded a little, and he withdrew his hand, but not angrily. ** We are very much of one mind in that, I assure you," he said. ** The very ground she walks upon is sacred to me," I continued. He smiled ever so little at the passion of my speech, but answered thoughtfully: " It is but natural, I suppose. I do not think we will quarrel upon that score, monsieur." " For two years," said I, in a low voice, speaking coldly and evenly, " I have been moved night and day by this love only. It has supported me in hunger and in weariness; it has led me in the wilderness; it has strengthened me in the fight; it has been more to me than all ambition. Even my love of my country has been second to it. I came here to-day for one reason only. And I find — you ! " " None can know so well as I what you have lost, monsieur," said he very gravely, ** as none can know so well as I what I have gained.*' His kindness, no less than his confidence, hurt me. " Are you so sure? " I asked. " The discussion is unusual, monsieur," said he, with a sudden resentment. " I will only remind you that Mademoiselle de Lamourie has accepted my suit." ii fil!' Guard I in 47 No man's sternness has ever troubled me, and I smiled slightly in acknowledgment of his very- reasonable remark. " The situation is unusual, so you must pardon me," said I, " if I arrogate to myself a somewhat unusual freedom. I tell you now frankly that by all open and honorable means I will strive to win the love of Mademoiselle de Lamourie. I have hope that she has not yet clearly found the wisdom of her heart. I believe that I, not you, am the man whom she will love. Laugh at my vanity as much as you will. I am not yet ready to say my hope is dead, my life turned to nothingness." " You are weak," said he, with some severity, " to hold your life thus, as it were, in jeopardy of a woman's whim." I could hardly restrain my voice from betray- ing a certain triumph which I felt at this sign of imperfection in his love. " If you hold it a weakness," sa:d I, " there is a point at last in which we differ. If it be a weak- ness, then it is one which, up to two years ago, I had scarce dared hope to attain. Few, indeed, are the women, and as few men, strong enough for the full knowledge of love." " Yet the greatest love is not the whole of life," he averred disputatiously. *• You speak but coldly," said I, " for the lover of Mademoiselle de Lamourie." 48 A Sister to Evangeline 11 I''. ' He started. I had stung him. " I am of the Society of Friends — a Quaker ! " said he harshly. " I do not fight. I lift not my hand against my fellow-man. Yet did I believe that you would succeed in winning her love, I think I would kill you where you stand ! " I liked the sharp lines of his face as he said it, fronting me with eyes grown suddenly cruel. I felt that he meant it, for the moment at least. " Say, rather," said I, smiling, " that you would honestly try your best to kill me. It would be an interesting experiment. Well, now we understand each other. / will honestly try my best to do you what will be, in my eyes, the sorest injury in the world. But I will try by fair means only, and if I fail I will bear you no grudge. In all else, how- ever, believe that I do greatly desire your welfare, and will seize with eagerness any occasion of doing you a service. You are perhaps less unworthy of Mademoiselle de Lamourie than I am, save that you cannot love her so well. And now," I added with a smile, " will you take my hand ? " As I held it out to him he at first drew back and seemed disposed to repulse me. Then his face cleared. " You are honest ! " he exclaimed, and wrung my hand with great cordiality. " I rather like you — and I am very sorry for you. I have her promise." Guard I 49 " Well," said I, " if also you have her love you are the most fortunate man on God's earth ! " " I have it ! " said he blithely, and strode off down the path between the apple-trees, his fine shoulders held squarely, and a confidence in all his bearing. But a wave of pity for him, and strange tenderness, went over me in that moment, for in that moment I felt an assurance that I should win. It was an assurance doomed to swift ruin. It was an assurance destined soon to be hidden under such a vast wreckage of my hopes that even mem- ory marvelled when she dragged it forth to light. 1 II 1 liH II PW ; 'M 1 11 m Chapter VIII The Moon in the Apple-bough DURING all our conversation we had stood in plain view of the windows, so that our friendly parting must have been visible to all the house. On my return within doors I found Yvonne walking up and down in a graceful impatience, her black lace shawl thrown lightly about her head. " If you want to," said she, " you may come out on the porch with me for a little while, mon- sieur. I want you to talk to me." " Yvonne," exclaimed her mother, in a rebuking voice, " will not this room do as well ? " " No, indeed, little mamma," said she wilfully. " Nothing will do as well as the porch, where the moonlight is, and the smell of the apple-blossoms. You know, dear, Grand Pre is not Paris ! " " Nor yet is it Quebec," said 1 pointedly. Monsieur de Lamourie smiled. Whatever Yvonne would was in his eyes good. But her mother yielded only with a little gesture of protest. so The Moon in the Apple-bough 51 " Yvonne is always a law unto herself," she murmured. "And to others, I judge," said I, following the light figure out upon the porch, and closing the door behind me. I praised the saints for the freedom of Grand Pre. At Quebec Mademoiselle would have been the most formal of the formalists, because in Que- bec it was easy to be misjudged. In the corner of the porch, where a huge apple- bough thrust its blossoms in beneath the roof, was slung a stout hammock such as sailors use on ship- board. Mademoiselle de Lamourie had seen these during a voyage down the Gulf from Quebec, and had so fancied them that her father had been im- pelled to have one netted for her by the shad- fishers. It was her favoured lounging-place, and thither she betook herself now without apology. In silence I held the tricksy netting for her. In silence I placed the cushion beneath her head. Then she said: " You may sit there," and she pointed, with a little imperious motion, to a stout bench standing against the wall. I accepted the seat, but not its location. I brought it and placed it as close as I dared to the hammock. In doing so I clumsily set the ham- mock swinging. " Please stop it," said Mademoiselle ; and as I iil Ml « * '♦' Mi 1, li 1 wWi'' I M :j 52 A Sister to Evangeline seated myself I laid my hand on the side of the hammock to arrest its motion. My fingers found themselves in contact with other fingers, very slim and warm and soft. My breath came in a quick gasp, and I drew away my hand in a strange and overwhelming perturbation. The hammock was left to stop of itself — and, indeed, its swinging was but slight. As for me, I was possessed by an infinite amazement to find myself thus put to con- fusion by a touch. I had no word to say, but sat gazing dumbly at the white figure in the moon- light. Her face was very pallid in that colorless light, and her eyes greater and darker than ever, deeps of mystery, — and now, I thought, of grave mock- ery as well. She watched me for a little in silence, and then said : ** I let you come out here to talk to me, mon- « t ft sieur ! I straightened myself upon the bench, and tried my voice. My misgivings were justified. It trem- bled, beyond a doubt. The witch had me at a grave disadvantage. But I spoke on quietly. " From my two years in the woods of the West, mademoiselle," said I, " I brought home to Grand Pre certain wonderful dreams. Of these I find some more than realized ; but one, which gave all meaning to the rest, has been put to death this night." cc I ... sat gazing dumbly at the white figure in the moonlight." SMH^. it The Moon in the Apple-bough 53 " Even in Grand Pre dreams are no new thing," she said in haste. " I want to hear of deeds, of brave and great action. Tell me what you have done — for I know that will be brave." And she smiled at me such kind encouragement that my heart began thumping with vehemence. However, I made shift to tell her a little of my wanderings — of a bush fight here, a night march there, of the foiling of a foe, of the timely succour of a friend — till I saw that I was pleasing her. Her face leaned a little toward me. Her eyes spoke, dilating and contracting. Her lips were slightly parted as she listened. And into every adventure, every "tua- tion. every movement, I contrived to weave a sug- gestion of her influence, of the thought of her guiding and upholding me. These things, touched lightly and at once let pass, she did not rebuke. She feigned not to understand them. At last I paused and looked at her, waiting for a word of praise or blame. " And your poetry, monsieur? " she said gently. " Surely that was not all the time forgotten. This Acadian land, with its wonder and its beauty, has found no interpreter but you, and your brave work in the field would be a misfortune, not a benefit, if it cost us your song." " The loss of my verses were no great loss," said I. " Indeed, monsieur," she said earnestly, " I do m 54 A Sister to Evangeline •' i ii t 1 ill I 1 II 1 ' i not think you can be as modest as you pretend. But I am sincere. Since we have known your song of them, I think that mamma and I have watched only through your eyes the great sweep of the Minas tides. And only the other day I heard papa, who cares for no poetry but his old ' C/ian- sons de Gestes; quoting you to Fathci- Fafard with evident enthusiasm." She paused — but I said nothing. I had talked long; and I wished her to continue. What she was saying, the manner of her saying it, were such as I could long listen to. " As for me," she went on, " I never walk down the orchard in summer time without saying over to myself your song of the apple-leaves." "You do, really, remember my verses? " said I, flushing with surprise and joy. I was not used to commendation for such things, my verses being wont to win no more approval than they merited, which I felt to be very little. She laughed softly, and began to quote : «« • O apple leaves, so cool and green Against the summer sky, You stir, although the wind is still And not a bird goes by ! You start. And softly move apart In hushed expectancy. Who is the gracious visitor Whose form I cannot see ? The Moon in the Apple-bough 55 *• * O apple leaves, the mystic light All down your dim arcade I Why do your shadows tremble so, Half glad and half afraid? The air Is an unspoken prayer; Your eyes look all one way. Who is the secret visitor Your tremors would betray?* " It was a slight thing, which I had never thought particularly well of; but on her lips it achieved a music unimagined before. " Your voice," said I, " makes it beautiful, as it makes all words beautiful. Yes, I have written some small bits of verse during my exile, but they have been different from those of mine which you honour with your praise. They have had another, a more wonderful, theme — a theme all too high for them, which nevertheless spurred them to their best. They have at least one merit — they speak the truth from my heart." As I spoke I felt my- self leaning forward, though not of set purpose, and my voice sank almost to a whisper. " One of them," I continued, begins in this way : " A moonbeam or a breath, above thine eyes I bow, Silent, unseen, But not, ah I not unknown " — " Wait ! " she interrupted, in a voice that sounded a little faint. ** Wait ! I want to hear them ail, S6 A Sister to Evangeline Ir'l- ■ monsieur ; but not to-night. You shall say them to me to-morrow. I must not stay to listen to them to-night. I am a little — cold, I think ! Help me out, please ! " And she rashly gave me her hand. Now, it was my honest intention at that instant to do just her bidding and no more; but when I touched her fingers reason and judgment flowed from me. I bowed my head over them to the edge of the hammock, and with both my hands crushed them to my lips. She sank back upon her "cushion, with a little catching of her breath. After a few moments I raised my head — but with no speech and with no set purpose — and looked at her face. It was very grave, and curi- ously troubled, but I detected no reproach in the great eyes that met mine. A fierce impulse seized me to gather her in my arms — but I durst not, and my eyes dropped as I thought of it. By chance they rested upon her feet — upon the tiny, quill-worked, beaded white moccasins, demurely crossed, the one over the other. Her skirt was so closely gathered about her ankles that just an inch or two of one arched instep was visible over the edge of the low-cut moccasin. Before I. myself could realize what I was about to do, or half the boldness of the act, in a passion that was all wor- ship I threw myself down beside her feet and kissed them. The Moon in the Apple-bough 57 It was for an instant only that my daring so prevailed. Then she suddenly slipped away. In a breathless confusion I sprang to my feet, and found her standing erect at the other side of the hammock. Her eyes blazed upon me ; but one small hand was at her throat, as if she found it hard to speak. " How could you dare ? " she panted. " What right did I give you ? What right did I ever give you?" I leaned against the pillar that supported one end of the hammock. " Forgive me ! I could not help it. I have loved you, worshipped you, so long! " I said in a very low voice. "How dare you speak so?" she cried. "You forget that " -^ " No, I remember ! " I interrupted doggedly. " I forget nothing. You do not love him. You are mine." ** Oh ! " she gasped, lifting both hands sharply to her face and dropping them at once. " I shall never trust you again." And in a moment she had flashed past me, with a sob, and disappeared into the house. nii ; ; 1 !' ' ■»!: Chapter IX II m ■ ii |:' m w In Sleep a King, but Waking, no such Matter DE LAMOURIE himself showed me to my room, a low chamber under the eaves, very plainly furnished. In the houses of the few Aca- dian gentry there was little of the luxury to be found in the seigneurial mansions of the St. Law- rence. In the Dc Lamourie house, for example, there were but two serving-maids, with one man to work the little farm. If De Lamourie had noted any excitement on Yvonne's part, or any abstraction on mine, he said nothing of it. With simple kindness he set down the candle on my dressing-table and wished me good sleep. But at the door he turned. ** Are you well assured that the abbe will not attempt to carry out his threat?" he asked, with a tinge of anxiety in his voice. "I am confident of it," I answered boldly. *' That worthy ecclesiastic will not try issues with me, when I hold the king's commission." Just why I should have been so overweeningly 58 In Sleep a King 59 secure is not clear to me now that I look back upon it. That I should have expected the terrible La Game to bow so pliantly to my command ap- pears to me now the most fatuous of vain follies. In truth I was thinking only of Yvonne. But De Lamourie seemed to take my assurance as final, and went away in blither mood. My room was lighted by a narrow, high-peaked dormer window, through which I could look out across the moonlit orchards, the level dyke-lands, the wide and winding mouth of the Gaspereau, and the far-glimmering breast of Minas. Upon these my eyes rested long — but the eyes of my soul saw quite another loveliness than that of the moon- flooded landscape. They brooded upon Yvonne's face — the troubled, changing, pleading look in her eyes — her sharp and strange emotion at the last. Over and over it all I went, reliving each moment, each word, each look, each breath. Then, being deeply wearied by my long day's tramp, but with no hint of sleep coming to my eyes, I threw myself down upon the bed to deli- ciously think it all over yet again. I had grown sure that Yvonne loved me. Yet once more, in a still ecstasy of reverence and love, I fell at her feet and kissed them. Then I thought about the stone which Mother P^che had given me, and its mystic virtues, which I would explain to Yvonne on the morrow in the apple-orchard. Then I found my- 6o A Sister to Evangeline 1: ^! i ' m 1 self fancying that it was Yvonne who had given me the talisman, bidding me guard it well if I v/ould ever hope to win her from my English rival. And then — the sunlight lay in a white streak across my bed-foot, the morning sky was blue over the dyke lands, and the robins were joy- ous in the apple-blooms under my window. What a marvellous air blew in upon my face, sweet with all freshness and cleanness and wholesome strength ! I sprang up, deriding myself. I had slept all night in my clothes. At breakfast I found myself in plain favour; I had made good my boast and shielded the house from the Black Abbe. Yvonne met my eager looks with a baffling lightness. She was all gay courtesy to me, but there was that in her face which well dashed my hopes. Some faint encourage- ment, indeed, I drew from the thought that her pallor (which became her wonderfully) seemed to tell the tale of a sleepless night. Had she, then, lain awake, wearily reproaching herself, while I slept like a clod? If so, my punish- ment was not long delayed. Before the break- fast was over I was in a fever of despairing solicitude. At last I achieved a moment's speech with Yvonne while the others were out of ear- shot. " This morning," said I, " in the apple-orchard, by an old tree which I shall all my life remeniber. n pv In Sleep a King 61 That I am to read you those verses, am I not? was your decree." She faced me with laughter in her eyes, but the eyes dropped in spite of her, and the colour came a little back to her cheeks. •* I decree otherwise this morning," she said, in a voice whose lightness was not perfect. " I am busy to-day, and shall not hear your poems at all, unless you read them to us this evening." "I will read them to you alone," I muttered, " who alone are the source of them, or I will burn them at once ! " " Don't burn them," she said, flashing one ra- diant glance at me. "Then when may I read them to you?" I begged. " When you are older, and a little wiser, and a great deal better," she laughed, turning away with a finality in her air that convinced me my day was lost. Putting my bravest face on my defeat, I said to Madame de Lamourie : " If you will pardon me, Madame, I shall con- strain myself and attend to certain duties in and about Grand Pre to-day. I must see the cure ; and I have a commission to execute for the Sieur de Briart, which will take me perhaps as far as Pereau. In such case I shall not be back here before to-morrow noon." 62 A Sister to Evangeline |i : I 1' ^ ii " If our pleasure concerns you," said Madame very graciously, " make your absence as brief as you can." " I was born with i mcG. regard for self," I re- plied. " You may be sure I shall return as quickly as possible." "And what if the Black Abbe should come while you are away?" questioned Vvonne, in mock alarm. " If that extraordinary priest makes my pres- ence here a long necessity I shall come to regard him as my best friend," said I, laughing, as I bowed myself out to join De Lamourie in a stroll over the farm. During this walk I learned much of the state of unrest and painful dread under which Acadie was laboring. De Lamourie told me how the English governor at Halifax was bringing a mighty press- ure to bear upon all the Acadian householders, urging them to swear allegiance to King George. This, he said, very many were willing to do, as the English had governed them with justice and a most patient indulgence. For his own part, while he regretted to go counter to opinions which I held well-nigh sacred, he declared that, in his judgment, the cause of France was forever lost iu Acadie, if not in all Canada. He felt it his duty to give in his allegiance to the English throne, under whoe protection he had prospered these In Sleep a King 63 many years. But strong as the English were, he said, the prospect was not reassuring; for many of those who had taken the oath had been brought to swift repentance by the Black Abbe's painted and yelling pack, the very Christian Micmacs of Shubenacadie ; while others had been pillaged, maltreated, and even in some cases murdered, by the band of masquerading cut-throats who served the will of the infamous Vaurin. At this I grew hot within, realizing as I had not done before the vile connection into which the Commandant Vergor had cast me. But I said nothing, being unwilling to interrupt Ds Lamou- rie's impassioned story. He told of horrid treacheries on the part of the Micmacs, dis- avowed, indeed, by La Game, but unquestionably winked at by him as a means of keeping the Aca- dians in hand. H'^ told of whole villages wiped out by the Black Abbe's order, the houses burned, the trembling villagers removed to He St. Jean or across the isthmus, that they might be beyond the reach of English seductions. He told, too, of the hideous massacre at Dartmouth, the infant English settlement across the harbor from Halifax. This had come to ta/ ears, but he gave me the reeking particulars. •* And this, too," I asked in horror, " is it La Game's work?" " He is accuse of it by the English," said 64 A Sister to Evangeline :.! f : h 11' f he, " but for once he is accused unjustly, I do believe. It was Vaurin who planned it; Vaurin and his cut-throats, disguised as Indians and with a few of La Game's flock to help, who carried it out. It was too purposeless for La Game. He rules his savages with a rod of iron, and it is said that his displeasure lay heavy for a time upon the braves who had taken part in that outrage. They went without pay or booty for many months. But at length he forgave them — he had work for them to do." When the tale was done, and it was a tale that filled me with shame for my country's cause, I said: " It is well my word carried such weight with the good abbe last night. It is well indeed, and it is wonderful ! " "I cannot even yet quite understand it," said De Lamourie, " but the essential part is the highly satisfactory result. I am going to Halifax next Monday, Paul, with a half score followers who feel as I do ; and though I cannot expect you to sympathize with my course, I dare to hope you may be able to prolong your visit so as to keep my wife and daughter under your effective protec- tion." I think I must have let the eagerness with which I accepted this trust betray itself in voice or face, for Monsieur de Lamourie looked at me In Sleep a King 6s curiously. But I really cared little what his sus- picions might be. If I could win Yvonne I thought I might be sure of Yvonne's father. Having well admired the orchard, and tried to distinguish the " pippin " trees from the •' belle- fleurs," the "Jeannetons" from the "Pride of Normandie ; " having praised the rich and even growth of the flax field; having talked with an excellent assumption of wisdom on the well-bred and well-fed cattle which were a hobby with this courtier farmer, this Versailles Acadian, I stepped forth into the main street of Grand Pre and turned toward the house of Father Fafard. I was curi- ously troubled by an uneasiness as to the Black Abbe, and I knew no better antidote to a bad priest than a good one. k pi! ' I ' M Chapter X A Grand Pre Morning WHEN I stepped off the wide grounds of Monsieur de Lamourie I was at the ex- treme eastern end of the village. How little did I dream that this fairest of Acadian towns was lying even now beneath the shadow of doom! I am never superstitious in the morning. Little did I dream how near was the fulfilment of Grul'b grim prophecy, or how, in that fulfilment, Grand Pre was presently to fade like an exhalation from the face of this wide green Acadian land ! It pleases me, since no mortal eye shall ever again see Grand Pre as she was, to find that now I recall with clear-edged memory the picture which she made that June morning. Not only do I see her, but I hear her pleasant sounds — the shallow rushing of the Gaspereau at ebb; the mooing of the cattle on the uplands; the mellow tangle of small bell- music from the bobolinks a-hover over the dyke meadows; now and then a neighbour call from roadside to barn or porch or window; and ever 66 ",S m A Grand Pr^ Morning 67 the cheery ding-dank, ding-da7tk from the forge far up the street Not only do I hear the pleasant sounds, but the •:lcan smells of that fragrant coun- try come back c ontinuaily with wholesome remin- iscence. Oh, how the apple-blossoms breathed their souls out upon that tender morning air ! How the spring wind, soft with a vital moisture, per- suaded forth the obscure essences of grass and sod and thicket ! How good was the salty sea-tang from the uncovered flats, and the emptied channels, and the still-dripping lines of tide-mark sedge ! There was a faint savour of tar, too, at intervals, evasively pungent; for some three furlongs dis- tant, at the end of a lane which ran at right angles to the main street, a little creek fell into the Gas- pereau, and by the wharf at the creek-mouth were fishermen mending their boats for the shad-fishing. Oh, that unjustly ignored member, the nose ! How subtle and indestructible are its memories ! They know the swiftest way to the sources of joy and tears. The eye, th^ ear, the nice nerves of the fingertip, — these have no such sway over the mysteries of remembrance. They have never been quite so intimate, for a sweet smell duly appre- hended becomes a part of the very brain and blood. I have a little cream-yellow kerchief of silk laid away in many folds of scentless paper. Sometimes I untie it and look at it. How well I remember it as once it clung abovit the fair hair of m \ II ( A Sister to Evangeline my young mother! I see myself, a thin, dark, grave-faced little boy, leaning against her knee and looking up with love into her face. The memory moves me — but as a, picture. "Was it I? " I am able to wonder. " And did I, that dark boy, have a mother like that? " But when I bury my face in the kerchief, and inhale the faint sa- vour it still wonderfully holds, I know, I feel it all. Once»more I am in her arms, strained to her breast, my small face pressed close to her smooth neck where the tiny ripples of silken gold began; and I smell the delicate, intimate sweetness that seemed to be her very self; and my eyes run over with hot tears of longing for her kiss. I have a skirt of hers, too, laid away, and an apron ; but these do not so much move me, for as a child 1 spoiled them with weeping into them, I think. The kerchief was not then large enough to attract the childish vehemence of my sorrow, so it was spared, till by and by I came to know and guard the priceless talisman of memory v/hich it held. For some minutes I stood at the street-foot, looking down the river-bank to the wharf and the boats, steeping my brain in those pleasant smells of Grand Pre. Then I turned up the street. It was all as I had left it two years before, save that then the apple-trees were green like the willows by the marsh edge . while now they were white and pink, a foam of bee-thronged sweetness surg- A Grand Pr6 Morning 69 ing close about the village roofs. The cottages on either side the street were low, and dazzling white with lime-wash from the Piziquid quarries. Their wide-flaring gables were presented with great regularity to the street. The roofs of the larger cottages were broken by narrow dormer windows; and all, large and small alike, were stained to a dark purplish-slate color with a wash which is made, I understand, by mixing the lime with a quantity of slaked hard-wood ash. The houses stood each with a little space before it, now neatly tilled and deeply tufted with young green, but presently to become a mass of colour when the scarlet lychnis, blue larkspur, lavender, marigolds, and other summer-blooming plants should break into flower. Far up the street, at the point where a crossroad led out over the marshes to the low, dark-wooded ridge of the island, stood the forge ; and as I drew nearer the warm, friendly breath of the fire purred under the anvil's clinking. Back of the forge, along the brink of the open green levels, stood a grove of rounded willow-trees. Further on, a lane bordered wiui smaller cabins ran in a careless, winding fashion up the hillside; and a little way from the corner, dwarfing the roofs, loftily overpeering the most venerable apple-trees, and wearing a conscious air of benignant super- vision, rose the church of Grand Pre, somewhat squatly capacious in the body, but with a spire 1 ] • ■ 70 A Sister to Evangeline that soared very graciously. Just beyond, but hidden by the church, I could see in my mind's eye the cure's cottage. My footsteps hastened at the thought of Father Fafard and his greeting. The men of the village were at that hour mostly away in the fields ; but there were enough at home about belated barnyard business to halt me many times with their welcomes before I got to the forge. These greetings, in the main, had the old-time heartiness, making me feel my citizenship in Grand Pre. But there was much eager interrogation as to the cause of my presence, and a something of suspicion, at times, in the acceptance of my sim- ple answer, which puzzled and vexed me. It was borne in upon me that I was thought to be com- missioned with great matters, and my frankness but a mask for grave and dubious affairs. - Outside the forge, when at last I came to it, stood waiting two horses, while another was inside being shod. The acrid smell of the searing iron upon the hoof awoke in my breast a throng of boyish memories, v/hich, however, I had not time to note and discriminate between ; for the owners of the two horses hailed and stopped me. They were men of the out-settlements, whom I knew but well enough to pass the weather with. Yet T saw it in their eyes that they had heard something of my arrival. Question hung upon their lips. I gave them no time for it, but with as little patience ^s A Grand Pre Morning 71 consisted with civility I hastened into the forge and seized the hand of the smith, my old friend and my true friend, Nicole Brun. " Master Paul ! " he cried, in a voice which meant a thousand welcomes ; and stood gripping my fingers, and searching me with his eyes, while the iron in his other hand slowly faded from pink to purple. " Well," I laughed presently, " there is one man in Grand Pre, I perceive, who is merely glad to greet me home, and not too deeply troubled over the reasons for my coming." " Hein ! You've seen it and heard it already," said Nicole, releasing my fingers from his knotty grasp, and throwing back his thick shoulders with a significant shrug. " Mother P6che told me last night of your coming ; and last night, too, the Black Abbe passed this way. The town is all of a buzz with reasons, this way and that. And some there be that are for you, but more that fear you, Master Paul." " Fear me? " I asked, incredulous. " Along of the Black Abbe and Vaurin ! " an- swered Nicole, as if explaining everything. "That Vaurin — curse him!" I exclaimed an- grily. "But what %^y you, Nicole? I give you my word, as I have told every one, I come to Grand Pre on my own private business, and mix not at all with public matters." |i V' 72 A Sister to Evangeline *' So ? " said he, lifting his shaggy eyebrows in plain surprise. " But in any case it had been all the same to me. I'm a quiet man, and bide me here, taking no part but to forge an honest shoe for the beast of friend or foe ; but I'm your man, Master Paul, through thick and thin, as my father was your father's. 'Tis a hard thing to decide, these days, what with Halifax and the English governor pulling one way, Quebec and the Black Abbe pulling the other, and his reverence's red devils up to Lord knows what ! But I follow you. Master Paul, come what may ! I'm ready." I laid my hand laughingly on his shoulder, and thanked him. " I believe you, my friend," said I. " And there's no man I trust more. But I've no lead to set you just now. Be true to France, in all open- ness, and lend no ear to treachery, is all I say. I am the king's man, heart and soul ; but the Eng- lish are a fair foe, and to be fought with fair weapons, say I, or not at all." '* Right you are. Master Paul," grunted Nicole in hearty approval. There was a triumphant grin on his square and sooty face, vvL-jh I marked with a passing wonder. " And as for this Vaurin," I continued, '* I spit on all such sneaking fire-in- the-night, throat-slit- ting, scalp-lifting rabble, who bring a good cause to bitter shame ! " A Grand Pr^ Morning 73 rows in Deen all )ide me St shoe ir man, i father decide, English 2 Black :e's red )W you, ler, and "And lead to 11 open- say. I le Eng- ith fair Nicole in grin on ed with " I spit oat-sHt- •d cause I spoke with unwonted heat; for I was yet wroth at the commandant for his misuse of my ignorance, and smarting raw at the notion of being classed in with Vaurin. I observed that at my words Nicole's triumphant grin was shot across with a sort of apprehension ; and at the same moment I observed, too, a sturdy stranger, apparently the owner of the horse now being shod. He sat to the right of the forge fire, far back against the wall; but as I finished he sprang to his feet and came briskly forward. "Blood of God," he snarled blasphemously, " but this is carrying the joke too far ! You play your part a trifle too well, young man. Let me counsel you to keep a respectful tongue in your head when you speak of your betters." " Faith, and I do that ! " said I pleasantly, taking note of him with care. From his speech I read him to be a Gascon of the lower sort ; while from his dress I judged that he played the gentle- man adventurer. But I set him down for a hardy rogue. " But from whom do I receive in such ill lan- guage such excellent good advice?" I went on. " One who can enforce it ! " he cried roughly, misled by my civil air. " I'm a friend of Cap- tain Vaurin, whom I have the honour to serve. It seems to suit some purpose of yours just now to deny it, but you were with him yesterday, in coun- m .1' ./. 1 74 A Sister to Evangeline sel with him, a messenger from Colonel Vergor to him; and you came on here at his orders." " That is a lie ! " said I very gently, smiling upon him. " The other rascal, Vergor, tricked me with his letter ; and he shall pay for it ! " Thus given the lie, but so softly, the fellow uttered a choking gurgle betwixt astonishment and rage, and I calculated the chance of his rush- ing upon me without warning. He was, as I think I said, a very sturdy figure of a man, though not tall ; and he gave sign of courage enough in his angry little eyes and jutting chin. A side glance at Nicole showed me that he was pleased with the turn of affairs, and had small love for the stranger. I caught at the doorway the faces of the two men from the out-settlements, with eyes and ears all agog. The stranger gulped down his rage and set him- self to ape my coolness. " Whatever your business with my captain," said he, •' we are here now as private gentlemen, and you must give me satisfaction. Be good enough to draw, monsieur." Now, I was embarrassed and annoyed by this encounter, for I certainly could not fight one of Vaurin's crew, and I was in haste to see Father Fafard. I cursed my folly in having been led into such an unworthy altercation. How most quickly should I get out of it? !Hf m»i< A Grand Pr^ Morning 75 " I am a captain in the king's service," said I abruptly, " and I cannot cross swords but with a gentleman." The fellow spluttered in a fine fury, more or less assumed, I must believe. His oaths were of a sort which grated me, but having delivered him- self of them he said : •' I too serve the king. And I too, I'd have you know, am a gentleman. None of your Ca- nadian half-breed seigneurs, but a gentleman of Gascony. Out with your sword, or I spit you ! " " I'm very sorry/' I answered smoothly, " that I cannot fight with one of Vaurin's cut-throats, for I perceive you to be a stout-hearted rascal who might give me a good bout. But as for the gen- tleman of Gascony, faith, my credulity will not stand so great a tax. From your accents, Mon- sieur, I could almost name the particular sty by the Bordeaux waterside which must claim the distinction of your birth." As I had calculated, this insult brought it. My prod had struck the raw. With a choking curse the fellow sprang at me, naked handed*, blind in his bull strength. I dropped one foot to the rear, met and stopped the rush by planting my left fist in his face, then gave him my right under his jaw, with the full thrust of my body, from the foot up. It was a beautiful trick, learned of an EngHsh prisoner at iff liii: 76 A Sister to Evangeline Montreal, who had trained me all one winter in the fistic art of his countrymen. My impetuous antagonist went backward over the anvil, and seemed in small haste to pick himself up. The spectators gaped at the strange tactics; and Nicole, as I bade him good-by, chuckled: "There'll be trouble for this somewhere, Master Paul! Watch out sharp — and don't go 'round o' nights without taking me along. Le Fiiret is not nicknamed 'The Ferret' for nothing!" " All right, my friend," said I ; " when I want a guard I'll send for you.'' I went off toward Father Fafard's, pleased with myself, pleased with the English captain who had taught me such a useful accomplishment, and pleased, I confess, with Vaurin's minion for having afforded me such a fair chance to display it. Chapter XI Father Fafard THE incident at the forge, as it seemed to me, was one to scatter effectually any rumours of my connection with Vaurin, dnd I congratulated myself most heartily upon it. It could not fail, I thought, to look well in Yvonne's eyes. It con- firmed me in my resolve to go to Canard that afternoon, and perhaps to Pereau, getting my uncle's business off my hands, and not return- ing to De Lamourie Place till I might be sure that the circumstances had been heard and well digested there. Having this course set- tled in my mind, I passed the church, entered the gate between its flowering lilac-bushes, and hastened up the narrow path to Father Fafard's door. Ere I could reach it the good priest stood upon his threshold to greet me, both hands out, his kind grey eyes half closed by the crowd- ing smiles that creased his round and ruddy face. " My boy ! " he said. " I have looked for you 77 IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) 1.0 I.I 1.25 IIM 2.2 12.0 111= U 111 1.6 vl m v: 07% N* 't^ '/ ///. w Photographic Sdences Corporation d \ iV 9> r^ % €!? -%■-" .<^' 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580 (716) 872-4503 4y S° M2.ji e ^ \ -^ Cn^ 4^ V 78 A Sister to Evangeline all the morning. Why didn't you come to me last night?" His voice, big, yet low and soft, had ever quaintly reminded me cf a ripe apple in its mellow firmness. Both hands in his, I answered, bantering him : " But, father, the church gave me work to do last night. Could I neglect that? I had to see that the Reverend Father La Game did not turn aside from his sacred ministrations to burn down the houses of my fiiends." The kind face grew grave and stern. " I know ! I know ! " he said. " This land of Acadie is in an evil case. But come, let us eat, and talk afterwards. I have waited for you far past my hour." He turned into his little dining-room, a very plainly furnished closet off the kitchen. I was hungry, so for a space there was no talk, while the fried chicken and barley cakes which the brown old housekeeper set before us made rapid disappearance. Then came sweet curds with thick cream, and sugar of the maple grated over them, — a dish of which delectable memo- ries had clung to me from boyhood. This savory and wholesome meal done, Father Fafard brought out some dark-red West Indian rum which smelled most pleasantly. As he poured it for me he tap- ped the bottle and said : "This comes to us by way of Boston. Thes;^ V. ■?', n" Father Fafard 79 English have an excellent judgment in liquor, Paul. It IS one of our small compensations." I laughed, thinking of the scant concern it was to Father Fafard, ever, for all his fineness of pal- ate, one of the most abstemious of men. As we sat at ease and sipped the brew he said : " I hear you faced down the Black Abbe last night, and fairly drove him off the field." " I had that satisfaction," said I, striving to look modest over it. " He gave way to you, the Black Abh6 himself who browbeats the commandant at Beaus^jour' and fears no man living, — unless it be that mad heretic Grfil, perchance ! And he yielded to your authority, my boy? How do you account for the miracle? " Now it had not hitherto seemed to me so much of a miracle, and I was a shade nettled that it should seem one to others. I was used to con- trolling violent men, and why not meddling priests? " I suppose he saw I meant it. Perhaps he respected the king's commission. I know not " said I with indifference. ' Father Fafard smiled dryly. " I grant," said he, " that you are a hard man to cross, Paul, for all your graciousness. But La Game would risk that, or anything; and he cares for the king's commission only when it suits him to care for it. Oh, no! If he gave way to you he I I- 1 8o A Sister to Evangeline believed you were doing his work, and he would not interfere. What is your errand to Acadie, Paul?" he added, suddenly leaning forward and searching my face. I felt myself flush with indignation, and half rose from my seat. Then I remembered that he knew nothing of my reasons for coming, and that his question was but natural. This cooled me. But I looked him reproachfully in the eyes. " Do you think me a conspirator and a compan- ion of cut-throats? " I asked. " I have no public business to bring me here to Grand Pre, father. I got short leave from my general, my first in two years, and I have come to Acadie for my own pleasure and for no reason else. My word ! " He leaned back with an air of relief. •♦ It is, of course, enough, Paul," said he heartily. " But in these bad days one knows not what to expect, nor whence the bolt may fall. There is distrust on all sides. As for my unhappy people, they are like to be ground to dust between the upper stone of England and the lower stone of France." He sighed heavily, looking out upon his dooryard lilacs as if he thought to bid them soon farewell. Then the kindly glance came back into his eyes, and he turned them again upon me. " But why," he inquired, " did you go first to Monsieur de Lamourie's, instead of coming, as of old, at once to me?" p, 'to- Father Fafard 8i le would Acadie, ^ard and md half that he and that Died me. tyes. compaa- 10 public father. I it in two my own 70Td ! " heartily. what to There is r people, ween the stone of »ut upon aid them ime back ipon me. > first to ng, as of I hesitated ; then decided to speak frankly, so far as might seem fitting. " Grfil warned me," said I, " that Mademoiselle de Lamourie was in danger. I dared not delay." "Why she in especial?" he persisted, gravely teasing, as was his rignt and custom. " Were not monsieur and madame in like peril of the good abbe's hand?" " It was her peril that most concerned me," I said bluntly. He studied my face, and then, I suppose, read my heart, which I made no effort to veil. The smile went from his lips. "I fear you love the girl, Paul," said he very gently. " I am sorry for you, more sorry than I can say. But you are too late. Were you told about the Englishman?" " I met him," said I, with a voice less steady than I desired it to be, for my heart was straight- way in insurrection at the topic. " Madame told me, incidentally. But it is not too late, father ! I may call it so when she is dead, or I." " It is your hurt that speaks in haste," said he rebukingly. " But you know you are wrong, and such words idle. Indeed, my dear, dear boy, I would you had her, not he. But her troth is solemnly plighted, and he is a good man and fair to look at; though I like him not over well. As he was a Protestant, I long stood out against him; I l ! L1 , 'I 1 • i. ■ ' i iii ':m: '^ • t. { ff :'( U I Li my soul I was a boy again, retraversing these dear familiar woods ; the other half of me, mean- while, was bowed with a presentiment of disaster. The confidence in the priest's tone still thrilled me with fear. But under whatever alternations of hope and despair, deep down in my heart where the great resolves take form deliberately my pur- pose settled into the shape which does not change. By the time I emerged from the wood I was ready to laugh at Father Fafard or anyone else who should tell me that success would not be mine at the last. " She may not know it yet herself, but she is mine," I declared to the open marshes, as I set foot out upon the raised way which led over to the Habitants Ferry. The ferry-boat which crosses the deep and tur- bid tide of the Habitants is a clumsy scow pro- pelled by a single oar thrust out from the stern. The river is hardly passable save for an hour on either side of full flood. The rest of the time it is a shrinking yet ever-turbulent stream which roars along between precipitous banks of red engulfing slime. When I reached the shore of this unstable water it lacked but a few minutes of flood. The scow was just putting off for the opposite shore, with one passenger. I recognized the ferryman, yellow Ba'tiste Chouan, ever a friend to me in the dear old days. I shouted for him to wait. Le FOret at the Ferry 89 The scow was already some half score feet from land, but Ba'tiste, seeing the prospect of more silver, stopped and made as if to turn back. At once, however, his passenger interfered, with vehe- ment gestures, and eager speech which I could not hear. Eying him closely, I perceived that it was none other than that ruffian of Vaurin's whom I had so incontinently discomfited at the forge. His haste I could now well understand, and I saw him urging it with such effective silvern argument that Ba'tiste began to yield. " Ba'tiste," I cried sharply, " don't you know me? Take a good look at me; my haste is urgent." My voice caught him. " Tiens! It's Master Paul," he cried, and straightway thrust back to shore, calmly ignoring threats and bribes alike. . As I sprang aboard and grasped Ba'tiste's gaunt claw I expected nothing less than a second bout with my adversary of the morning. But he, while I talked with the ferryman of this and that, accord- ing to the wont of old acquaintances long apart, kept a discreet silence at the other end of the scow, where, as I casually noted, he stood with folded arms looking out over the water. A scarlet feather stuck foppishly in his dark cap became him very well ; and I could not but account him a proper figure of a man, though somewhat short. Presently, at a pause in our talk, he turned and \fi ^1 \i. 90 A Sister to Evangelihe approached us. To my astonishment he wote a civil smile. "I was in the wrong this morning, Monsieur Grande," he said, in a hearty, frank voice such as I like, though well I know it is no certificate of an honest heart. "I interfered in a gentleman's private business; and though your rebuke was something more sharp than I could have wished, I deserved it. Allow mc to make my apologies." Now it is one of my weaknesses that I can scarce resist the devil himself if he speaks me fair and seeks to make amends. "Well," said I reluctantly, "we will forget the incident, monsieur, if it please you. I cannot but honour a brave man always ; and you could not but speak up for your captain, he not being by to speak for himself. My opinion of him I will keep behind my teeth out of deference to your pres- ence." "That's fair, monsieur," said he, apparently quite content. " And I will keep my nose out of another gentleman's business. My way lies to Canard. May I hope for the honour of your com pany on the road — since fate, however rudely, has thrown us together?" Another weakness of mine is to be uselessly frank — to resent even politic concealment. Here was one whom I knew for an enemy. I spoke hjm the plain truth with a childish carelessness. K nr ^■ -111, Le Furet at the Ferry 91 '• I have afifairs both at Canard and at Pereau," said I. " But I know not if I shall get so far as the latter to-night." " Ah ! " said he, " I might have known as much. Father La Game will lie at Pereau to-night, and I am to meet Captain Vaurin there." I turned upon him fiercely, but his face was so devoid of malice that my resentment somehow stuck in my throat. Seeing it in my face, how- ever, he made haste to apologize. "Pardon me, monsieur, if I imply too much, or again trespass upon your private matters," he exclaimed courteously. "But you will surely allow that, in view of your late visit to Piziquid, my mistake is a not unnatural one." I was forced to acknowledge the justice of this. " But be pleased to remember that it is none the less a mistake," said I with emphasis, " and one that is peculiarly distasteful to me." "Assuredly, monsieur," he assented most civ- illy. And by this we were at the landing. As we stepped off I turned for a final word with Ba'tiste ; and he, while giving me account of a new road to the Canard, shorter than the old trail, managed to convey a whispered warning that my companion was not to be trusted. "It is Le Ffiret," he said, as if that explained. " That's all right, my friend," I laughed confi- dently. " I know all about that." iJI 92 A Sister to Evangeline ! r Then I turned up the new road, striding amica- bly by the side of my late antagonist, and busily wondering how I was to be rid of him without a rudeness. But I might have spared myself this foolish solicitude; for presently, coming to a little lane which led up to a fair house behind some willows, he remarked : «' I will call here, monsieur, while you are visit- ing at Machault's yonder ; and will join you, if I may, the other side of the pasture." With the word he had bowed himself off, leaving me wondering mightily how he knew I was bound for Simon Machault's — as in truth I was, on mat- ters pertaining to my uncle's rents. I was sure I had made no mention of Machault, and I was nettled that the fellow should so appear to divine my affairs. I made up my mind to question him sharply on the matter when he should rejoin me. But 1 was to see no more of him that day. After a pleasant interview with Machault, whence I departed with my pockets the heavier for some rentals paid ungrudgingly to the Sieur de Briart, I continued my way alone, my mind altogether at ease as to the house of De Lamourie, since I had learned that the Black Abbe and the blacker Vaurin would lie that night at Pereau. Then suddenly, as I was about to turn into the yard of another farmhouse, one of those strange things All! Le Fiiret at the Ferry 93 happened which we puzzle over for a time and after- ward set down among the unaccountable. Some force, within or without, turned me sharp about and faced me back toward Grand Pre. Before I realized at all what I was up to, I was retracing my steps toward the ferry. But with an effort I stopped to take counsel with myself. 1 I ,1 I Chapter XIII Unwilling to be Wise AT first I was for mocking and laughing down so blind a propulsion, but then the thought that it was in some sort an outward expression of my great desire for Yvonne compelled me to take it with sobriety. Possibly, indeed, it meant that she was thinking of me, needing me even, at the moment; and at this I sprang forward in fierce haste lest I should be too late for the ferry. I was not going to follow blindly an impulse which I could not quite comprehend. I would not be a plaything of whims and vapours. But I would so far yield as to get safely upon the Grand Pre side of the river, pay a visit or two there which I had intended deferring to next day, and return to De Lamourie's about bed-time, too late to invite another rebuff from Yvonne. This compromise gave me peace of mind, but did not delay my pace. I was back at the ferry i i a few minutes, in time to see old yellow Ba'tiste fastening up the scow as a sign that ferrying was over till next tide. 94 Unwilling to be Wise 95 I rushed down to him with a vehemence which left no need of words. Dashing through the water- side strip of red and glistening mud I sprang upon the scow, and cried : " If ever you loved me, Ba'tiste, — if ever you loved my father before me, — one more trip! I must be in Grand Pre to-night if I have to swim ! His lean, yellow, weather-tanned face wrinkled shrewdly, and he cast off again without a moment's hesitation, saying heartily as he did so : " If it only depended on what / could do for you. Master Paul, your will and your way would right soon meet." " I always knew I could count on you, Ba'tiste," said I warmly, watching with satisfaction the tawny breadth of water widen out between the shore and the rear of the scow, as the ferryman strained rhythmically upon the great oar. I sniffed deep breaths of the cool, contenting air which blew with a salty bitterness from the uncov- ering flats ; and I dimly imagined then what now I know, that when the breath of the tide flats has got into one's veins at birth he must make fre- quent return to them in after-life, or his strength will languish. *' So you got wind, Master Paul, of Le Fiiret's return, and thought well to keep on his track, eh?" panted Ba'tiste. Il !' pi ^\ I I' 1 1 1 1 ! ■ L 1 1 \ i 1 96 A Sister to Evangeline mean?" I asked, awakened " What do you from my reverie. " Didn't you know he came right back, as soon as he give you the slip?" asked Ba'tiste. "I ferried him over again not an hour gone." " Why," I cried in surprise, " I thought he was on his way to the Black Abbe ! " Ba'tiste smiled wisely. " He lied ! " said he. " You don't know that lot yet. Master Paul. I saw you listened careless- like, but I thought you knew that was all lies about the Black Abbe and Vaurin being at Pereau. If they'd been at Pereau ' The Ferret ' would ha' said they. were at Piziquid." •* I'm an ass ! " I exclaimed bitterly. Ba'tiste laughed. "That's not the name you get hereabouts, Master Paul. But I reckon you've been used to dealing with honest men." " I believe I do trust too easily, my friend," said I. *♦ But one thing I know, and that is this : I will make never a mistake in trusting you, and some other faithful friends whom I might name." This seemed to Ba'tiste too obvious to need reply, so he merely wished me good fortune as I sprang ashore and made haste up the trail. I made haste — but alas, not back toward Grand Pre! In the bitter after-days I had leisure to curse the obstinate folly which led me to carry Unwilling to be Wise 97 as soon out my plan of delay instead of hurrying straight to Yvonne's side. But I had made up my mind that the best time to return to De Lamourie's was about the end of evening — and my dull wits failed to see in Le F(iret's action any sufficient cause to change my plans. It never occurred to me, conceited fool that I was, that the causes which had swayed the Black Abbe to my will the night before might in the meantime have ceased to work. Even had this idea succeeded in pene- trating my thick apprehension, I suppose it would have made no difference. I should have felt sure that the abbe's scoundrel crew would choose none but the dim hours after midnight for anything their malice might intend. The fact is, I had been yielding to inauthoritative impulses and vague premonitions till the reaction had set in, deter- mining me to be at all costs coolly reasonable. Now Fortune with her fine irony loves to empha- size the fact that the slave of reason often proves the most pitiable of fools. Such was I when I turned to my right from the ferry, and strode through the scented, leafy dusk to the open flax- fields of the Le Marchand settlement, though the disregarded monitor within me was urging that I should turn to the left, through the old beech woods, to Grand Pre — and Yvonne. The Le Marchand settlement in those days con- sisted of six little farms, each with its strip of liii: 1 1' •■ i ill i 98 A Sister to Evangeline upland flax-field and apple-orchard, and a bit of rich, secluded dyke held in common. All the Le Marchands — father and five sons — still owned their hereditary allegiance to the Sieur de Briart, and paid him their little rents as occasion offered. My welcome was not such as is commonly accorded to the tax-gatherer. These retainers of my uncle's made me feel that I was myself their seigneur ; and their rents, paid voluntarily and upon their own reckonings, were in eflfect a love-gift. I supped — chiefly upon buckwheat cakes — at the cottage of Le Marchand p}re, and then, dark having fallen softly upon the quiet fields, I set out at a gentle pace for Grand Pr^ village. Soon after I got into the still dark of the woods the moon rose clear of the Gaspereau hills, and thrust long white fingers toward me through the leafage. The silence and the pale, elusive lights presently got a grip upon my mood, and my anxieties doubled, and trebled, and crowded upon each other, till I found myself walking at a breath- less pace, just the hither side of a run. I stopped short, with a laugh of vexation, and forced myself to go moderately. I was perhaps half way to Grand Pre, and in the deepest gloom of the woods, — a little dip where scarce a moonbeam came, — when, with a sudden- ness that gave even my seasoned nerves a start, a tall figure stood noiselessly before me. » Unwilling to be Wise 99 III I clapped my hand upon my sword and asked angrily : "Who are you?" But even as I spoke I knew the apparition for Grfil. I laughed, and exclaimed : " Pardon me, Mysterious One. And pray tell me why you are come, for I am in some haste ! " "Haste?" he reechoed, with biting scorn. "Where was your haste two hours ago? Fool, poor fool, staying to fill your belly and wag your chin with the clod-hoppers ! You are even now too late." " Too late for what? " I asked blankly, shaken with a nameless fear. " Come and see ! " was the curt answer ; and he led the way forward to a little knoll, whence, the trees having fallen apart, could be had a view of Grand Pre. There was a red light wavering at the back of the village, and against it the gables stood out blackly. " I think you promised to guard that house ! " said Grul. But I had no answer. With a cry of rage and horror I was away, running at the top of my speed. The Abbe's stroke had fallen; and I — with a sickness that clutched my heart — saw that my absence might well be set down to treachery. ^1 i Chapter XIV f, ^it Love Me, Love my Dog AS I emerged from the woods I noted that the glare was greater than before. But before I reached the outskirts of the village it had begun to die down. My wild running up the main street attracted no attention — every one able to be about was at the fire. I have no doubt that I was not long in covering those two miles from the western end of the village to the De Lamourie farm — but to me they seemed leagues of torment. At last I reached the gate, and dashed panting up the lane. I saw that the house was already in ruins, though still burning with a fierce glow. I saw also, and wondered at it, that there had been no attempt made to quench the flames. There were no water buckets in view ; there was no confusion of house- hold goods as when willing hands throng to help ; and the out-buildings, which might easily have been saved, were only now getting fairly into blaze. Across my confusion and pain there flashed lOO 'i' H\ U ( Love Me, Love my Dog loi d that the lut before e it had g up the ivery one 1 covering id of the ;o me they cached the ns, though / also, and lo attempt e no water 1 of house- g to help ; asily have fairly into ere flashed a sense of the Black Abbe's power. This fire was his doing — and none dared interfere to mitigate the stroke lest the like should fall upon them also. My eyes searched the mass of staring, redly lit faces, expecting to find some one of the De Lamourie household ; but in vain. Presently I noticed that every one made way for me with an alacrity too prompt for mere respect ; and I grew dully con- scious that I was an object of shrinking aversion to my old fellow-villagers. My rage at the villain priest began to turn upon these misjudging fools. But I knew not what to say ; I knew not what to do. I pushed roughly hither and thither, demanding information, but getting only vague and muttered replies. "Where are they? " I asked again and again, and broke out cursing furiously; but every one I spoke to evaded a direct answer. " Have that arch fiend and his red devils carried them off?" I asked at last; and to this I got hushed, astonished, terrified replies of — "No, monsieur! " and, " No indeed, monsieur! They have escaped ! " and, " Oh, but no, mon- sieur ! " Flinging myself fiercely away from the crowd, I rushed to look into a detached two-story out- building which had but now got fairly burning. I wondered if there were no stuff in it which I might rescue. The smoke and flame were pouring so lllil i i 1 i? ^;! ■i ,' la ! » - 111. I<1 •• llfl il> I' 1 ! I 02 A Sister to Evangeline hotly from the door that I could not see what was inside. But as I peered in, my face shaded with my hand from the scorching glare, I heard a faint, pitiful mewing just above me, and looked up. There, on the sill of a window of the second story, a window from which came volumes of smoke, but of flame only a slender, darting tongue, crouched a white kitten. With a curious gripping at my heart I recognized it as one which I had seen play- ing at Yvonne's feet the evening before. I remem- bered how it was forever pouncing with wild glee upon the tip of her little slipper, forever being gently rolled over and tickled into fresh ecstasies. The scene cut itself upon my brain as I ran for a yet undamaged ladder, which I noticed leaning against a shed near by. The action doubtless filled the crowd with amazement, but no one raised a hand to help me. The ladder was long and very awkward to manage, but in little more than the time it takes to tell of it I got it up beside the window and sprang to the rescue. By this time, however, the flames were spouting forth. The moment I came within reach of it the little animal leapt upon me and clung with frantic claws. A vivid sheet of flame burst out in my very face, hurling me from the ladder ; yet I succeeded in alighting on my feet, jarred, but whole. The. - was a smell of burnt hair in my nostrils, 1 >aw that the '■ 'i Love Me, Love my Dog 103 kitten's coat, no longer white, was finely crisped. But what I smelt was not all kitten's hair. Lifting my hand to my bitterly smarting face, I found my own locks, over my forehead, seriously diminished, while my once fairly abundant eyebrows and eye- lashes were clean gone. My moustache, however, had escaped — and even at that moment, when my mind was surely well occupied with matters of importance, I could feel a thrill of satisfaction. A man's vanity is liable to assert itself at almost any crisis; and it did not occur to me that a man lacking eyebrows and eyelashes could not hope to be redeemed from the ridiculous by the most luxuriant moustache that ever grew. Half dazed, I stared about me, wondering what was next to be done. Suddenly I thought — "Why, of course; they have gone to Father Fafard's!". The kitten clung to me, mewing piteously, and I was embarrassed by it. First I dropped it into a large currant bush, where, as I thought, it would not be trodden upon. Then, remembering that it was Yvonne's, I snatched it up, and with a grim laugh at the folly of my solicitude over so small a matter strode off with it toward the parsonage. I passed in front of the swaying crowd ; and some one, out of sight, tittered. I had begun to forget the fool rabble of villagers, — to regard them as a painted mob in a picture, or as wooden puppets, — ■MW m Hi ,^.^»^-4/' ill 104 A Sister to Evangeline but their reality was borne back upon me at that giggle. I walked on, scowling upon the faces which shrank into gravity under my eye, till at last I noticed a kind-looking girl. Into her arms, without ceremony, I thrust the little animal ; and as she took it I said : "It belongs to Mademoiselle de Lamourie. Take care of it for her." Not waiting to hear her answer, I was off across the fields for the parsonage. L i Chapter XV Ashes as it were Bread ALL this had come and gone as it were in a dream, and it seemed to me that I yet panted from my long race. I had seen nothing, meanwhile, of the Black Abbe or of his painted pack. Spies, however, he had doubtless in plenty among those gaping onlookers; and his devilish work yet lighted me effectually on my way across the wet fields. The glow was like great patches of blood upon the apple-trees, where the masses of bloom fairly fronted the light. The hedge- row thickets took on a ruddy bronze, a spar- kle here and there as a wet leaf set the un- wonted rays rebounding. The shadows were sharply black, and strangely misleading when they found themselves at odds with those cast by the moon. The scene, as I hastened over the quiet back lots, was like the unreal phantasmagoria of a dream. I found myself playing with the idea that it all was a dream, from my meeting with old Mother P6che here — yes, in this very field — the i 1 ! ! I 1 06 A Sister to Evangeline W^ ■, I f, lli I m\f''i night before to the present breathless haste and wild surmising. Then the whole bitter reality seemed to topple over, and fall upon me and crush me down. Not only was Yvonne pledged to another, but through grossest over-confidence I had failed her in her need, and worst of all, the thought that made my heart beat shakingly, she believed iie a traitor. It forced a groan to my lips but I ran on, and presently emerged upon the lane a few paces from Father Fafard's gate. As I turned in the good priest came and stood in the doorway, peering down the lane with anx- ious eyes. Seeing me, he sprang forward and began to speak, but I interrupted him, crymg: " Are they here? I must see them." «'They will not see you, Paul. They would curse you and shut their ears. They believe you A' A '4- " ' «' But vou, father, you," I pleaded, " can un- deceive them. Come with me." And I grasped him vehemently by the arm. But he shook me off, with a sort of anxious impatience. . 1 -4. " Of course, Paul, I know you did not do it. I knozv you, as she would, too, if she loved you," he cried, in a voice made high and thiii by excite- ment "I will tell them you are true. But — where is Yvonne? " And he pushed past me to the gate, where he paused irresolutely. Ashes as it were Bread 107 "Don't tell me she is not with you ! " I cried. " She ran out a minute ago, not telling us what she was going to do," he answered. "But what for? What made her? She must have had some reason! What was it?" I de- manded, becoming cold and stern as I noted how his nerves were shaken. He collected himself with a visible effort, and then looked at me with a kind of slow pity. " I had but now come in," said he, " and thought- lessly I told Madame a word just caught in the crowd. You know that evil savage, Etienne le Batard. Or you don't, I see ; but he's the red right- hand of La Game, and it was he executed yonder outrage. As he was leading his cut-throats away in haste, plainly upon another malignant enterprise, I heard him tell one of my parishioners what he would do. The man is suspected of a leaning to the English; and the savage said to him with significance : *" I go now to Kenneticook, to the yellow-haired English Anderson. Neither he nor his house will see another sun.' " I had thought perhaps you were right, Paul, and that Yvonne had promised herself to the Englishman more in esteem than love; but she cried out, with a piteous, shaken voice, that he must be warned — that some one must go to him and save him. With that she rushed from the f ) t u li'. 1 1 1 ii :i 11 !l ■J ' I ,1 P io8 A Sister to Evangeline house, and we have not seen her since. But stay what have^^w said or done to her, Paul? Now that I see her face again, I see remorse in it. What have you done to her? " I made no answer to this sharp question, it being irrelevant and my haste urgent. But I demanded: " Where could she go for help? " " I don't know," he answered, " unless, perhaps, to the landing." " The tide is pretty low," said I, pondering, ** but the wind serves well enough for the Piziquid mouth. Where do you suppose the savages left their canoes ? " " Oh," said he positively, " well up on the Piziquid shore, without doubt. They came over on the upper trail, and they must be now hurrying back the same way. They cannot get up the Ken- neticook, by that route, till a little before dawn." " I have time, then ! " I exclaimed, and rushed away. "Where are you going? Paul! Paul! What will you do?" he cried after me, "I will save him ! " I shouted as I went. " Come you down to the landing, the Gaspereau wharf, and get Yvonne if she's there." Glancing back, I saw that he followed me. My heart was surging with gratitude to God for this chance. I vowed to save Anderson, though it Ashes as it were Bread 109 cost me my own life. If Yvonne loved him she should then owe her happiness to me. If she did not love him she would see that I was quite other than the traitor she imagined. Strange to say, I felt no bitterness against her for so misjudging me. It seemed to me that my folly had been so great that I had deserved to be misjudged. But now, here was my opportunity. I swore under my breath that it should not slip from my grasp. It was a good two-thirds of a mile from the parsonage to the wharf, and I had time to scheme as I ran. I thought at once of Nicole, the smith, — of his boat, and his brawn, and his loyal fidelity. His boat would assuredly be at the wharf, but where should I find his brawn and his fidelity? At his cottage, beside the forge, I stopped to ask for him. "At the fire, monsieur," quavered his old mother, poking a troubled face from the window in answer to my thundering on the door. " What would you with him? Do not lead him into harm. Master Paul ! " But I was oflf without answering ; and the poor, creaking, worried old voice followed in my ears : " He takes no sides. He hurts no one, Master Paul ! " Passing the De Lamourie gate I paused to shout at the height of my lungs : no Wh I ?1 1 I Mi lit ill 1 V'l mi \ .1 I '•J ! iiii A Sister to Evangeline " Nicole ! Nicole ! " ** Coming, Nicole Brun ! I want you ! Nicole ! Master Paul ! " was the prompt reply, out of the heart of the crowd ; and in a moment the active, thick-set form appeared, bare- headed as usual, for I had never known Nicole to cover his black shock with cap or hat. I was leaning on the fence to get my breath. " You were there, Nicole, when I was looking for a friend ? " said I, eying him with sharp question and reproach as he came up. "You did not seem to need any one just then. Master Paul; leastwise, no one that was there- abouts," he answered, with a sheepish mixture of bantering and apology. I ignored both. I knew him to be true. " Will you come v/ith me, right now, Nicole Brun?" I asked, starting off again toward the river. *' You know I will, Master Paul," said he, close at my side. " But where? What are we up to? " " The boat ! " said I. " The wind serves. I'm going to the Kenneticook to warn Anderson that the Black Abbe is to cut his throat this night ! " I turned and looked him in the eyes as I spoke. His long, determined upper lip drew down at my words, but his little grey eyes flashed upon mine a half-resigned, half-humorous acquiescence. " It's risky. Master Paul. And no good, like as I i 1 1 Ashes as it were Bread III not, he answered. " We'll be just about in time to get our own throats slit, I'm thinking, — to sav nothing of the hair," he added, rubbing his crown with rueful apprehension. " Let me have your boat, and I go alone," said I curtly. But I was sure of him nevertheless 'I I'm with you, sure, Master Paul, if you will go he rejoined. "And maybe it's worthwhile to disturb his reverence's plans, if it be only an Englishman that we're taking so much trouble about. " We must and shall save him, Nicole." I said as deliberately as my panting breath would permit' ''or I will die in the trying. He is betrothed to Mademoiselle de Lamourie, you know." " / should say, rather, let him die for her, that a better man may live for her," he retorted shrewdly " But as you will. Master Paul, of course ! " In the privacy of my own heart I thought extremely well of Nicole's discrimination; but I said nothing, for by this we were come to the wharf; and I saw — Yvonne! i r i'f '\ 1 ^^ ^ . •. 1 t , :i ! t^Ll r, ! I! I - r •» I, in In I' i » :S ii Chapter XVI The Way of a Maid ALMOST to her side I came before she was aware of me, so intent she was upon her purpose. Two men of the village, fishermen whom I knew, she had summoned to her, and was passion- ately urging them to take her to Kenneticook. But for all her beauty, her enthralling charm, they hung back doggedly — being but dull clods, and in a shaking terror at the very name of the Black Abbe. It passed my comprehension that they should have any power at all when those wonder- ful eyes burned upon them. Never had I seen her so beautiful as then, her face wild with entreaty, her bewildering hair half fallen about her shoulders. A white, soft-falling shawl, such as I had never be- fore seen her wear, was flung about her, and one little hand with its live, restless fingers clutched the fabric closely to her throat, as if she had been disturbed at her toilet. I was about to interrupt her, for there was no moment to lose if I would accomplish my purpose ; 112 The Way of a Maid 113 but of a sudden she seemed to realize the hope- lessness of her effort to move these stolid fish- ermen. Flinging out her arms with a gesture of bitterness and despair, she cried, pointing to Nicole's boat : " Push off the boat, you cowards, and I will go alone ! " And turning upon the word she found herself face to face with me. Even in that light I could see her lips go ashen, and for a moment I thought she would drop. I sprang to catch her, but she recovered, and shrank in a kind of speechless fury from my touch. Then she found words for me, dreadful words for me to hear; " Traitor ! Assassin ! Still you to persecute and thwart me. It is you they fear. It is you who plan the murder of that good and true man — you who will not let me go to warn him ! " Then her voice broke into a wilder, more beseeching tone : " Oh, if you have one spark of shame, remember! Let them push off the boat ; and let me go, that I may try to save him ! " Her reproaches hurt me not, but what seemed her passion for him steadied me and made me hard. "You are mad, mademoiselle!" I answered sternly. "I am going to save him." " As you have saved our house to-night ! " she I i IS U ■t f I } ■ I i 1 : I : 114 A Sister to Evangeline cried, with a laugh that went through me like a sword. " I was outwitted by my enemies — and yours, mademoiselle. I go now to warn him. Push down the boat, men. Haste ! Haste ! " I ordered, turning from her. But she came close in front of me, her great eyes blazed up in my face, and she cried, " You go to see that he does not escape your hate ! " "Listen, mademoiselle," I said sharply. "I swear to you by the mother of God that you have utterly misjudged me ! I am no traitor. I have been a fool; or my sword would have been at your father's side to-night. I swear to you that I go now to expiate my mistake by saving your lover for you. " The first wave of doubt as to my treason came into her eyes at this ; but her lips curled in bitter unbelief. Before she could speak, I went on : ♦• I swear to you by — by the soul of my dead mother I will save George Anderson or die fighting beside him! You shall have your lover," I added, as I stepped toward the boat, which was now fairly afloat on the swirling current. Nicole was hoisting the sail, while one of the fishermen held the boat's prow. I think Yvonne's heart believed me now, though her excited brain was as yet but partially con- vinced, or even, perhaps, as I have sometimes I The Way of a Maid "5 Tie like a id yours, 'ush down ordered, n^reat eyes ''ou go to rply. " I you have . I have 2 been at ^ou that I ^our lover son came [ in bitter it on: my dead ie fighting lover," I vhich was t. Nicole fishermen iw, though :ially con- sometimes dared to think in the light of her later actions, another motive, quite unrealized by herself, began to work obscurely at the roots of her being as soon as she had admitted the first doubts as to my treachery. But not even her own self-searching can unravel all the intricacies of a woman's motive. As I was about to step into the boat she passed me lightly as a flower which the wind lifts and blows. She seated herself beside the mast. " What folly is this, mademoiselle?" I asked angrily, pausing with my hand upon the gunwale, and noticing the astonishment on Nicole's face. Her mouth set itself obstinately as her eyes met mine. " I am going, too," she said, " to see if you respect your mother's soul." "You cannot!" I cried. "You will ruin our only chance. We must run miles through the woods after we land, if we are to get there ahead of La Game's butchers. You could not stay alone at the boat " — • " I can ! " said she doggedly. " You could not keep up with us," I went on, unheeding her interruption. " And if we delayed for you we should be too late. Every moment you stay us now may be the one to cost his life." " I am going ! " was all she said. I set my teeth into my lips. There was no alter- native. Stepping quietly into the boat as if forced Ill ' I ii6 A Sister to Evangeline f^" h I to acquiesce in her decision, with my left hand I caught both little white wrists as they lay crossed, still for a moment, in her lap. I held them inex- orably. At the same time I passed my right arm about the slim body, and lifted it. There was but the flutter of an instant's struggle, its futility in- stantly recognized; and then, stepping over the boatside with her, I carried her to the edge of the wharf, set her softly down, sprang back into the boat, and pushed off as I did so. "I will save him for you, mademoiselle," I said, "and, believe me, I have just now saved him from you ! " But she made no answer. She did not move from the place where I had set her down. There was a strange look on her face, which I could not fathom ; but I carried it with me, treasured and uncomprehended, as the boat slipped rapidly down the tide. As long as I could discern the wharf at all I could see that white form moveless at its edge. I forgot my errand. I forgot her cruel distrust. I strained my gaze upon her, and knew nothing save that I loved her. ] ■ i ;.i I i Chapter XVII Memory is a Child WHEN I could no longer discern even the shore whence we had started, I in a meas- ure came to myself. Nicole — sagacious Nicole — had left me to my dream. He had got up the mainsail and jib unaided, and now sat like a statue at the tiller. We were in the open basin, running with a steady wind abeam. There was quite a swell on, and the waves looked sinister, cruel as steel, under the bare white moon. A fading glow still marked the spot where the De Lamourie house had stood ; but save for that there was no hint of man's hand in all the wild, empty, hissing, wonder- ful open. Far to the left lay Blomidon, a crouch- mg lion; and straight ahead a low, square bluff- guarded the mouth of the Piziquid. I saw that we were nearing it rapidly, for Nicole's boat had legs. Once in the Piziquid mouth, we should have a hard run up against the ebb ; but the wind would then be right aft, and I felt that we could stem the cur- rent and make our landing in time. 117 n i ill ii8 A Sister to Evangeline " Will this wind carry her against the Piziquid tide?" I asked Nicole. It was the first word spoken in perhaps an hour, and my voice sounded strange to me. " We'll catch the first of the flood soon after we get inside, Master Paul," said he, in the most mat- ter-of-fact voice in the world. Content with this, and knowing that for the time there was nothing to do but wait, I lapsed back into my reverie. I felt exhausted, not from bodily effort, but from emotion. My nerves and brain felt sleepy; yet nothing was further from my eyes than sleep. Situations and deeds, mental and physical crises, agonies and ecstasies and dull despair, had so trodden upon one another's heels that I was breathless. I caught at my brain, as it were, to make it keep still long enough to think. Yet I could not think to any purpose. I was aware of nothing so keenly as the sensation that had intoxi- cated me as I held Yvonne's unconsenting body for those few moments in my arms, while remov- ing her from the boat. To have touched her at all against her will seemed a sacrilege ; but when a sacrilege has seemed a plain necessity I have never been the one to balk at it. Now I found myself looking with a foolish affection at the arms which had been guilty of that sacrilege — and straightway, coming to my wits again, I glanced at Memory is a Child 119 Piziquid irst word ; sounded 1 after we nost mat- r the time 3sed back :, but from sepy ; yet lan sleep. cal crises, ir, had so lat I was t were, to ik. Yet I J aware of lad intoxi- ting body lie remov- led her at but when ity I have w I found it the arms ege — and glanced at Nicole to see if he had divined the vast dimen- sions of my folly. From this I passed to wondering what was truly now my hope or my despair. During all my talk with Yvonne — from the moment, indeed, when Father Fafard had told me of her agitation over Anderson's peril — I had been as one without hope, in darkness utterly. Only a great love — i^e great love, as I had told myself— could inspire this desperate and daring solicitude. And against the one great love, in such a woman as Yvonne, I well knew that nothing earthly could prevail. My own bold resolution had been formed on the theory that her betrothal was but the offspring of expediency upon respect. Now. however, either the remembrance of her touch deluded me or some- thing in her attitude upon the wharf held signif- icance, for assuredly I began to dream that remorse rather than love might have been the mainspring of her agitation ; remorse, and pity, and some- thmg of that strange mother passion which a true woman may feel toward a man who stirs within her none of the lover passion at all. I thought, too, of the wild sense of dishonour she must feel, believing me a traitor and herself my dupe! Strange comfort this, of a surety ! Yet I grasped at it. I would prove her no dupe, myself no traitor; and stand at last where I had stood before, with perhaps some advantage. And my rival — I20 A Sister to Evangeline 1 r 1, : , 1 ( he, I swore, should owe his life to me ; a kind but cruel kind of revenge. At last, my heart beating uncomfortably from the too swift self-chasing of my thoughts, I stood up, shook myself, and looked about me. We had rounded the bluff, and were standing up the broad Piziquid straight before the wind ; and the boat was pitching hotly in the short seas where the wind thwarted the tide. I glanced at Nicole's face. It was as plaintively placid as if he dreamed of the days when he leaned at his mother's knee. But the expression of his countenance changed ; for now, from out the shadowed face of the bluff, came that bell-like, boding cry — " Woe, woe to Acadie the Fair, for the hour of her desolation is at hand ! " Nicole looked awed. " He knows, that Griil ! " he muttered. " It's coming quick now, I'll be bound ! " «* Well, so are we, Nicole ! " I rejoined cheer- fully ; "and that's what most concerns me at this moment." I peered eagerly ahead, but could not, m that deluding light, discriminate the mouth of the Kenneticook stream from its low adjacent shores. Presently the waves and pitching lessened. The ebb had ceased, and the near shore slipped by more rapidly. The slack of tide lasted but a few minutes. Then the flood set in — noisily and I Memory is a Child 121 with a great front of foam, as it does in that river of high tides ; and the good boat sped on at a pace that augured accomplishment. In what seemed to me but a few minutes the mouth of beforf^""^^'''°°^ ''^^"^'^' "^^'^^^^ glimmering, Barely had I descried it when Nicole put the helm up sharp and ran straight in shore. "What are you doing, man?" I cried, in aston- ishment. " You'll have us aground ! " But the words were not more than out of my mouth when I understood. I saw the narrow entrance to a small creek, emptying between high banks. " Oh ! " said I. « I beg your pardon, Nicole ; I see you know what you're about all right ! " He chuckled behind unsmiling lips. " They II go up the Kenneticook in their canoes " said he. "We'll hide the boat here, where they'll not find it ; and we'll cut aero? 3 the ridge to the Englishman's. Quicker, too ! " The creek was narrow and winding, but deep for the first two hundred yards of its course; and Nicole, he knew every turn and shallow. We beached the boat where she could not be seen from the river, tied her to a tree on the bank above so that she might not get away at high tide and then plunged into the dense young fir woods that clothed the lower reaches of the Piziquid > i^ ; %\ < I)* I *« I ' Ill;' 122 A Sister to Evangeline shore. There was no trail, but it was plain to me that Nicole well knew the way. "You've gone this way before, Nicole?" said I. " Yes, monsieur, a few times," he answered. I considered for a moment, pushing aside the wet, prickly branches as I went. Then — "What is her name, Nicole? " I asked. "Julie, Master Paul," said he softly. " Ah," said I, " then you had reasons of your own for coming with me to-night?" "Not so ! " he answered, a rebuking sobriety in his voice. "None, save my love for you and your house, Master Paul. S/ie is in no peril. She is far from here, safe in Isle St. Jean this month past." " I beg your pardon, my friend," said I, at once. " I know^your love. I said it but to banter you, for I had not guessed that you had been led cap- tive, Nicole." "A man's way. Master Paul, when a woman wills ! " said he cheerfully. But I had no more thought of it than to be glad it had taught Nicole Brun a short path through the woods to Kenneticook. What strange tricks do these our tangled make- ups play us ! I know that that night, during that swift half-hour's run through the woods, my whole brain, my every purpose, was concentrated upon the rescue of George Anderson. The price I was Memory is a Child 123 to me said I. ;d. de the >f your riety in DU and ) peril, an this it once, er you, ed cap- woman be glad through d make- •ing that ly whole ed upon ce I was prepared to pay was life, no less. Yet all the shaping emotion of it — sharp enough, one would think, to cut its lines forever on a man's face, to say nothing of his brain — has bequeathed to me no least etching of remembrance. Of great things all I recall is that the name •* Yvonne " seemed ever just within my lips — so that once or twice I thought I had spoken it aloud. But my senses were very wide awake, taking full advantage, per- haps, of the heart's preoccupation. My eyes, ears, nose, touch, they busied themselves to note a thousand trifles — and these are what come back to me now. Such idle, idle things alone remain, out of that race with death. Things idle as these: I see a dew-wet fir-top catch the moonlight for an instant and flash to whiteness, an up-thrust lance of silver ; I see the shadow of a dead, gnarled branch cast upon a mossy open in startling semblance of a crucifix — so clear, I cannot but stoop and touch it reverently as I pass ; I see, at the edge of a grassy glade, a company of tall buttercups, their stems invisible, their petals seeming to float toward me, a squadron of small, light wings. I hear — I hear the rush of the tide die out as we push deeper into the woods ; I hear the smooth swish of branches thrust apart; I hear the protesting, unresonant creak of the green underbrush as we ,tread it down, and the sharp crackle of dry twigs as we I ' t I .1 = 1^' ; 1 124 A Sister to Evangeline thread the aisles of older forest ; I hear, from the face of a moonlit bluff upon our left, the long, mournful Whto-hu-hu-mo-oo of the brown owl. I smell the savour of juniper, of bruised snake- root, of old, slow-rotting wood ; with once a fairy breath of unseen linn(Ba; and once, at the fringed brink of a rivulet, the pungent fragrance of wild mint. I feel the frequent wet slappmgs of branches on my face ; I feel the strong prickles of the fir, the cool, flat frondage of the spruce and hemlock, the unresisting, feathery spines of the young hackmatack trees ; I feel, once, a gluey web upon my face, and the abhorrence with which dash off the fat spider that clings to my chin ; I feel the noisome slump of my foot as I tread upon a humped and swollen gathering of toad-stools All this is what comes back to me — and xMi- cole's form, ever silent, ever just ahead, wasting no breath ; till at last we came upon a fence, and beyond the fence wide fields, and beyond the fields a low white house with wings and outbuild- ings, at peace in the open moonlight. " We are in time, Master Paul ! " said Nicole quietly. Chapter XVIII For a Little Summer's Sleep WE vaulted the fence, jumped a well-cut ditch (I took note that Anderson was an excel- lent farmer), and ran across the fields. Presently came a deep, baying bark, and a great, light-col- oured English mastiff came bounding toward us. " Quiet, Ban ! " said Nicole ; and the huge beast, with a puppy-whine of delight, fell fawning at his knees. We were close to the house. Nicole stopped, and pointed to a cabin just visible at the foot of a long slope falling away to our right. *' Julie's brother may chance to be there, Master Paul," said he. " He is known for his devotion to Monsieur Anderson, whom few of us love. I will go wake the lad, if he's there, while you rouse the master." '• If you should fail to get back this way, my friend," said I, " let us meet, say, at the boat." " Yes. at the boat," he answered confidently. I paused, partly to get breath, partly to follow him with a look of grateful admiration, the I2S Kl I if i; •; m \ iljiii ■' ! ■ • • 1 ' : ■ ; J 126 A Sister to Evangeline modest, still, strong, faithful retainer, of a type nigh vanished. He ran with his black-shock head thrust forward, and the great dog bounded beside him like a kitten. It was the last I ever saw of Nicole Brun ; nor to this day, for all my searching, have I had word of what befell him. Of the dog I learned some- thing, seeing his skin, a year later, worn upon the shoulders of an Indian boy of the Micmac settle- ment. From this I could make shrewd guess at the fat^ of my Nicole ; but the Indian lies astutely, and i :ould prove nothing. Sleep well, Nicole, my brave and true! George Anderson's wide red door carried a brass knocker which grinned venomously in the moonlight. My first summons brought no answer. Then I thundered again, imperatively, and I heard Anderson's voice within, calling to servants. No servants made reply, so again I hammered, and shook fiercely at the door. Then ,'he came himself, looking bewildered. "Monsieur Grande, pardon me! The ser- vants " — *' The servants have fled," I interrupted. " Come quickly! There is not a minute to lose. The abbe's savages are near. They are coming to scalp you and burn your house. We will leave them the house." There was no sign of fear on his face, merely ■■'I . For a Little Summer's Sleep 127 annoyance ; and I saw that his mind worked but heavily. "Come in!" he said, leading the way into a wide room looking out upon the Kenneticook tide. " I won't be driven by those curs. They dare not touch me. At the worst, with the help of the servants we can fight them off. Sit down monsieur." ' And he proceeded calmly to pull on his boots I had followed him inside, wild at his obstinacy " I tell you," said I, " they want your scalp.' The servants are traitors anc have stolen away while you slept. We are a.one. Come, man. come I Would you have my throat cut, too?"' And I shook him by the shoulder. "Why have you come?" he asked, unmoved, staring at me. '• For the sake of Yvonne de Lamourie ! " " Oh ! " said he, eying me with a slow hostil- ity. "You fool!" I exclaimed. " Thrv hav ^ burned De Lamourie's. I swore to Yvonne de Lamourie that I would save you or die with you If you think she loves you, stir yourself. I cannot carry you. Look at that ! " I pointed to the window. At Yvonne's name he had risen to his feet. He looked out. A group of canoes was turning in to shore, not two furlongs distant. ^ A^' I?). ( , h i I'l ', ( ( 'i 128 A Sister to Evangeline " Where is she? " he inquired, alert at last. " Safe," said I curtly, «' at Father Fafard's." Still he wavered, brave, but undecided. I think he wondered why I was her chosen messenger. '« She is in a frenzy at your peril," I said, though the words stuck in my throat. That moved him. His face lighted with boyish pleasure. « Come ! " he cried, as if he had been urging me all the time. " We'll slip out at the back, and keep the buildings between us and the river till we reach the woods." "Have you no weapon?" I asked. " No," said he, " but this will do," and he picked up a heavy oak stick from behind the door of the room. Great as was the haste, I told him to lock the main door. Then as we slipped out at the back we locked the kitchen door behind us. I knew this would delay the chase ; whereas if they found the doors open they would realize at once the escape of their intended victim and rush in pursuit, leaving the little matter of the fire to be seen to afterwards. From the back door we darted to the garden, a thicket of pole beans and hops and hollyhocks. From the furthest skirt of these shelters we ran along a ditch that fenced a field of growing buck- wheat, not yet high enough to give covert; but I think we kept well in shadow of the house all the < 1 For a Little Summer's Sleep 129 • [ think ;er. :hough d him. urging :k, and ver till and he le door to lock at the [ us. I if they at once rush in re to be garden, lyhocks. we ran ig buck- -t; but I e all the way to the woods. If afterwards our enemies tracked us with what seemed a quite unnecessary promptitude and ease, it must be remembered that our trail was not obscure. I led the flight, intending we should strike the creek at some distance above the boat and make our way down to it along the water's edge, to cover our traces. The more we could divide our pursuers, the better would be our chances in the struggle, if overtaken. The pace I set was a sharp one, and soon, as I could perceive by his breathing, began to tell upon my heavy- limbed and unhardened companion. I slackened gradually, that he might not think I did it on his account. In a very few minutes there arose behind us, coming thinly through the trees, the screeching war-whoop of the Micmacs, which has ever seemed to me more demoniacal and inhuman than even that of the Iroquois. Then, when we took time to glance over our shoulders, we marked a red glare climbing slowly. I judged that our escape was by this time discovered, and the wolves hot upon our trail. To my companion, however, the sight brought a different thought. ** Where were you," he gasped, " when they at- tacked Dq Lamourie's ? Did you not — promise — to save the place? " ^■^'\ I30 A Sister to Evangeline ",1 ' 1;' ' 1 ■ !' 1' t 1 ' i 1 1 ' ^i! 1 1 Ui.l' •' I was a fool," said I, between my teeth. "I thought the might of my name had saved it. I went to the Habitants. When I got back it was over." , . , ^u " Ah ! " was all he said, husbanding his breath. '* And they think I am a traitor — that I sanc- tioned it," I went on in a bitter voice. He gave a short laugh, impatiently. "Who?" he asked. "Monsieur and Madame," said I. "and, pos- sibly, Mademoiselle also." ^^ "I could — have told them better than that, he panted; "1 know a man." , • , , ^ Under the circumstances I did not think that modesty required me to disclaim the compliment. A little further on he clutched me by the arm, and stopped, gasping. " Blown," said he, smiUng, as if the situation were quite casual. "Must — one minute." I chafed, but stood motionless. Suddenly there was a heavy crash some distance behind us. " They are so sure, they srorn the least precau- tion," I whispered, foolishly wroth at their confi- dence " But come, though your lungs should burst for it," I went on. " I will seize the first hiding-place." He rallied like a man, and we raced on with fresh speed. Indeed, as I look back upon it, I see For a Little Summer's Sleep 131 that he did miraculously well for one so unused to the exercise. Five minutes later we came to a small brook crossing our path from left to right toward the Kenneticook. It was a place of low, brushy- shrubs under large trees. " Keep close to me," I whispered, " and look sharp. We'll stop right here." I stepped into the middle of the brook, and he did likewise, carefully. Setting our feet with pre- caution to disturb no stones, we descended the stream some twenty paces, then crept ashore beneath the thick growth, and lay at full length like logs. " You must get your breathing down to silence absolute," I whispered ; " they will be here in two minutes." In half a minute he had his laboring lungs in harness. Though within an arm's length of him I could hear no sound. But I could hear our pur- suers thrashing along on our trail. In a minute they were at the brook, to find the trail cut short. I caught snatches of their guttural comment, and laughed in my sleeve as I realized that Anderson's very weakness was going to serve our ends. The savages never dreamed that any one could be winded from so short a run. Had their quarry gone up the brook or down it, was all their wonder. Unable to decide, they split into two parties, going \l\ 132 A Sister to Evangeline ) 1 ft i either way. From the corner of my eye, violently twisted, I marked seven redskins loping past down stream. When they were out of hearing I touched Anderson on the shoulder. «' Come," said I, " now is our time." "That was neat, very," he muttered, with a quiet little chuckle, rising and throwing off the underbrush like an ox cHmbing out of his August wallow. •* Straight ahead now for the creek," I whis- pered, crossing the brook ; but a sound from behind made me turn. There stood a huge savage, much astonished at the apparition of us. His astonishment was our salvation. It delayed his signal yell. As his breath drew in for it and I sprang with my sword, the Englishman was upon him naked-handed. He forgot his stick; which indeed was well, for his two hands at the redskin's throat best settled the matter of the signal. For a Quaker, whom I have heard to be peaceful folk, Anderson seemed to me a good deal in earnest. Big and supple though the savage was, he was choked in half a minute and his head knocked ?.gainst a tree. Anderson let him drop, a limp carcass, upon the underbrush, and stood over him panting and clenching his fingers, ready to try a new hold. ' > I examined the painted mass. 1 *'wSi 1 i « „ I ,,. IH ■■]'■■■ mm "Anderson let him drop upon the underbrush." i...-m- ,1 i ,' 1 " ^ (^ ^ Ml ; ii| For a Little Summer's Sleep 133 " Not dead, quite ! " said I. " But he's as good as dead for an hour, I should say. I think perhaps we need not finish him." •' Better finish him, and make sure," urged An- derson, to my open astonishment. " He may stir up trouble for us later." But I was firm. I like, positively like, to kill my man in fair fight; but once down he's safe from me, though he were the devil himself. "No," said I, "you shall not. Come on. If the poor rascal ever gets over that mauling, he'll deserve to. That was neat, now. Y)u are much wasted in Quakerdom, monsieur, when your Eng- lish armies are needing good men." He was following close at my neels, as I once more led the race through the woods. He made no answer. Either he was saving his wind, or he was angry at leaving a good job unfinished. I mocked myself in my own heart, thinking: "Paul, you fool, out of this big Quaker you have made a fighter, and he seems to like it. You may find your hands full with him, one of these days." The thought was pleasant to me on the whole, for it is ill and dishonouring work to fight a man who is no fair match for you. That was something I never could stomach, and have ever avoided, even though at the cost of deep annoyance. Now the ground began to rise, and I guessed ^iM 'i i' \m I i I ( A Sister to Evangeline 134 _^__ we were nearing the creek at a point where the banks were high. . " Nearly there," I whispered encouragingly, and thrust forward with sudden elation through a dense screen of underbrush. I was right - all too right. The leafage parted as parts a cloud. There was no ground beneath my feet. " Back ' " I hissed wildly, and went plunging down a dark steep, striking, rebounding, clutching now at earth and now at air. At last it ap- peared to me that I came partly to a stop and merely rolled ; but it no longer seemed worth while to grasp at anything. ' )' - I iii^'^ Chapter XIX The Borderland of Life AGAIN I felt myself striving to grasp at some- thing — nothing tangible now, but a long series of exhausting, infinitely confused dreams. My brain strove desperately to retain them, but the more it strove the more they slipped back into the darkness of the further side of memory ; and, with one mighty effort to hold on to the last of the vanishing train, I opened my eyes, oppressed with a sense of significant things forgotten. My eyes opened, I say ; and they stared widely at a patch of sky, of an untellable blue, sparkling gem-like, and set very far off as if seen through the wrong end of a telescope. As I stared, the sense of oppression slipped from me. I sat up ; but the patch of sky reeled, and I lay back again, whereupon it recovered its adorable stability. I felt tired, btit content. It was good to lie there, and watch that enchanted sky, and rest from thought and dreams. After a while, however, I turned my head, and I3S ,:;f I bit >' , r r; ; 136 A Sister to E vangeline noted that I was in a deep, •""--"If ' '"""t shaped cave -or rather bottle-shaped, fo .twas enlarged about the place where I lay. I noted that flay on furs, on a low, couch-like edge; and I noted, too, that there was a wind outs.de, for at intervals a branch was bowed across the cave- mouth and withdrawn. Then I perceived that a Me jar of water and a broken cake of barley meal stood just within reach; and straightway I was aware of a most interested appetite^ I sat up aeain and began to eat and drink. The patch of ky reeled, danced, blurred, darkened - and aga.n Irew clear and steady. I finished the barley bread, finished the little jar of water and sat communing lucidly with my right mmd. It was manifest that I had been saved that night of my fall over the cliff (by Anderson?-! nrayed not); that I had been desperately .1 - Ke hands and arms upon which looked down with sarcastic pity were emaciated, that I had been tenderly cared for -for the couch was soft, the cave well kept, and a rude screen Tod at one side to shield me when the winds came into the cave-mouth. I raised my hands to my head. It was bandaged; and at one side my hair had been much cut away. But my hair hL long the rest of it was! And then cam^ stroke of wonder - my once smooth chin wa deeply bearded! How long, how long must I The Borderland of Life 137 have rested here, to grow so patriarchal an adorn- ment ! Stung to a fierce restlessness, and with a sinking at my heart, I rose, tottered to the cave-mouth, and looked out. The world I had last seen was a green world on the threshold of June. The world I looked on now was a world of fading scarlets, the last fires of autumn fast dying from the ragged leafage. Below, beyond trees and a field, was outspread the wide water of Minas, roughened to a cold and angry indigo under the wind. To the left, purple- dim and haze-v/rapped, sat Blomidon. Grand Pre must be around to the left. Then the cave was in the face of the Piziquid bluff. So near to friends, yet hidden in a cave ! What had happened the while I lay as dead ? I tottered back to the couch, and fell, on my back, and thought. My appre- hensions were like a mountain of lead upon the pit of my stomach, and I laboured for my breath. First I thought of Nicole as having saved me — Anderson I knew would have done his best, but was helpless among an unfriendly people, and well occupied to keep his own scalp. Yet Nicole would have taken me to Father Fafard ! And surely there were houses in Grand Pre where the son of my father would have been nursed, and not driven to hide in a hole — till his beard grew! And surely, after all that had happened, Yvonne would '*ii[iil!.i ^^Hl' "!' ^^H|r ni ^^H; ' ^^H< I^JM^ !iJ' ■}i;r I'll! ! i HH'^ 1 ' ^^M '' ' ' • IK i ^^m'-' HNii 1 ! _ '; i ^^^^^1 ^ ' ^s >, fi ^^H/f ' ' f ^^Hflii 1 1 ' ^^^^^^^■M j iiii i ^^^B * wKm it ^■'ii ' w 1 ' 1 ; ^■h' ' IP ^^■^" «' jud n 1 1 1 ^Hi'^' 1 1 1 ^■B'.u ■^:! ^Bi' ' ■ ' 1 ' ' 1 . H^f ' ' 1 ; Hjr' Ifl ' [ i ^^^^^^^B ^^^^H ^^^^^H i ? ' ^Hl i ^^^^^1 ' 1 1 '' i ^H^l : ill! 1 ;' ^^^H ^^^^^|j ^ t \4 ^^H ^^■i !• ■"''" i! Hi ' 1 1 'III Hgl^l^ .. ll.l' , ' 138 A Sister to Evangeline no longer count me a traitor, Monsieur and Madame would make amends for this dreadful misjudgment ! And surely -but if so, where were all these friends? ^ Or what had befallen Grand Pre? " If evil has befallen them (I did not say Yvonne) I want to die ! I will go out, and fight, and die at once ! " I cried, springing to my feet But I was still very weak, and my passion had vet further weakened me, so that I fell to the floor beside the couch ; and in falling I knocked over the little jar and broke it. Even then I was con scious of a regret for the little jar; I realized that I was thirsty; and though I wanted to die, 1 wanted a drink of water first. This inconsequent mood soon passed, and 1 crawled back on to the couch, the conviction well hammered into my brain that I was not yet fit to die with credit. And now, having found me no comfort in reason, and having faced the fact that there was nothing I could do but wait, I began to muse more temperately, and to cast about, as one will when weak, for omens and auguries. They kill time, and I hold them harmless. But a truce to cant. Who am I that I should dare to say I laugh at or deny them? I may laugh at myself for a credulous fool. And I have no doubt whatever that most omens are sheer rubbish, more vain than a floating feather. But The Borderland of Life 139 again there are things of that kindred that have convinced me, and have blessed me ; and I dare not be irreverent to the mock mysteries, lest I be guilty of blaspheming those which are true. We know not — that is the most we know. I will not agree, then, that I was a subject for laughter if, lying there alone, sick, tormented, loving without hope, fast bound in ignorance of events most vital to my love, I let my mind recall the curious prophesyings of old Mother P^che. Of Yvonne directly I dared not suflfer myself to think, lest my heart should break or stop. When fate denies occasion to play the hero, it is often well, while waiting, to play the child.' I lay quiet, looked at the patch of sky, and occu- pied myself with Mother P^che's soothsayings. Your heart's desire is near your death of hope. At first there was comfort in this, and I took it very seriously, for the sake of the argument. But oh, these oracles, astute from the days of Delphi and Dodona ! Already I could perceive that my hope was not quite dead. A thousand chances came hinting about the windows of my thought. Why might not Yvonne be safe, well, — free? The odds were that things had gone ill in my absence, but there was still the chance they might have instead gone well. Here and now, plainly, was not my death of hope, wherefore my heart's desire could not be near. I turned aside the II 1)7' li 140 A Sister to Evangeline saying in angry contempt, and fell to feeling my ribs, my shrunk chest, my skinny arms, wonder- ing how long before I could well wield sword again. In this far from reassuring occupation I came upon the little leather pouch which Mother P^the had hung about my neck. With eagerness I drew out the mystic stone and held it up before my face. The eye waned and dilated in the dim light, as if a living spirit lurked behind it. " Le Veilleur," I said to myself. " The Watcher. Little strange is it if simple souls ascribe to you sorcery and power." Then I remembered the snatch of doggerel which the old dame had muttered over it as she gave it to me. W/iile this you wear what most you fear will never come to pass. Curious it seemed to me that it should have stuck in my mind, though so little heeded at the time. What most you fear. What was it most I feared ? Surely, that Yvonne should go to another. Then that, at least, should not befall while I lived. if there were force in witchcraft ; for I would wear the " Watcher " till I died. But here again my delusive little satisfaction had but a breath long to live. For indeed what most I feared was something, alas ! quite differ- ent. What most I feared was calamity, evil, anguish, for Yvonne. Then, clearly, if her happi- 1 I; 11 The Borderland of Life HI ness required her to be the wife of George Ander- son. I could not hinder it. Could not? Nay " would not ! " I cried aloud ; and thereupon, no' longer able to drug myself with auguries, and no longer able to be dumb under the misery of my own soul. I sprang upright, strained my arms above my head, and prayed a selfish prayer: "God give her joy. but through me, through me ! Then I flung myself down again, and set my teeth, and turned my face to the wall. Thus I lay as one dead ; and so it fell that when the door of the cave was darkened, and steps cane to my bed I did not look up. ' la.' t- ?! M : it' n'\ ; 1 1 ^ ! (i| II! ! t 1 1 ! 1 ^.. . , '" 1 ! i 1 1 if Chapter XX But Mad Nor-nor-west THE steps came close to me, moved away, and were still. A sick man's curiosity soon works, and here, surely, were incalculable matters for me to find out. I turned over suddenly. It was a fantastic figure that faced me, sittmg on a billet of wood not far from the door. Withered herbs were in the high, peaked cap. The black- and-yellow mantle was drawn forward to cover the folded arms. The steely eyes were at my mmost thought. . , _ There is no doubt I was still a sick man. I was iraspeakably disappointed. Looking back upon it now, I verily believe that I expected to see Yvonne, as in a fairy tale. -Why did you come in," I asked peevishly, twisting under those eyes, "without proclaim- '"?''^oe, woe to Acadie the Fair, for the hour of her desolation cometh ' ? " " It has come," said he quietly. 142 But Mad Nor-nor-west 143 I sat up as if a spring had moved me. My eyes alone questioned. " Beausejour has fallen. France is driven back on Louisbourg. The men of Acadie are in chains. The women await what fate they know not. Their homes await the flame." Here was no madman speaking. "And— Yvonne?" I whispered. " They all are safe, under shelter of the gover- nor — and of Anderson," he added icily. I had no more words for a moment. Then I asked — " And the Black Abbe? " His sane calm disappeared. His face worked ; his hands came out from under his cloak, darting like serpents; his eyes veered like pale flame. As suddenly he was calm again. "He is at Louisbourg," said he, "at Isle St. Jean — here — there — anywhere ; free, busy, still heaping and heating the fires which shall burn his soul alive." I like a man who is in earnest; but I could think of nothing appropriate to say. After a pause I changed the subject. " I am thirsty," said I, " and hungry too, I think, though I have eaten all the barley bread. And I'm sorry, but I've broken the jar." From a niche in the wall he at once brought me more barley cake, with butter, and fresh milk, and some dried beef. The wholesome, homely taste ^JmH} \i 1 1 144 A Sister to Evangeline of them comes back to me now. Having eaten, I felt that nothing could be quite so good as sleep ; and with grateful mutterings, half spoken, I sleot When I woke it was the cold light of early morning that came in at the cave-mouth ; and I was alone. I felt so much better that I got up at once • but ere I could reach the door a dizziness came over me. and I staggered back to my place, feeling that my hour was not yet. As I lay fret- ting my heart with a thousand hot conjectures, my host came in. He looked at me, but said not a word ; nor could I get his tongue loos^ened all through our light breakfast. At last, to my obsti- nate repetition of the inquiry: "When shall I be strong enough to go down into Grand Pre? he suddenly awoke and answered: ♦'A little way to-morrow, perhaps; and the next day, further ; and within the week, if you are fortunate, you should be strong enough for any- thing You will need to be, if you are going down into Grand Pre ! " he added grimly. Upon this direct telling I think I became in all ways my sane self- weak, indeed, but no longer whimsical. I felt that Gr^l's promise was much better than I could have hoped. I knew there would be need of all my strength. I was a man again, no more a sick child. And I would wait. Grfil busied himself a few minutes about the But Mad Nor-nor-west H5 cave, in a practical, every-day fashion that con- sorted most oddly with his guise and fame. I could not but think of a mad king playing scullion. But there was none of the changing light of madness in his eyes. Soon he seated himself at the cave-mouth, and said, pointing to a roughly shaped ledge with a wolfskin upon it: " Come hither, now, and take this good air. It will medicine your thin veins." Obeying gladly, I was soon stretched on the wolfskin at the very brink, as it seemed, of the open world. But it was cold. Perceiving this, he arose without a woiJ, fetched another skin, and tucked it about me. His tenderness of touch was like a woman's. " How can I thank you ? " I began. " It is to you, I now perceive, that I owe my life. How much besides I know not ! " He waved my thanks aside something impa- tiently. "Yes, T saved you," said he. " It suited me to do so. I foresaw you would some day repay me. And I like you, boy. I trust you ; though in seme ways you are a vain fool." I laughed. I had such confidence in him I began to think he would bring all my desires to pass. " And I have been wont to imagine you a mad- Hr I' I ' 1' ' ' It' I I ) :ti!li 146- A Sister to Evangeline man," said I. *' But I seem to have been mis- taken." " Were I mad utterly as I seem," said he, in a voice which thrilled me to the bone, " it would not be strange. I am mad but on one subject; and on that I believe that God will adjudge me sanest." He was silent for a long time, that white fire playing in his eyes ; and I dared not break upon his reverie. At last I ventured, for my tongue ached with questions unasked: " How did you find me when I fell over the cliff? " I queried. " And where was the Englishman? " My mouth once opened, two questions instead of one jumped out. " It was noon," said Grfil, " and I found your Englishman sitting by you waiting for the sky to fall. Had the Micmacs come instead of me, yoiir two scalps would have risen nimbly together. He is a good man and brave ; but he lacks wits. A woman could trust him to do anything but keep her from yawning ! " I grinned with the merest silly delight— a mean delight. But GrOl went on : " He is worth a dozen cleverer men ; but he fatigued me. I sent him away. I told him just how to go to reach the Piziquid settlement, whom to ask for, and what help to bring for his sick comrade. Then, knowing what was about to befall, and hav- But Mad Nor-nor-west H7 - a mean ing in mind a service which you will do me at a later day, and divining that you would rather be sick in a madman's cave than in an English jail, I brought you here. I was reputed a wizard in the old days in France, for having brought men back from the very gape of the grave ; and I knew you would be long sick." I looked at him, and I think my grateful love needed no words. "And what became of the Englishman?" I asked presently. " He appeared at last in Grand Pre," answered Grul, " and told the truth of you, and dwelt awhile within the shadow of the chapel, to be near the guests of Father Fafard; and he got a strong guard placed in the village close at hand, that those who loved the English and feared the abbe might sleep in peace. I hear he presses for the redemp- tion of Mademoiselle's pledge; but she, to the much vexation of Monsieur and Madame, is some- thing dilatory in her obedience. Of course she wUl obey in the end. Even Father Fafard exhorts her to that, for obedience sums all virtues in a maid. But she has an absurd idea that the Eng- lishman should present alive to her the man who saved his life, before claiming reward at hands of hers. I might have enabled him to do this ; but you were not in a mind to be consulted." " You are the wisest man I ever knew," said I, . ! n! 148 A Sister to Evangeline conscious of an absurd inclination to fling myself at his feet and do penance for past supercilious underratings. He seemed to accept the tribute as not undue, and again took up his monologue. •• Had you died, as seemed for some weeks hkely for all my skill, I should have smoothed the way for the stupid EngHshman; but finding that you would live, I thought to bind you to me by keepmg your way open. In a few days you will be well, and must tread your own path, to triumph or disaster as your own star shall decree. In either case, I know you will stand by me when my need comes ! " , „ • j i " You know the merest truth, said 1. I I Chapter XXI Beausejour, and After NOW, while I was arranging in my mind a fresh and voluminous series of interroga- tions, my singular host arose abruptly and went off without a word, leaving me to rebuild a new image of him out of the shattered fragments of the old. I saw that he was not mad, but possessed. One intolerably dominant purpose of revenge making all else little in his eyes, he was mad but in rela- tion to a world of complex impulses ; in relation to his great aim, sane, and ultimately effective, I could not doubt. But the mad grotesquerie of the part he had assumed had come to cling to him as another self, no longer to be quite sloughed oft" at will. To play his part well he had resolved to be it; and he was it, with reservation. Just now, Acadie fallen and his enemy for the time in eclipse, I concluded that he found his occupation gone. Therefore, after solitary and tongue-tied years, his speech flowed freely to me, as a stream broken 149 .k.li^0 i t il ^ I M I! A Sister to Evangeline 150 -—— TT^T^^^TT^ose with me. I divined, loose. That ne na t- r descending would excuse h«"J^'^^f"^f direct and simple to the 'o;g ~*;'^, tdout from him many S":f.i^'-p°ra"fmrT^nro: rhirra^t-^itS Xs. the romes oC ttrranwhilethUtenae^^^^^^^^^^^^ colossal, all but ^"'t ^tbttonds of mys- r;ft;r;%:^ffari»'eashtothepost.i„, madman Griil. ^ ^ ^^^3^^ Returning soon to my couch, 1 dozea d Keturnuig ^^ ^f ^y away ^1^^^ "^^'^"/"S; , ^,Xin the wall, found food. 't^adVry tai%tn:, Reeling myself hou.y and made my me ^^^^ ^^^^^^ ^"ried t mt convlscent nostrils averred, in, waned, as my nroved to be a „po„ a --^/X'o'tst ven'ison, and aft. Sirru^:: re :L ran redder and swifter ^TS'btt%hysician- said I. ^-;;;» ^^^^^^ .. And now, J beg you, assuage a httle the ,tch,n, of my ears.'; ^^^ fl„„g by, "^ riXood ag2t the wall, and loo.ed r a« u^ll^efamiUarmltalsof the finest. Lean- Beaus^jour, and After 151 ing his chin in his long, clutching hands, as if to make gesture impossible, he leaped straight into the story: " That fighting fire in your Anderson, when he ki'led the savage with his hands, died out. He is still the Quaker farmer. He went to Grand Pre, and cleared your name, and told how you had saved him for Mademoiselle de Lamourie. With some inconsequence, Mademoiselle was thereupon austere with him because he had not in turn saved you for her. He went to Halifax and did deeds with the council — for he secured further and greater grants of land for himself and further and greater grants of land for Giles de Lamourie, with compensations for the burnings which English rule should have prevented, and with, last of all, an English guard for Grand Pre, in order that scalps of English inclination might be secure upon their owners' heads. All this was wise, and indeed plain sense — better than fighting. And he re- mains at Grand Pre, and waits upon Mademoiselle de Lamourie, patient on crumbs. " In June things happened, while you slept here. The English came in ships, sailing up Chignecto water and startling the slow fools at Beausejour. The English landed on their own side of the Missi- guash. The black ruins of Beaubassin cried out to them for vengeance on La Game." (The name, upon his lips, snarled like a wolf.) p : i ;!! 1 i Itt 11 m rm'\ i\ I ,: A ; m ;' . ' \ i $r' H [i'l ,ilH> I if ■ ; M A Sister to Evangeline 152 ' "Vergor, the public thief, called in the men of the villages to help his garrison. Beausejour was I nest of beavers mending the walls - but no 1 the torrent was already tearing through The .n- vaders, wading the deep mud, forced the M.ss,- Inash and drove baclc the white-coat regiments. Ihey setd the long ridge behind the fort, and set up their batteries. Fort guns and field guns bowled at each other across the ■»«='«>o«'s. "Meanwhile the English governor at Mrfax sent for the heads of the villages, the householders of Piziquid. Grand Pr^, Annapolis. He sa>d the fme was come, the final time, and they must swear fea ty to King George of England. He bade them choose between that oath, with peace, or a fate he did not name. A few, wise like Giles de Lamou- rie, toolc oath. The rest feared La Game, trusted Frlnce. and accounted England an old woman. Thev refused, and went home. "The Ige went on, and many balls were wasted. The English were all on one side of .he fort, so those of the garrison who got tired of bemg be- Sed walkel out the other side and went home. These were the philosophers. Vergor hved m h,s bomb-proof casemate, and was at ease. But on morning while he sat at breakfast with other officer Tshell fame through the roof and killed certam of ^"■"That ended it. If the bomb-proof was not ii:i'! Beaus^jour, and After 153 bomb-proof, Vergor might get hurt. He capitu- lated. His officers broke their swords, but in vain. La Game spat upon him." Here he stopped, his eyes veered, and his face twisted. In a strange voice he went on : " In La Game yet flickers one spark of good — his courage. Till that is eaten out by his sins he lives, not being fully ripe for the final hell." He stopped again, moistening his lips with his tongue. I put my hand to my head. " Give me a drink of water, I pray you ! " said I to divert him, fearing lest that swift and succinct narrative had come to an end. He gave it to me, and in a moment began again. •' So Beausejour fell," said he. " La Game left early, for him the English wanted to hang. The rest marched out with honours of war. The Eng- lish found them an inconvenience as prisoners, and sent them to Louisbourg. And Beausejour is now Fort Cumberland." " So fades the glory of France from Acadie — forever ! " I murmured, weighed down with pres- cience. " Just as it was fading," continued Grul, with a hint of the cynic in his voice, " your cousin. Marc de Mer, came from Quebec with despatches. The garrison was marching out. He, being al- ready out, judged it unnecessary to go in. He ¥■ Pi! r 1 I ■!, ' ' 1 iiii aiEiayiiii; I \ \ \ 1 .1 1 i ( A Sister to Evangeline 154 took boat d^^^Tchignecto water, and up through Minas to Grand Prl Here he bus.ed h.niself wth your uncle's affairs, laying aside his uniform and passing unmolested as a villager. ^ .. For a little there was stillness. Then the 'Tto Tver/tttlement went English battalions. What I saw at Grand Prg is what oth"s saw at Xnnapolis, K^. M, Bale Verte. An Enghsh colond one Winslow, smooth and round and : ; of countenance, angry and anxious, httle ,n ove with his enterprise, summoned the men o Grand PrI to meet him in the chapel and hea h last orders of the king. There had been last orfers " before, and they had exploded harmlessly enough. The men of Grand Pre went -and your cousin Marc, having a restless cur.os.ty Lnt with them. Thereupon the doors were s^,ut. They were as rats in a trap, a rmg of fire about **" "™ hey learned the king's decree clearly enough. They were to be put on ships. - they, their fam,- «es srch household gear as there m.ght be place for -and carried very far from their nat.ve fields and scattered among strangers of an ahen sp.ech '""WeU, the mountains had fallen upon them. Whocou dmove? They lay in the chapel, .,ndthe>, hearts sweat blood. Daily their we .,mg women, Beaus^jour, and After 155 their wide-eyed children, came bringing food. But the ships were not ready. The agony has dragged all summer. At last two small ship-loads are gone ; the crowd is less in the chapel ; some houses stand empty in the village, waiting to burn. The year grows old; the task is nearly done." There was a dark silence. "Has my cousin Marc gone vet?" I asked heavily. " He waits and wastes in the chapel." " And my almost-father. Father Fafard ? " •' No," said Grfil, " his trouble is but for others. He has ever counselled men to keep their oaths. He has opposed a face of steel to Quebec in- trigue. The English reverence him. He blesses those who are taken away. He comforts those who wait." Of Yvonne I had no excuse for asking more. What more I would know I must go and learn. To go and learn I must get strong. To get strong I must sleep. I turned my face to the wall. mi 1'^ m w A M4 Km ffiiivi nr iii';ii 'B [I I'. u :ia" I J 1^ ;, I .! 1 1 ill ii 1 y 1 ■ -'1 III j f:S!j 1 ' 1 1 mil Chapter XXII GrCil's Case ON the following day, being alone all day, I walked out, shaking at first, but with a step growing rapidly assured. Not far from the cave I passed a clear pool, and saw my fact amid the branches leaning over it. A pretty cavalier. I thought, to go a-wooing. A little further on I came to a secluded cabin, where a young woman bent over the wash-tub in the sunny doorway. I went up and saluted her courteously. The alarm died from her face, and compassion melted there instead. j .. t " I have been long wounded, m the woods, 1 said. " Give me, I pray you, the charity of a cup of milk, and lend me your scissors and a glass." At this the compassion ran away in laughter, and she cried merrily: " Sit here on the stoop, monsieur, till I get them for you." , , J " Plainly," thought!, " you have not husband or brother in the chapel at Grand ?r6 ! " is6 Grul's Case 157 On her return she answered as it were straight to my thought. " My man's in the woods ! " she said, with pride. " And he's all safe. They didn't catch /«w." " You may well thank God for that, madame ! " said I gravely, drinking the milk with relish and setting myself assiduously to my toilet. My hair of course I could do little with, — I was no bar- ber's apprentice. The long, straight, lustreless black locks hung down over my collar, framing lugubriously a face to scare hunger from a feast. But there was enough of it to be persuaded into covering the patches and scars. My beard, however, proved interesting. With infinite pains I trimmed it to a courtly point, and decided it would pass muster. It was not unlike my uncle's — and the Sieur de Briart was ever, in my eyes, an example of all that was to be admired. The success of my efiforts was attested by the woman's growing respect. She now recog- nized me for a gentleman, and brought me a dish of curds, and bustled with civilities till I went. I arrived back at the cave in such good fettle that I felt another day would see me ripe for any venture. But I was tired, and slept so soundly that I knew not when my host came in. In the morning he was there, getting ready a savory breakfast. When I proposed my enter- prise for the day, he said, very wisely: i i; ■^' ' ! i 1 i V 'j 'fi' S'. 1 1 (*^ i t 1 '.1 M If V ■ ii i't "k '''■■ .i'. • 9 158 A Sister to Evangeline " If you think you're fit to-day, perhaps you may almost be so to-morrow. Wait. Don't bungle a great matter by a little haste ! " ^ ., , So I curbed my chafing eagerness, and waited. He rested at home all day, and we talked much. What was said, however, was for the most part not pertinent to this record. Only one short reach of the conversation lives in my memory - but that is etched with fire. , u a \^a f^ It came in this way. One question had led to another, till at last I asked : , ,, , -Why do :you so hate La Game?" and was abashed at my boldness in asking. He sprang up and left the cave ; and left me cursing my stupidity. It was an hour ere he came back, but he was calm, and seated himself as if nothing had happened. '' I had thought," said he, in an even voice, - that if I were to speak of that the walls of this cave would cry out upon me for vengeance de- layed. But I have considered, and a little I wi tell you. You must know; for the hour will come when you will help me in my vengeance, and you might weaken, for you do not comprehend the mad sweetness of hate. You are born for a great hapoiness or a great sorrow, and either destiny may make one blunt to hate. - I was a poor gentleman of Blois, part fop part fantastical scholar, a dabbler in magic, and a lover 1! Me: GruPs Case 159 of women. My nature pulled two ways. I was alone in the world, save for a little sister, beauti- ful, just come to womanhood, whom I loved as daughter and sister both. She thought me the wonderful among men. It chanced that at last I knew another love. A woman, the wife of a witless pantaloon of the neighbourhood, ensnared all my wits, till I saw life only in her eyes. Her husband came upon us in her garden — and for his reproaches I beat him cruelly. But he, though not a man, was not all fool. For loving his wife he could not punish me — I being stronger and more popular than he ; but he knew that for theft the law would hang a man. He hid a treasure of jewels, and with a nice cunning fixed the crime upon me. It was clear as daylight, so that almost myself believed myself guilty. In a foul, reeking cell in the city wall I awaited judgment and the penalty. " A confession makes the work of the judges easier, and as I would not confess I was to be tor- tured — when the Court was ready; all in good time. " At Blois was a young blade renowned no less for his conquests of women than for his ill- favoured face. His ugliness prevailed where the beauty of other men found virtue an impregnable wall against it. He courted my sister. She re- pulsed him. It got about and shamed him. Then (I this while in prison, and she helpless) he laid r- 1 m I ' t;-' i V 1 \\i'\i I i 1; j, I i \m m. I ■• ^ ■ i m if 1 ,1 1 1 I ( i 11 In l6o A Sister to Evangeline a public wager with his fellows that he would have her innocence. " He told her I was to be tortured. After a time he told her he could save me from that extremity. This thought worked for a time upon her lonely anguish. Then he swore he would save me — but at a price. " At last the price was paid. He won his wager. On the day that I was tortured she killed herself before the judges. He, astonished, fled to Italy, hid in a monastery, and dedicated himself to the missions of the New World. " The judges were, after all, men. They said the evidence against me was insufficient. They set me free, as an avenger. - I have not been in haste. The man has grown more evil year by year ; so I have waited. I will not send him to his account till the score is full. The deepest hell must be ready, and gape for him. Meanwhile, his soul has dwelt all these years alone with fear. He is a brave man, but he knows I wait — he knows not for what; and he sweats and is afraid ! " , u He told the story simply, quietly; but there was madness in his voice. The unspeakable thing choked me. I got up. " It is enough ! " said I. " I will not fail you when you need me." But I went out into the air for a little. i: Chapter XXIII At Gaspereau Lower Ford ON the following day, being Tuesday, Novem- ber 1 6, 1755, and my twenty-seventh birth- day, I went down to Grand Pre. I am thus precise about the date, for I felt as I set forth that the issues of life and death hung upon my going. Right here, it seemed to me, was a very knife- edge of a day, which should sever and allot to me for all the future my part of joy or ruin. Surely, thought I, — to justify my expectation of colossal events, — I have not lain these long months dead, that action, once more started, should dribble like a spent stream. Therefore I v/ent, like a careful strategist, equipped with all the knowledge Grul could give. ^ had planned how to reach Father Fafard, and through him how to reach Yvonne. And as the day was to be a great one, I thought well it should be a long one, I set out upon the palest promise of daybreak. My strength, under one compelling purpose, had 161 162 A Sister to Evangeline I if 1' . >!( i It ;. come back; and it seemed to me that I saw events and their chances with radiating clearness. So up- strung were my nerves that the long tramp seemed over in a few minutes, and I found myself, almost with surprise, at the lower ford of the Gaspereau, just under the hill which backs Grand Pr^. Here was the thick wood wherein I planned to he perdu, in the event of dangerous passers. In a little while there came in view a woman, heavy-eyed and di- shevelled, carrying a basket of new-baked barley bread, very sweet to smell. It was clear she was one with an interest in the prisoners at the chapel. In such a case I could have no fear of stumbling upon a traitor. I stepped out to her. «' Would that he, too," said I significantly, " had gone to the woods in time ! " Her eyes ran over with the ready and waiting tears ; but she jerked her apron jealously over the loaves, and looked at me with a touch of resent- ment, as if to say, " Why had you such foresight, and not he?" , " He went to hear the reading, and they too^ him," she moaned. " And who wil] keep the little ones from starving in the winter coming on? " '• It is where I, too, would be now — in the chapel prison yonder," said I gently. " But I lay in the woods, wounded, t.a sick to go to the read- ing, so I escaped." The resentment faded out. She saw that I was !':■ J.^ ' iif^^bbi At Gaspereau Lower Ford 163 not one of those who shamed her husband's cre- dulity. I might have been caught too, had I been given the same chance. " For the little ones, I pray you accept this sil- ver, and count it a loan to your husband in his prison," said I, slipping two broad Spanish pieces into her hand. She looked grateful and astonished, but had no words ready. " And do, I beg of you, a kindness to one in bitter need of it," I went on. " You know Father Fafard?" Her face lightened with love. *' He grieves for me, thinking me dead," said I. " Tell him, I beg of you, that one who loves him waits to see him in the wood by the lower ford." Her face clouded with suspicion. " How shall I know — hov/ shall he know — you are honest? " she asked. I was troubled. " Vou must judge by your woman's wit," said I. " And he will come. He fears no one. But no, tell him Paul Grande waits at the lower ford." " The traitor ! " she blazed out ; and, recoiling, hurled the money in my face. It stung strangely. " You are wrong," said I, in a low voice. " But as you will. Tell him, if you will, that Paul Grande, the traitor, waits for him at the lower ford. But if you do not tell him, be sure ke will not soon ■(. ; 1. .'.« h 1 '^\ ;> iff i I 1 1' 1 111 ii ki-:.! ^ ] !' 164 A Sister tu Evangeline forgive you. And for the money, he shall keep it for your children- and you will be sorry to hUve uniustly accused me." , ^ j She laughed with bitter mockery, and turned *"*" But I will tell him; that can do no harm," she said. " I'll tell him the traitor who loves him waits at the ford." _ I withdrew into the wood, beyond all reason oained at the injustice. The unpleasant peasant woman was as good as her word, however; for in little more than the space of an hour I saw Father Fafard approach- ins Plainly he had come hot upon the mstant. ..'My dear, dear boy! Where have you been and what suffered?" he cried, catching me hard by the two arms, and looking into my eyes. " It was Griil saved me," said I. Beyond earshot, deep in the wood, where no wind hindered the noon sun from warmmg a l.ttle ooen elade, I told my story briefly. ^"pLl," ^aid he, when I had finished, "my heart has now the first happiness it has known through all thes. dreadful months. But you must shp out of his doomed country wi '.out an hour's delay- Quebec, of course! And then, when an end ,3 Sade h;re, I will join you. Have you money for the journey?" I laughed softly. At Gaspereau Lower Ford 165 ** My plans are not quite forrried. I must see Yvonne. Will you fetch her to me? " He rose in anger — a little forced, I thought. " No ! " said he. "Then, I beseech you, give her a message from me, that I may see her for a little this very day." " Paul," he cried passionately, " it is a sin to talk of it. She has pledged her troth. She is at peace. I will not have her disturbed." ♦' Does she love him? " I asked. "I — I suppose so. Or she will, doubtless," he stammered. " Oh, doubtless ! " said I. " And meanwhile, does she show readiness to carry out her prom- ise? Does she listen kindly to her impatient lover — her anxious father?" " The Englishman has displeased her, for a time," said he, " but that will pass. She knows the duty of obedience ; she respects the plighted word. There can be but one ending ; though you may suc- ceed in making her very unhappy — for a time." " I will make her very happy," I said quietly, "so long as tim^ endures for her and me." He flashed round upon me with sharp scorn. "What can fou do for her? You, hiding for your life, the ruined upholder of a lost cause ! Here she is safe, protected, wealth and security before her. And with you? " I ) if. '1 111*1 i| if I K. 11' 'H : .1 1! ■■• i. i I ll. .S if' IfiM If f !P|MMM 1 1 |! 'I , 1 f5 ^H ^Hl! ill 1 B^^^HtaMHiifik>.»BK. ' III |i i66 A Sister to Evangeline .. Life I think 1 " said I, rising too, and stretch- ing t{ my a^s. "But listen father -I wen on more lightly. "I am not so helpless. I have some little rentes in Montreal, you know_ And moreover, I am not planning to carry her off TnLht. By no means anything so finely .rregu- ar I am not ready. Only, see her I w.ll before go Tyou wm not help me, I will stay abou hfs placed about your house indeed, t.U I meet her That is all. If you dote upon my gomg, vou know the way to speed me." His kind, round face puckered anxiously. But he hit upon a compromise. .. I will have no hand in it," sa,d he. But .f you are resolved to stay, you may as well find he lithout loss of time. The house we occupy .s Lwded, and she affects a soUtary mood^ bhe walks over the hill and down th.s way, ofj*" ^^ " ing, to visit some unhappy ones along by the riv^r You may see her, perhaps, to-mght. I grasped his hand and kissed it, but he drew .t away, vexed at himself. "We will talk of other things now," I sa.d softly. .. But do not be angry if I say I l°ve Jo". f^* ^^ He smiled with an air of reproach; and th re after talk we did through hours, save for a l.tU time when he was absent fetching <"« '^ ";^^- ^^ that Gr&l had told me of the rum of the French cause he told me in another colour, and more At Gaspereau Lower Ford 167 besides of the doom of the Acadians — but upon Yvonne's name we touched no more by so much as the lightest breath. At my cousin Marc's rashness in going to the chapel he glanced with some severity, grieving for the sorrow of the young wife at Quebec. But for the English he had many good words — they were pitiful, he • said, in the act of carrying out cruel orders. And they neither robbed nor terror- ized. Not they, said he, but a wicked priest and the intriguers of a rotten government at Quebec, were the scourge of Acadie. When the sun got low over the Gaspereau Ridge he called to mind some duties too long forgotten, and bade me farewell with a loving wistfulness. I think, however, it was the imminent coming of Yvonne that drove him away. He feared lest he Ehould meet her, and in seeming to know of my purpose seem to sanction it. I could not help be- lieving in my heart that in this matter, perhaps for the first time in his priesthood, the kind cure's conscience was a little tremulous in its admoni- tions. I watched him out of sight ; and then, posting myself in a coign of vantage behind a great willow that overhung the stream, I waited with a thump- ing heart, and with a misgiving that all other organs within my frame had slumped away to nothing but a meagre and contemptible jelly. ri t m li' Vi 'M fi li i . M I. It I.' Chapter XXIV "If You Love Me, Leave Me" TILL the flames of amber and copper along the Gaspereau Ridge had temperately d.m.n- i,hed to a lucidity of pale violet, I waited and watched. Then all at once the commotion m my bosom came to an icy stop. . -j . A light, white form descended from the ndge to the ford. I needed not the black lace shawl about ^e head and shoulders to tell me it was she, be- fore a feature or a line could be d.stmgmshed. The blood at every tingling finger-tip thrilled the announcement of her commg. fgrasped desperately at all I had planned to ' 1 now slipping from me. I felt that she was ^Lnched in Tfixed resolve ; and I felt tha not my Ufeatone, - ready to become a very small matter, Ibut hers, h r'true life, depended upon my break ng that resolve. Yet how was I to conquer her I who at sight of her was at her feet? I knew -with that inntr knowledge by which I know God is^that she, the whitest of women, intended un- i68 ■'|i ! ' V '4' Iii ; 1 1 \ i III \\% ^ 1 1 " If You Love Me, Leave Me " 169 wittingly a sin against her body in wedding a man unloved — that she, in my eyes the wisest, most clear-visioned of women, contemplated a folly beyond words. Put how could I so far escape my reverence for her as to convict her of this folly and this sin? But now all my thoughts, words, pleas, sprayed into air. She came — and I stepped into her path, whispering: "Yvonne!" She was almost within reach of my hand, had I stretched it out, — but I dared not touch her. She gave the faintest cry. Taken at so sudden a disadvantage, she had not time to mask herself, and her great eyes told for one heart-beat what I knew her lips would have denied. Her fingers locked and unlocked where they caught the black mantilla across her bosom. She stood for an instant motionless ; then glanced back up the hill with a desperate fear. " They will see you ! " she half sobbed. " You will be caught and thrown into prison. Oh, hide yourself, hide at once ! " " Not without you," I interrupted. "Then with me! " she cried pantingly, and led the way, almost running, back of the willow, down a thread of a path, to a hidden place behind a bend of the stream. Glancing back at the last moment, I saw a squad of soldiers coming over the hill. i til ;( 'I 4> l< \r tiV< j' %r>T 7 IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) !.0 I.I |50 '""^^ 2.5 2.2 12.0 1.8 1.25 U nil 1.6 Photographic Sciences CorporatJDn 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER N.Y. 14580 (716) 872-4503 €^ \ (V \\ '^Q, [\ 6^ VJ ^ ^^^ ^.J,. 170 A Sister As soon as she felt tl and earshot, she turn sudden swift anger. "Why have you d forced me to this?" i "Because I love y cause " — She drew herself u " You do not knov promised to Monsieur . to redeem my word to to me safe and well." I laughed with shee "He shall wait lor than he should claim 1 my sword, though m; you, beloved." "Had the soldiers said she, in her eager " he would have been They may yet take yo "They shall not t£ you love me, Yvonne it, — my life is, next thing to me in the Quebec to settle my for you. Then I will month or two, when and I will take you ; m rr ?r* 170 A Sister to Evangeline i • SI < As soon as she felt that I was safely out of sight and earshot, she turned and faced me with a sudden swift anger. "Why have you done this? Why have you forced me to this?" she cried. "Because I love you," said I slowly. "Be- cause " — She drew herself up. "You do not know," said she, "what I have promised to Monsieur Anderson. I have promised to redeem my word to him when he can show you to me safe and well." I laughed with sheer joy. 1 "He shall wait long then," said I. "Sooner than he should claim the guerdon I will fall upon my sword, though my will is, rather, to live for you, beloved." "Had the soldiers seen you and taken you," said she, in her eagerness forgetting her disguise, " he would have been able to claim me to-morrow. They may yet take you. Oh, go, go at once ! " "They shall not take me. Now that I know you love me, Yvonne, — for you have betrayed it, — my life is, next to yours, the most precious thing to me in the world. I go at once to Quebec to settle my affairs and prepare a home for you. Then I will come, — it will be but in a month or two, when this trouble is overpast, — and I will take you away." "If You Love Me, Leave Me" 171 Her face, all her form, drooped with a sort of weariness, as if her will had been too long taxed. " You will find me the wife of George Ander- son," she said faintly. It was as if I had been struck upon the temples. My mouth opened, and shut again without words. First rage, then amazement, then despair, ran through me in hot surges. " But — your promise — not till he could show me to you," I managed to stammer. " I gave it in good faith," she said simply. « I can no longer hold him off by it, for I have seen you safe and well." " I am not safe, as you may soon see," said I fiercely, " and not long shall I be well, as you will learn." Then, perceiving that this was a sorry kind of threat, and little manly, I made haste to amend it. " No, no," I cried, " forget that ! But stick to the letter of your promises, I beseech you. Why push to go back of that? Unless," I added, with bitterness, " you want the excuse ! " She shuddered, and forgot to resent the brutality. "Go!" she pleaded. "Save yourself— for my sake — Paul ! " And her voice broke. "That you may wed with the cleare- con- science ! " I went on, merciless in my pain. She crouched down, a drear and pitiful figure, on the slope of sod, and wept silently, her hands i-U ! K i \ .: 172 A Sister to Evangeline over her eyes. I looked at her helplessly. I wanted to throw myself at her feet. Then the right thing seemed that I should gather her up into my arms — but I dared not touch her. At last I said, doubtfully: " But — you love me ! " No answer. " You do love me, Yvonne? " She lifted her face, and with a childish bravery dashed off the tears, first with one hand, then the other. She looked me straight in the eyes. " I do not," said slie, daring the lie. " But you^ — you disturb me ! " This astonishing remark did not shake my con- fidence, but it threw me out of my argument. I shifted ground. *' You do not love him ! " I exclaimed, lamely enough. •' I respect him ! " said she, cool now, and con- trolling the situation. I felt that I had lost my one moment of advantage — the moment when I should have taken her into my arms. Not timid- ity, but reverence, had balked me. My heart turned, as it were, in my breast, with a hot, dumb fury — at my: elf. " The respect that cannot breed love for a lover will soon breed contempt," said I, holding myself hard to mere reasoning. "If You Love Me, Leave Me" 173 She ignored this idle answer. She arose and came close up to me. •• Paul," she said, scarcely above a whisper, " will you save yourself for my sake ? If I say — if I say that I do love you a little — that if it could have been different — been you — I should have been — oh, glad, glad ! — then will you go, for my sake ? " " No, no indeed ! " shouted the heart within me at this confession. But with hope came cunning. I temporized. " And if I go, for your sake," I asked, " when do you propose to become the wife of the English- man ? " . " Not for a long time, I will promise you," said she earnestly. " Not f >r a year — no, not for two years, if you like. Oh," — with a catch in her voice, — " not till I can feel differently about you, Paul ! " And she hung her head at the admis- sion. "Dear," I said, "most dear and wonderful, can you not even now see how monstrous it would be if I should seem, for a moment, to relinquish you to another? Soul and body must tell you you are mine, as I am yours. But your eyes are shut. You are a maid, and you do not realize what it is that I would save you from. It is your very whiteness blinds you, so that you do not see the intolerableness of what they would thrust upon n ■ itt ' 1 ;! hi 174 A Sister to Evangeline you. For yoa it would be a sin. You do not see it — but you would see it, awaking to the truth when it was too late. From the horror of that awakening I must save you. I must" — But she did not see ; though her brain must have comprehended, her body did not; and therefore there, could be no real comprehension of a matter so vital. She brushed aside my passionate argu- ment, and came close up to me. ♦' Paul, dear," she said, " I think I know the beauty of sacrifice. I am sure I know what is right. You cannot shake me. I know what must be in the end. But if you will go and save your- self, I promise that the end shall be far off — so that he may grow angry, and perhaps even set me free, as I have almost asked him to do. But now this is good-by, dear. You shall go. You will not disobey me. But you may say good-by to me. And as once you kissed my feet (they have been proud ever since), so — though it is a sin, I know — you may kiss my lips, just once, — and go." How little she knew what she was doing ! Even as she spoke she was in my arms. The next moment she was trembling violently, and then she strove to tear herself away. But I was inexorable, and folded her close for yet an instant longer, till she was still. I raised my head and pushed her a little away, holding her by both arms that I might see her face. *'If You Love Me, Leave Me" 175 " Oh," she gasped, " you are cruel ! I did not mean that you should kiss me so — so hard." " My — wife ! " I whispered irrelevantly. " Let me go, sir," she said, with her old imperi- ous air, trying to remove herself from my grasp upon her arms. But I did not think it necessary to obey her. Then her face saddened in a way that made me afraid. "You have done wrong, Paul," she said heavily. " I meant you should just touch me and go. You took unmanly advantage. Alas ! I fear I have a bad heart. I cannot be so angry as I ought. But I am resolved. You know, now, that I love you ; that no other can ever have my love. But that knowledge is the;;end of all between us, even of the friendship which might, one day, have comforted me. Go, I command you, if you would not have me an unhappy woman forever ! " She wrenched herself free. Then, seeing me, as she thought, hesitate for an answer, she added firmly : " I love you ! But I love honour more, and obedience to the right, and my plighted word. Go ! " " I will not go, my beloved, till you swear to tell the Englishman to-morrow that you love me and intend to be my wife." " Listen," she said. " If you do not go at once, I promise you that I will be George Anderson's wife to-morrow." {; :i : i£ ti : ¥i , I ni ' 176 A Sister to Evangeline I stared at her dumbly. Was it conceivable that she should mean such madness? Her eyes were fathomlessly sorrowful, her mouth was set. How was I to decide? But fortune elected to save me the decision. A sharp voice came from the bank above — " I arrest you, in the king's name ! " We glanced up. There stood a squad of red- coats, a spruce young officer at their head. M>^ iceivable rier eyes was set. decision. )ve — I of red- ead. M' Chapter XXV Over Gaspereau Ridge ■ONSIEUR WALDRON ! '' cried Yvonne . faintly. "You here, Mademoiselle de Lamourie ! " he exclaimed, with a surprise that his courtesy could not quite conceal. " This, monsieur," she said, in a brave confu- sion, " is my friend, here for a moment because of my foolish desire to see him. I beg you " But he interrupted, reluctantly enough : " It hurts me, mademoiselle, to have to say that your friend is my prisoner. If I were free to please you, he should go free." The case was clearly beyond mending, so I would not condescend to evasion. "I can do nothing but surrender, monsieur," said I civilly, "under the conclusive arbitrament of your muskets. Here is my sword." He took it, and I went on : '• I am Captain Paul Grande, of the French army in Canada." 177 ! > . ii-.n I M i' i i 178 A Sister to Evangeline His face changed. " A spy, then ! " he said harshly. " You insult with impunity," I began. " An un- armed " — But Yvonne broke in, her eyes flaming : " How dare you, sir, insult me f That is not to be done with impunity, I think." The man looked puzzled. Then his face cleared somewhat. " I beg your pardon, mademoiselle," he said slowly, looking from her face to mine. " I begin to understand a little, I think. There is a very sufficient reason why a French officer might ap- pear in an enemy's country without his uniform — that country being Grand Pre — and yet be no spy!" •• I give you my word of honour," said I, ** that I am no spy, but merely your prisoner. And if brought to trial I will prove what I say." " I beg your pardon also — provisionally," he replied, with a pleasant air. " I am the last to believe a gentleman a spy, and I am confident you will clear yourself of the unavoidable charge. You are a soldier. You must see it to be un- avoidable," he added. " I do, monsieur," said I sorrowfully. " I have lain for months, wounded and delirious, in a hid- ing-place not far off, nursed by a faithful friend. Having just recovered, I came here for a fare- f, Over Gaspereau Ridge 179 well to dear fi lends; and you have arrived inoppor- tunely, monsieur." There was the bitterness of final despair beneath the lightness which I assumed. " Your action seems to me very pardonable, I assure you," said he. " But I am not the judge. We must go." And he motioned his men to me. But Yvonne came close to my side and laid her hand lightly on my arm. " It is my wish, Monsieur Waldron," she said, "that Captain Grande should escort me, with your assistance, and that of your guard also, if you will ! " "Why, certainly, mademoiselle, it shall be as you wish," he said, with a ghost of a smile, which set her blushing wildly. " I have Captain Grande's sword and his " — " And my word," said I, bowing. "And his parole," he continued. "I need in no way constrain him till we reach the the chapel. I will lead my men a little in the rear, and strive not to interrupt your conversation." " I can never thank you enough for your cour- tesy, monsieur," said I. So it came that a strange procession marched up the Gaspereau Ridge, through the bleak twilight. And the hilltop drew swiftly near — and my last few minutes sped — and I was dumb. Still, she was at my side. And perhaps my silence spoke. iWl ff: if '!^ liii II i8o A Sister to Evangeline But when we crossed the ridge, and the chapel prison appeared, and Yvonne's house some way apart, my tongue found speech, — but not argu- ment, only wild entreaties, adorations, words that made her body tremble, though not, alas ! her will. At length she stopped. " You must go back to them now, Paul. I will go on alone. Good-by, dear ! " " But we are not near the house," I stammered. " Monsieur Anderson may come out to meet me. If he sees you now, before I change my conditions, how shall I escape the instant fulfil- ment of my promise?" \ " But I am not safe, surely," I argued. " His testimony can at once make you safe," said she. My heart dropped, feeling the truth of her words. I could say nothing that I had not already said. Feeling impotent, feeling that utter defeat had been hurled upon me in the very moment of triumph, my brain seemed to stop working. " What will you do ? " was all that came through my dry lips. She had grown much older in the last hour. " I will wait, Paul, as I promised you," she said sadly ; " one year — no, two years — before I redeem my pledge and become his wife. That is all I can do — and that I can do. I choose to believe that you would have obeyed me and gone Over Gaspereau Ridge i8i away at once, if we had not been interrupted. Therefore I keep my promise to you. It was not your fault that you were not permitted to obey me. I was quite at the end of my tether, though my resolution rose again to full stature on learning that I should have time — time to plan anew. She held out her hand. " Good-by, and God keep you, my dear friend ! " said she very softly. I looked around. The squad had halted near by. Some were looking, curse them ! But that most decent officer had his back turned, and was intently scanning the weather. I lifted her hand to my lips. "My— wife!" I muttered, unfalteringly obsti- nate. '• No ! " she said sadly. " Only your friend. Oh, leave me that ! " And she was gone, a Psyche glimmering away through the dark which strove to cling to her. I stood for a moment, eyes and heart straining after her. Then I turned as the guard came up. " At your service, monsieur," said I. H /i ''I !Kr r i 1 1 »! < f k III : i f 1 iBlill'.i.^Jrhli Chapter XXVI The Chapel Prison BEFORE the door of the chapel stood a bent old figure hooded in a red shawl. Mutter- ing, and with bowed head, it poked in the dust with a staff. When we were close at hand it straightened alertly; and old Mother P6che's startling eyes flashed into mine. I could have kissed the strange hawk face, so glad was I to see it. And I held out my hand, to be clutched eagerly. "My blessings be upon thee, cheri Master Paul!" she cried. - Thank you, mothe- ! " said I. " Your love is very dear to me ; and for your blessings, I eed them all." " Come, monsieur," said Waldron, at the steps. " A word, a word," she begged, half of him, half of me, " before thou go in tnere and these old eyes, perhaps, see thee never again." ^^ '^ Grant me one moment, I beg you, monsieur, said I earnestly to Waldron. " She is a dear old friend and retainer of my family." 182 ^' The Chapel Prison 183 He nodded, and turned half aside in patient in- difference. "Listen," she whispered, thrusting her face near mine, and talking rapidly, that the guard, who were but clumsy with our French speech, might not understand. "Hast thou the stone safe?" " Surely," said I. " Then here, take this," she muttered, laying a silken tress of hair in my hand. In the dusk I could not note its colour ; but I needed not light to tell me whose it was. My blood ran hot and cold beneath it. The pulse throbbed furiously in my fingers as they closed upon it. " I clipped it under the new moon, the right moon, with my own hand, for thee, Master Paul." " Bid she know it was for me ? " I asked, in a sort of ecstasy. " No, no ! " answered the old dame impatiently; "but she gave it to me — laughing because I " wanted it. I said that I was going far away with these my people, " — sweeping her hand toward the village, — " while she, perhaps, would stay. Strangely she regarded that perhaps. Master Paul. But here it is — and I have put a spell upon it while waiting for thee to come ; and it will draw, it will draw her ; she cannot let it go very far off^ as long as she lives. It is for thee, cheri, I did it" Now, how I loved her for it, even while deriding 1 8a A Sister to Evangeline 7 ' i i 111 196 A Sister to Evangeline the days — a break which, for all its bitterness, was welcomed. Word came that another ship was tardily ready for its freight of exiles. The weary faces of the guard brightened, for here was evi- dence that something was being done. Within the chapel rose a hum of expectation, and all spec- ulated on their chances. For if exile was to be, " Let it come quickly " was the cry of ail. But no — not of all. I feared it, with a phys- ical fear till then unknown to me. To me it meant a new and appalling barrier. Here but two wooden walls and a stone's throw of wintry space fenced me from her bodily presence. But after exile, how many seas, and vicissitudes, and uncom- prehending alien faces ! But I was not to go this time ; nor yet my cousin Marc, who, having at last received from Quebec authentic word of the health and safety of his Puritan, was looking out upon events with his old enviable calm. On the day when a stir in the cottages betokened that embarkation was to begin, the south windows of the chapel were in demand. They afforded a clear view of the village and a partial view of the landing-place. Benches were piled before them, and we took turns by the half hour in looking out, those at the post of observation passing messages back to the eager rows behind. It was plain at once that the cottages at the west end of the Dead Days and Withered Dreams 197 village were to be cleared in a block. On a sudden there was a sharp outcry from the three Le Boutil- hers. as they saw their homely house-gear being earned from their doorways and heaped upon a lumbenng hay-wagon. They were of a nervous stock, and forthwith began a great lamentation, thmkmg that their wives and families were to be sent away without them. When the little proces- sion started down the street toward the landing — the old grandmother and the two littlest children perched on the wagon-load, the wives and other children walking beside in attitudes that proclaimed their tears - the good fellows became so excited as to trouble our company. " Chut, men ! " cried Marc, in a tone of sharp command. " Are you become women all at once ? There will be no separation of families this time, when there is but one ship and no room for mis- takes. The guards yonder will be calling for you presently, never fear." This quieted them ; for my cousin had a con- vincing way with him, and they accounted his wisdom something beyond natural. Then there came by two more wagons, and another sorrowful procession, appearing from the direction of the Habitants ; and the word - Le Marchands " went muttering through the prison Le Marchand settlement was moving to the ship -and even now a cloud of black smoke, with red I f ^JB' 198 A Sister to Evangeline IM' I* 11 '. ' f ii r f ; I tongues visible on the morning air, showed us what would befall the houses of Grand Pr6 when the folk of Grand Pre should be gone. The Le Marchand men made no sign, save to glower under their brows and grip the window sashes with tense fingers. They were of different stuff from the Le Boutilliers, these black Le Marchands. They set their teeth hard, and waited. So it went on through the morning, one man after another seeing his family led away to the ship — his family and some scant portion of his goods ; and thus we came to know what men among us were like to be called forth on this voyage. Presently the big door was thrown open, and all faces flashed about to the new interest. Outside stood a double red line of English soldiers. An officer — the round-faced Colonel Winslow him- self — stepped in, a scroll of paper curling in his hand. In a precise and something pompous voice he read aloud the names of those to go. The Le Marchands were first on the roll; then the Le Boutilliers, Ba'tiste Chouan, Jean and Tamin Masson, and a long list that promised to thin our crowded benches by one-third. But I was left among the unsummoned; and my cousin Marc, and long Philibert Trou, and the wily fox La Mouche ; and I saw Marc's lips compress with g, one man iway to the rtion of his what men rth on this Dead Days and Withered Dreams 199 So these chosen ones marched off between their guards ; and that afternoon the ship went out on the ebb tide with a wind that carried her, white- sa,led around the daric point of Blomidon. Grand Pre chape prison settled apathetically back to a oeeper calm. tr f- s. 1 I '1 li It" "'^ yj^'jw* »' I 'ill ( i U ' ! : ■ — 1 : 1 > ■ ■ • • /■ : ! ! i t 1 . . '. '1^ !'■ "'.::l if t Chapter XXVIII The Ships of her Exile THE days dragged till December was setting his hoar face toward death, and still delayed the last ships. The jailers grew sour-visaged. From Yvonne came no more word, only th^ tidings that she was not well, and that her people were troubled for her. Father Fafard's cheery wrinkles at mouth and eyes deepened from cheer to care ; but still his lips locked over the name of Yvonne. My hope sank ever lower and lower. That old wound in my head, cured by Grul's searching simples, began to harass me afresh — whether from cold, the chapel being but barn-like, or from the circumstance that my heart, ceaselessly gnaw- ing upon itself, gnawed also upon every tissue and nerve. I came strangely close to the ranger La Mouche in those bad days; for though I knew not, nor cared nor dared to ask, his story, I saw in his eyes a something which he, too, doubtless saw in mine. So it came that we sat much 200 The Ships of her Exile 20I together, in a black silence. It was not that I loved less than of old my true comrade Marc, but the fact that he possessed where he loved, and could with blissful confidence look forward, set him some way apart from me. Upon La Mouche, with the deep hurt sullen in his eyes, I could look and mutter to myself: " Old, wily fox, is your foot, once so free, caught in the snare of a woman?" So tortuous a thing in its workings is this red clot of a human heart that I got a kind of per- verted solace out of such thoughts as these. At last the tired watchers at our south windows announced two ship in the basin. They came up on the flood, and dropped anchor off the Gaspe- reau mouth. '• This ends it," I heard Marc say coolly. "All that's left of Grand PrI can go in those two ships." To me the words came as a knell for the burial of my last hope. The embarkation had now to be pushed with a speed which wrought infinite confusion, for the weather had turned bitter, and it was not possible for women and children to long endure the cold of their dismantled homes. The big wagons, watched by us from our windows, went creaking and rat- tling down the frozen roads. Wailing women frightened and wondering children, beds, chests' many-colored quilts, bright red and green chairs' : ' wiji Ijffi |:| i ' M |r .•fi. 1 * 1 ., 1 , , , • 1 ■■ . : ■ : ■ ( , ; ■ s * 1 ■;i i )t ,11 t 1 I tS 1 II I i 1 tS^Wli !! 1 ll ' ':'■ J 1. 1 ' '.a i ' 1 202 A Sister to Evangeline ^'' 'i i :, is!. ■! M ^ ;.J|: il: ' 1 ' ' . f — to us it looked as if all these were tumbled into a narrowing vortex and swept with a piteous indis- criminacy into one ship or the other. The orderly method with which the previous embarkings had been managed was now all thrown to the winds by the fierce necessity for haste. We in the chapel were not left long to watch the scene from the windows. While yet the main street of Grand Pre was dolor- ous with the tears of the women and children, the doors of our prison opened and names were called. I heeded them not ; but the sound of my own name pierced my gloom ; and I went out. In the tingling air I awoke a little, to gaze up the hill at the large house where Yvonne had lodged since the parson- age had been taken for a guard-house. No message came to me from those north windows. Then I turned, to find Marc at my side. " Courage, cousin mine," he whispered. " We are not beaten yet. Better outside than in there. This much means freedom — and, once free, we'll act." " No, Marc, I'm not beaten," I muttered. " But — it looks as if I were." " Chut, man ! " said he crisply. "You couldn't do a better thing to bring her to her senses than you are doing now." It was but a few steps down to the lane, and there we found ourselves in a jumble of heaped carts and blue-skirted, weeping women. My head was red. " But The Ships of her Exile 203 paining me sorely — a numb ache that seemed to rise in the core of my brain. But I remember noting with a far-off commiseration the blubbered faces of the women, and their poor little solicitudes for this or that bit of household gear which, from time to time, would fall crashing to the ground from the hastily laden carts. I found spirit to wonder that the tears which had exhausted them- selves over the farewell to fatherland and hearth- side should break out afresh over the cracking of a gilded glass or the shattering of a blue and silver jug. The women's lamentations in a little hardened me, so that my ears ignored them; but the wide- eyed terrors of the children, their questions unan- swered, their whimpering at the cold that blued their hands, all this pierced me. Tears for the children's sorrow gathered in my heart, till it was nigh to bursting; and this curbed passion of pity, I think, kept my sick body from collapse. It in some way threw me back from my own misery on to my old unroutable resolution. " I will win ! " I said in my heart, as we came down upon the wharf at the Gaspereau mouth. ^' Though there seems to be no more hope, there is life ; and while there is life, I hold on." ' When we reached the wharf the ebb was well advanced. The boats could not get near the wharf. Women had to wade ankle-deep in freezing slime to reach them. The slime was churned with \H ;i) ; IB? W ' w%\ ,^ WA. i ! ; PP !!i| '•'■ ' ' I i i :.; i' ,1 :. I'f .1 1 '1 1i 1 ' ) 1 1 1 ' '. = ■1 ■ %ii\ ■i l! , ;! t ' ' .' i \ i ^Wiilm^ 204 A Sister to Evangeline the struggle of many feet. The stuff from the carts was at times dropped in the ooze, to be re- covered or not as might chance. The soldiers toiled faithfully, and their leggings to the knee were a sorry sight. They were patient, these red- coats, with the women, who often seemed to lose their heads so that they knew not which boat they wanted to go in. To the children every red-coat seemed tender as a mother. For any one, indeed, they would do anything, except endure delay. Haste, haste, haste was all — and therefore there was calamitous confusion. While I stood on the wharf awaiting the order to embark, I saw a stouc girl in a dark-red stomacher and grey petticoat throw herself screaming into the water where it was about waist deep, and scramble desperately to another boat near by. No effort was made to restrain her. Dripping with tide and slime she climbed over the gunwale ; and belike found what she sought, for her cries ceased. Again I noted Marc called my attention to it — a small child being passed from one boat to the other, as the two, bound for different ships, were about diverg- ing. The mother had stumbled blindly into one boat while the child had been tossed into the other. In the effort to remedy this oversight the child was dropped into the water between the boats. The screams of the mother were like a knife in our ears. Two sailors went overboard at pil 11! 1 The Ships of her Exile 205 once, but there was some delay ere the httle one was recovered. Then we saw its Hmp body passed in over the boatside; whether aHve or dead we could not judge ; but the screams ceased and our ear-drums blessed the respite. With the next boat came our turn ; and I found myself wading down the slope of icy ooze. I heard Marc, just behind me, mutter a careless imprecation upon the needless defiling of his boots. He was ever imperturbable, my cousin, — a hot heart, but in steel harness. We loaded the roomy long-boat till the gunwale was almost awash. The big oars creaked and thumped in the rowlocks. We moved laboriously out to the ships, which swung on straining cable in the tide. As we came under her black-wall side, with the turbid red-grey current hissing past it, men on deck caught us with grapnels, and we swung, splashing, under the stern. Then, the tide being very troublesome, we were drawn again alongside. Marc was at my elbow. " Look ! " he cried, point- ing to the ridge behind the village. I saw a wide- roofed cottage on the crest break into flame. There was a wind up there, though little as yet down here in the valley ; and the flames streamed out to westward, the black smoke rolling low and ragged above them. " So goes all Grand Pre in a little ! " muttered Marc. s* ii Tl 15 , [I i'-V hi;. 1 ' IMA' ' ■ . 1 I I 4 fin I HI 2o6 A Sister to Evangeline " It is Ftit Joliet's house ! " said I. •' Yes," said a steady young voice behind me ; and I turned to see Petit Joliet himself, watching with undaunted eyes the burning of his home. " Yes, and it was a fine house. It would have hurt my father sorely, were he alive now, to see it go up in smoke like that." " Well, you have a brave heart," said I, liking him well as I saw his firmness. " Oh," said he, "the only thing that is troubling me is this — shall I find my mother on this ship? They are making mistakes now, these English, in their haste to be done with us. I'm worried." •' If she is not on board," said my kind Marc, " we'll try and keep a watch on the boats ; and if we see her bound for the wrong ship we'll let the guard know. They wani to keep families to- gether, if they can." This was Marc, ever careful of others. But his good purpose was like to have been frustrated soon as formed ; for scarce were our feet well on deck when our hands were clapped in irons, and we were marched off straight to the hold. " Sorry, sir. Can't help it. So many of you, you know," said the red-coat apologetically, as I stretched out my wrists to him. But glancing about the crowded deck I de- scried my good friend, Lieutenant Waldron, busily unravelling the snarl of things. In answer to my The Ships of her Exile 207 hail he came at once, warm, friendly, and trying not to see my irons. " One last little service, sir ! " I cried. " Little to us, it may be great to others. You see we are ironed. Captain de Mer and I. We will give our word to neither attempt escape nor in any way interfere with this sorry work. Let us two wait here on deck till the ship sails. We know all these villagers; and we want to help you avoid the severance of families." " It is little to grant for you, my friend," said he, in a feeling voice. " You cannot know how my heart is aching. I will speak to the captain of the ship, and you shall stay on deck till the ship sails." Marc thanked him courteously, but I with no more than a look, for words did not at that time seem compliant to say what I desired them to say. They are false and treacherous spirits, these words we make so free with and trust so rashly with affairs of life and death. How often do they take an honest meaning from the heart and twist it to the semblance of a lie as it leaves the lips ! How often do they take a flame from the inmost soul, and make it ice before it reaches the soul toward which it thrilled forth ! It has been my calling to work with words in peace, as with swords in time of war; and I know them. I do not trust them. The swords are the safer. ■I .If i p! |i TTfl tiiu ir j iw ilf^i Chapter XXIX The Hour of her Desolation RETURNING from a brief word with the ship- captain, — a very broad-bearded, broad- chested man, in a very rough blue coat, — Lieutenant Waldron passed us hastily, and signi- fied that it was all right. With this sanction we pushed along the crowded deck in order to gain a post of vantage at the bow. The vessel, whose hold was now to be our new and narrow cage, was one of those ordinarily engaged in the West Indian trade. Our noses told us this. To the savours of fish and tar which clung in her timbers she added a foreign tang of molasses, rum, and coffee. As we stumbled up the cluttered deck, lacking the balance of free hands, these shippy smells were crossed in curious, pathetic fashion by the homely odours of the blankets, clothes, pillows, and other household stuff that lay about waiting for storage. Here a woman sat stolidly upon her own pile, with a mortgage on the future so long as she kept her in possession; and there a youngster, 208 bedding The Hour of her Desolation 209 already homesick, for his wide-hearthed cabin, sobbed heavily, with his face buried in an old coat of his father's. For hours, in the bitter cold, we held our post in the bow of the ship and watched the boats go back and forth. Of the old mother of Petit Joiiet we saw nothing. We judged perforce that she had been moved early and carried to the other ship, which swung at anchor a little up the channel. We were able — I say we, though Marc did all, I being, as it were, drowned in my own dejection we were able to be of service in divers instances. When, for example, young Violet was brought aboard with another boat-load from the chapel prison, we made haste to tell the guards that we had seen his mother and sisters taken to the other ship. As a consequence, when the boat went back to the wharf it carried young Violet; so he and his were not divided in their exile. By the very next boat there came to us a black- browed, white-lipped woman, from whose dry eyes the tears seemed all drained out. She carried a babe-at-breast, while two thin little ones clung to her homespun skirt. As soon as she reached the deck she stared around in wild expectation, as if she thought to find her husband waiting to receive her. Not seeing him, she straightway fainted in a heap. It chanced I knew the woman's face. She was the wife of one Caspar Besnard, of Pereau, P*r If^jwr m-\ 1 I. I'l:. \ 1 ' 1 . f 1 >\' 1 i ! < 2IO A Sister to Evangeline whom I had seen taken, early in the day, to the other ship. He was conspicuous by reason of having red hair, a marvel in Acadie ; and there- fore my memory had retained him, though he con- cerned me not. Now, however, he did concern me much. A few words to the officer of the guard, and the poor woman, with her children, was trans- ferred to where she doubtless found her husband. Such cases justified, in our jailers' eyes, the favour that had been shown us. Meanwhile our ship had filled up. We had seen Long Philibert and La Mouche brought aboard, but had not spoken with them. " Time for that later," Marc had said. I had watched for Petit Joliet's mother; and I had watched eagerly for old Mother P^che ; but in vain. While yet the boats were plying, heavy laden, between the shore and the other ship, we found ourselves ready for departure. Our boats were swung aboard ; and the English Veo, heave ho! arose as the sailors shoved on the capstan. Lieutenant Waldron, after an all but wordless farewell, went ashore in the gig with two soldiers. The rest of the red-coats stayed aboard. They had been reenforced by a fresh squad who were marched down late to the land- ing. These, plainly, were to be our guard during the voyage ; and I saw with a sort of vague resent- ment that a tall, foppish exquisite of an officer, known to me by sight, was to command this guard. The Hour of her Desolation 211 He was one Lieutenant Shafto, whom we had seen two or three times at the chapel prison ; and I think all disliked him for a certain elaborate loftiness in his air. It came to my mind dimly that I should well rejoice to cross swords with him, and I hinted as much to Marc. "Who knoM/s?" said my unruffled cousin; "we may live to see him look less complacent." His smile had a meaning which I could not fathom. I could see no ground for his sanguine satisfaction ; and I dared not question where some enemy might overhear. I thought no more of it, there- fore, but relapsed into my apathy. As we slipped down the tide I saw, in a boat-load just approach- ing the other ship, a figure with a red shawl wrapped round head and shoulders. This gave me a pang, as I had hoped to have Mother P^che with me, to talk to me of Yvonne and help me to build up the refuge of a credulous hope. But since even that was denied me — well, it was nothing, after all, and I was a child ! I turned my eyes upon the house, far up the ridge, where the Lamouries had lodging. It was one of four, stand- ing well aloof from the rest of the village ; and I knew they all were occupied by those prudent ones of the neighbourhood who had been wise in time and now stood safe in English favour. The doom of Grand Pre, I knew, would turn aside from them. H L- ii" til 212 A Sister to Evangeline h .If I ' ' <:«' i: d ii ! • i; But on the emptied and desolated village it was even now descending. Marc and I, unnoticed in our place, were free to watch. So dire was even yet the confusion on our deck, so busy seamen and soldiers alike, that we were quite forgotten for a time. The early winter dark was gathering upon Blomidon and the farther hills ; but there was to be no dark that night by the mouth of Gaspereau. The house of Petit Joliet, upon the hill, burned long alone. It was perhaps a signal to the troops at Piziquid, twenty miles away, telling them that the work at Grand Pre was done. Not till late in the afternoon was the torch set to the village itsblf. Then smoke arose suddenly on the westernmost outskirts, toward the Habitants dyke. The wind being from the southeast, the fire spread but slowly against it. As the smoke drove low the flames started into more conspicuous brilliance, licking lithely over and under the rolling cloud that strove to smother them. These empty houses burned for the most part with a clear, light flame ; but the barns, stored with hay and straw, vomited angry red, streaked with black. Up the bleak hillside ran the terrified cattie, with wildly tossing horns. At times, even on shipboard, we caught their bellowings. They had been turned loose, of course, before the fires were started, but had remained huddled in the familiar barnyards until this horrible ^nd inexplicable cataclysm drove The Hour of her Desolation 213 them forth. Far up the slope we saw them turn and stand at gaze. In an hour we observed that the wharf was empty, and the other ship hoisting sail. Then the fires sprang up in every part of the village at once. They ran along the main street below the chapel ; but they came not very near the chapel itself, for all the buildings in its immediate neigh- bourhood had been long ago removed, and it stood in a safe isolation, towering in white solemnity over the red tumult of ruin. " The chapel will be a camp to-night, instead of a prison," said Marc at my ear, his grave eyes fixed and wide. "It will be the last thing to go — it and the Colony of Compromise yonder up the hill." "But who shall blame them for the com- promise?" I protested, unwilHng to hear censure that touched the father of Yvonne. Marc shrugged his shoulders r.t this. He never was a lover of vain argument. "I wonder where the Black Abbe is at this moment ! " was what he said, with no apparent relevancy. " Not yet in his own place, I fear ! " said I. "The implication is a pious one," said Marc. " Yonder is the work of him, and of no other. He should be roasting now in the hottest of it." I really, at this moment, cared little, and was at U' f ? 1 214 A Sister to Evangeline I ' lU 1 ■ i loss for reply. But a bullying roar of a voice just behind us saved me the necessity of answering. " Here, you two ! What are ye doin' here on deck? Git, now! Git, quick!" The speaker was a big, loose-jointed man, ill- favoured and palpably ill-humoured. I was pleased to note that the middle two of his obtrusive front teeth were wanting, and that his nose was so mis- shapen as to suggest some past calamitous experi- ence. As I learned afterwards, this was our ship's first mate. I was too dull of mood — too sick, in fact — to be instantly wroth at his insolence. I looked curiously at him ; but Marc answered 'n a quiet voice : "Merely waiting here, sir, on parole and by direction, till the proper authorities are ready to take us below ! " And he thrust out his manacled hands to show how we were conditioned. "Well, here's proper authority, ye'U find out. Git, er I'll jog ye ! " And he made a motion to take me by the collar. I stepped aside and faced him. I looked him in the eyes with a sudden rage so deadly that he must have felt it, for he hesitated. I cared noth- ing then what befell me, and would have smashed him with my iron-locked wrist had he touched me, or else so tripped him and fallen with him that we should have gone overboard together. But he was a brute of some perception, and his hesitancy The Hour of her Desolation 215 most likely saved us both. It gave Marc time to shout — •* Guards ! Guards ! Here ! Prisoner escaping ! " Instantly along the red-lit deck came soldiers running — three of them. The mate had grabbed a belaying-pin, but stood fingering it, uncertain of his status in relation to the soldiers. " Corporal," said Marc ceremoniously to one of them, discerning his rank by the stripes on his sleeve, " pardon the false alarm. There was no prisoner escaping. We were here on parole, by the favour of Lieutenant Waldron — as you your- self know, indeed, for wc helped you this afternoon in getting scattered families together. But this man — we don't know who he is — was brutal, and threatening violence in spite of our defenceless state. Please take us in charge ! " " Certainly, Captain de Mer," said the man promptly. " I was just about coming for you ! " Then he turned to the mate with an air of triumphant aversion, in which lurked, perhaps, a consciousness of conflicting and ill-defined author- ities. "No belaying-pins for the prisoners!" he growled. " Keep them for yer poor swabs o' sailor lads. " As we marched down the deck under guard the sails overhead were all aglow, the masts and spars gleamed ruddily. The menacing radiance ,"'1 'It Hi' m ,IS w- , I 2l6 A Sister to Evangeline was by this time filling the whole heaven, and the small, quick-running surges flashed under it with a sinister sheen. As we reached the^open hatch 1 turned for a last look at Grand Pre. The whole valley was now as it were one seething lake of smoke and flame, the high, half-shrouded spire of the chapel rising impregnable on the further brink. The conflagration was fiercest now along the eastern half of the main street, toward the water side. Even at this distance we heard the great-lunged roar of it. High over the chaos, like a vaulted roof upheld by the Gaspereau Ridge, arched an almost stationary covering of smoke- cloud, impenetrable, and red as blood along its under side. The smoke of the burning was carried off toward the Habitants and Canard — where there was nothing left to burn. Between the red stillness above and the red turbulence below, apart and safe on their high slope, gleamed the cottages of the Colony of Compromise. With what eyes, I won- dered, does my beloved look out upon this horror? Do they strain sadly after the departing ships — or does the Englishman stand by and comfort her? As I got clumsily down the ladder the last thing I saw — and the picture bit its lines in strange fashion on my memory — was the other ship, a league behind us, black-winged against the flame. Then the hatch closed down. By the glimmer of a swinging lanthorn we groped our way to a li H\ The Hour of her Desolation 217 space where we two could lie down side by side. Marc wanted to talk, but I could not. There was a throbbing in my head, a great numbness on my heart. In my ears the voice of the Minas waves assailing the ship's timbers seemed to whisper of the end of things. Grand Pre was gone. I was being carried, sick and in chains, to some far-off land of strangers. My beloved was cared for by another. " No ! " said I in my heart (I thought at first I had spoken it aloud, but Marc did not stir), " when my foot touches land my face shall turn back to seek her face again, though it be from the ends of earth. It is vain, but I will not give her up. I am not dead yet — though hope is ! " As I thought the words there came humming through my brain that foolish saying of Mother P^che's. Again I saw her on that spring evening bending over my palm and murmuring — " Vour heart's desire is near your death of hope ! " " Here is my death of hope, mother," said I to myself. "But where is my heart's desire?" And with that I laughed harshly — aloud. It was an ill sound in that place of bitterness, and heads were raised to look at me. Marc asked, with a trace of apprehension in his voice : " What's the matter, Paul ? Anything to laugh at ? " "Myself! " I muttered. " The humour of the subject is not obvious," said he curtly. ]!•' i! iris ' 1 .*;!, I'l . i Chapter XXX A Woman's Privilege T DID not sleep that night -not one eye-wink 1 _ in the hold of the New England ship. Neil r could I think, nor even greatly suffer. Rather I lay as it were numbly weltermg m my despair. What if I had known all that was gomg on meanwhile in that other ship, a league behmd us, sailing under the lurid sky ! The events which I am now about to set down were not, as will be seen, matter of my own ex- perience. I tell what I have inferred and what has been told me -but told me from such lips and in such fashion that I may indeed be said to have lived it all myself. It is more real to me than if my own eyes had followed it. It is sometime true that we may see wlli the eyes of others -of one other - more vividly than with our own. In the biggest house of that - Colony of Com- promise " on the hill - the house nearest the Ta^Iprison-a girl stood at a south window watching the flames in the village below. The 218 |ii I hi'* '11' A Woman's Privilege 219 flames, at least, she seemed to be watching. What she saw was the last little column of prisoners marching away from the chapel ; and her teeth were set hard upon her under lip. She was not thinking ; she was simply clarifying a confused resolve. White and thin, and with deep purple hollows under her great eyes, she was nevertheless not less beautiful than when, a few months before, joyous mirth had flashed from her every look and gesture, as colored lights from a fire-opal. She still wore on her small feet moccasins ' Indian work ; but now, in winter, they were of heavy, soft, white car- ibou-skin, laced high upon the ankles, and orna- mented with quaint pattern of red and green porcupine quills. Her skirt and bodice were of creamy woollen cloth; and over her shoulders, crossed upon her breast and caught in her girdle, was spread a scarf of dark-yellow silk. The little black lace shawl was flung back from her head, and her hands, twisted tightly in the ends of 't, were for a wonder quite still — tensely still, with an air of final decision. Close beside her, flung upon the back of a high wooden settee, lay a long, heavy, hooded cloak of grey homespun, such as the peasant women of Acadie were wont to wear in winter as an over-garment. A door behind her opened, but Yvonne did not turn her head. George Anderson came in. He fiiii 220 A Sister to Evangeline came to the window, and tried to look into her eyes. His face was grave with anxiety, but touched, too, with a curious mixture of impatience and relief. He spoke at once, in a voice both tender and tolerant. " There go the last of them, poor chaps ! " he said. " Captain Grande went some hours ago — quite early. I pray, dear, that now he is gone — to exile indeed, but in safety — you will recover your peace of mind, and throw off this morbid mood, and be just a little bit kinder to— some people ! " And he tried, with an awkward timidity to take her hand. She turned upon him a sombre, compassionate gaze, but far-off, almost as if she saw him in a dream. " Don't touch me — just now," she said gently, removing her hand. " I must go out into the pastures for air, I think. All this stifles me! No, alone, alone!" she added more quickly, in answer to an entreaty in his eyes. " But, oh, I am sorry, so sorry beyond words, that I cannot seem kind to — some people ! Good-by." She left the room, and closed the door behind her. The door shut smartly. It sounded like a proclamation of her resolve. So — that was set- tled ! In an instant her whole demeanour changed. A fire came back into her eyes, and she stepped with her old, soft-swaying lightness. In the room A Woman's Privilege 221 which she now entered sat her father and mother. The withered little reminiscence of Versailles watched at a window-side, her black eyes bright with interest, her thin lips slightly curved with an acerb and cynical compassion. But Giles de La- mourie sat with his back to the window, his face heavy and grey. " This is too awful ! " he said, as Yvonne came up to him, and, bending over, kissed him on the forehead and the lips. •* It is like a nightmare ! " she answered. " But, would you believe it, papa, the very shock is doing me good? The suspense — that kills ! But I feel more like myself than I have for weeks. I must go out, breathe, and walk hard in the open." De Lamourie's face lightened. " Thou art better, little one," said he. " But why go alone at such a time ? Where's George ? " But Yvonne was already at her mother's side, kissing her, and did not answer her father's ques- tion ; which, indeed, needed no answer, as he had himself seen Anderson go into th^ inner room and not return. "But where will you go, child?" queried her mother. " There are no longer any left of your sick and your poor and your husbandless to visit." " But I will be my own sick, little mamma," she cried nervously, " and my own poor — and my own husbandless. I will visit myself. Don't ! if si ii.' f. s 222 A Sister to Evangeline t I '.1 ,1 ■ I, r ■ ll ■Hi be troubled for me, dearies ! " she added, in a tender voice. " I am so much better already." The next moment she was gone. The door shut loudly after her. " Wilful ! " said her mother. " Yes, more like she used to be. Much better ! " exclaimed Giles de Lamourie, rising and looking out at the fires in a moment of brief absent-mindedness. "Yes, much better, George," he added, as Anderson appeared from the inner room. But the Englishman's face was full of discom- fort. " I wish she would not go running out alone this way," said he. "Curious that she should prefer to be alone, George," said Madame de Lamourie, with delib- erate malice. She was beginning to dislike this man who so palpably could not give her daughter happiness. • Yvonne, meanwhile, was speeding across the open fields, in the teeth of the wind. The ground was hard as iron, but there was little snow — only a dry, powdery covering deep enough to keep the stubble from hurting her feet. She ran straight for the tiny cabin of Mother Pache, trusting to find her not yet gone. None of the houses at the east- ern end of the village were as yet on fire. That of Mother P6che stood a little apart, in a bushy A Woman's Privilege 223 pasture-lot. Yvonne found the low door swinging wide, the house deserted ; but there were red embers still on the hearth, whereby she knew the old woman had not been long away. The empty house seemed to whisper of fear and grief from every corner. She turned away and ran toward the landing, her heart chilled with a sudden apprehension that she might be too late. Before she was clear of the bushes, however, she stopped with a cry. A man who seemed to have risen out of the ground stood right in her path. He was of a sturdy figure, somewhat short, and clad in dull- coloured homespun of peasant fashion. At sight of her beauty and her alarm his woollen cap was snatched from his head and his cunning face took on the utmost deference. " Have no fear of me, mademoiselle, — Mademoi- selle de Lamourie, if I may hazard a guess from your beauty," said he smoothly. " It is I who am in peril, lest you should reveal me to my enemies." "Who are you, monsieur?" she asked, recover- ing her self-possession and fretting to be gone. " A spy," he whispered, " in the pay of the King of France, who must know, to avenge them later, the wrongs of his people here in Acadie. I have thrown myself on your mercy, that I might ask you if the families who have found favour with the English will remain here after this work is done, or be taken elsewhere. I pray you inform me." ! n h If m^ ■ iii fa si- ' ' ft ■ . . > I i.l«>lll-,i i[ 1 ! 1 1 1 I ,1 I ' (' I Young Will and Old Wisdom 233 at a sound close beside her. Yvonne had buried her face in a coloured quilt, and was sobbing tempestuously. " It is well ! It had to come ! It was just a pulling of herself up by the roots lo leave her father and mother, poor heart ! " thought the old woman to herself. Then after a few minutes, she said aloud : " That is right, dear heart ! Cry all you can. Cry it all out. You have held it back too long." "Oh, how could I leave them so? How could I be so cruel?" moaned the girl, catching her breath at every word or two. " They will die of sorrow, I know they will ! " " No, cheriey they will not die of sorrow," said the old dame softly. " They will grieve ; but they have each other. And they will see you again ; and they will know you are safe, with your — husband^' she finished slowly. Yvonne was silent at the word ; but it was not repeated, though she listened for it. "But how will they know I am safe?" she asked. " Because," said the old woman, rising nimbly to her feet, " the sailors are getting up the anchor now, and there is the last boat returning to the land. I go to send word by them, saying where you are. It is too late for any one to follow you now." I fit ff '0. t |!5r=i A Sister to Evangeline m\ t • ir s' 334 She went to the side of the ship, and called to the boat as it rowed away : "Will you have the goodness, gentlemen, to send word to Monsieur de Lamourie that his daughter is safe and well, and that she has of her own choice gone into exile for a reason which he will understand ; but that she will come back, with love, when things are something changed ? " The boat stopped, and the soldiers listened with astonishment to this strange message. There was a moment of indecision, and she trembled lest the boat should put back. But there was no one aboard with authority to thwart the will of Made- moiselle de Lamourie, so a doubtful wice cried : "The message shall be delivered." The oars dipped again, and the boat ran swiftly toward the landing ; and the ship sped smoothly out with the tide. . , , 1 . The hawk face in the red shawl hurried back to Yvonne. The girl, sorely overwrought, had once more buried her head in the quilt, that she might the more unrestrainedly give way to her tears. Though she had no least dream of going back, nevertheless the sending of the message, and the realization that the ship was actually under way. had overwhelmed her. Moreover, it had been for weeks that she had endured the great strain dry. eyed, her breast anguished for the relief of tears. Now that the relief had come, however, it threat- id called to n tie men, to ie that his I has of her Dn which he e back, with red?" listened with There was bled lest the was no one irill of Made- oice cried : at ran swiftly ped smoothly irried back to ^ht, had once hat she might to her tears. ■ going back, ssage, and the jnder way, had had been for eat strain dry- relief of tears, rever, it threat- Young Will and Old Wisdom 235 ened to grow excessive, too exhausting in its violence. Mother P6che sat beside her, watching for a while in silence. Then she seemed to think the passionate outburst should be checked. But she was far too wise to say so. " That's right, dearie," murmured the subtle old dame at the girl's ear. ** Just cry as hard as you like, if it does you good. There's so many women crying on this ship, poor souls, that you're no ways noticeable." So many women crying ! True, they had not the same to cry about that she had, but Yvonne felt that her grief was suddenly cheapened. She must try to be less weak than those others. With an obstinate effort she strangled her sobs. Her shoulders heaved convulsively for a minute or two, and then, with a strong shudder, she sat up, throwing back her deep hair and resolutely dash- ing the tears from her eyes. " What a fool I am, mother ! " she cried. " Here am I, where, after weeks of dreadful think- ing, I deliberately made up my mind to be. And I do not repent my decision — no, not for one instant. It kad to be. Yet — why, I'm acting just like a baby ! But now I'm done with tears, mother. You shall see that I am strong enough for what I've undertaken." •* Of course you are, dear heart ! " said the old woman softly. " The bravest of us women must I'-'W %H 236 A Sister to Evangeline ^^Mff; |!t have our cry once in a while, or something is sure to go wrong inside of us." " And now hadn't I better find the captain, and ask who's on board?" cried Yvonne, springing lightly to her feet, and no longer troubling to keep the hood about her face. " But no, cherie/ " urged the old woman. " Don't you see how every one is still busy, and shouting, and cursing, and unpleasant? This is not the time. Wait just a little. And tell me, now, how you got away." Yvonne sat down again, and told the whole story, vividly, with light in her eyes, and with those revealing gestures of her small hands. The old woman's face darkened at the tale of the spy. "And so you see, mother," she concluded, "I feel very confident that he is in this ship — for the man could have no reason to lie to me about it. I am sure from his face that he is the kind of man to do nothing without a reason.'' " Tell me what he looked like, cherie/ " said the old woman, the whites of her eyes flashing nervously. Yvonne described him — she made him stand there on the deck before them. Mother P^che knew that picture well. Le Fftret was one of the few living creatures she feared. She rose to her feet, and involuntarily cast an eager look in the direction of the other ship, whose sails, a league away, shone scarlet in that disastrous light. Young Will and Old Wisdom 237 Ling IS sure an. "Don't " What is the matter?" asked Yvonne, in swift alarm. " My old legs need stretching. I was too long still," said Mother Pache. " No, you are troubled at something. Tell me at once," cried Yvonne, rising also, and letting her cloak drop. " Yes, cherie, yes ! " answered the old woman, much agitated, and not daring to deceive her. " I am much troubled. That was Le Furet, Vaurin's man, whom Captain Grande knocked down that day at the forge. He would do anything. He would lie even to you ! ' Yvonne grew pale to the lips. " Then you think Paul is not " — she began, in a strained voice. " I think he may not be in this ship," interrupted Mother P^che hurriedly. " But Fll go right now and find out. Wait here for me." And she went off briskly, poking through the confusion with her staff. She knew men, this old dame ; and she quickly found out what she wanted to find out. Trembling with apprehension, she came back to Yvonne — and went straight to the point. " No, no, dear heart ! " she began. ** He is not here. He is on the other ship yonder. I have a plan, though " — But there was no use going on; for Yvonne had dropped in a faint. I!l Chapter XXXII Aboard the " Good Hope " MOTHER Pl&CHE was not alarmed, but, like the shrewd strategist she was, made haste to turn the evil to good account. She sum- moned a soldier — by excellent chance that same boyish-faced, tall fellow who had so patly aided at the embarking ; and he with the best will in the world and a fluttering in his breast carried Yvonne straight to the captain's cabin, where he laid her upon the berth. Then, at Mother P^che's request, he went to beg the captain's presence for an in- stant in his cabin. The ship was now well under way, directed by a pilot who knew the shoals and bars of Minas. The business of stowing baggage was in the hands of petty officers. The captain could be spared for a little ; and without doubt the soldier's manner pro- claimed more clearly than words that here was no affair of a weeping peasant. To such the captain would just now have turned a deaf ear, for he had all day been striving to harden his heart against the 238 Aboard the "Good Hope" 239 sight of sorrows which he could not mitigate. He was an iron-grey, close-bearded man, this New England captain, with a stern mouth and half- shut, twinkling eyes. Rough toward men, he was gentle toward women, children, and animals. His name was John Stayner ; and in Machias, Maine, whence he hailed, he had a motherless daughter of eighteen, the core of his heart, who was com- monly said to rule him as the moon rules ocean. When John Stayner went to the cabin and saw Yvonne in his berth, her white eyelids just stirring to the first return of consciousness, there was small need of Mother P^che's explanations. The girl's astonishing loveliness, her gentle breeding, the plain signals of her distress, all moved him beyond his wont. He straightway saw his own dark-haired Essie in like case — and forthwith, stirred by that fine chivalry which only a strong man far past youth can know, he was on Yvonne's side, though all the world should be against her. As if their low voices were remote and speaking in a tongue but half understood, Yvonne heard them talking of her — the old woman explaining swiftly, concisely, directly; the New Englander speaking but now and then a word of comprehen- sion. His warmth reached Yvonne's heart. She opened her great eyes wide, and looked up into the man's face with a trustful content. His own eyes filled in response. To him it was Hi m Pi '.Ifi 240 A Sister to Evangeline much the look of his Essie. He touched her hand with his rough fingers, and said hastily, "This cabin is yours, Miss — Mademoiselle de Lamourie, I mean, so long as you are on this ship. Good-night. I have much to do. Take care of her," he added, with a sudden tone of authority, turning to Mother P^che. " To-morrow, when we are clear of these shoals and eddies, we'll see what can be done." .And before Yvonne could control her voice or wits to thank him, he was away. She turned shining eyes upon the old woman. -What makes him so kind?" she murmured, still half bewildered. "And what will he do^" « He is a good man," said Mother P^che, with decision. " I believe he will send us in a boat to the other ship, at the very first chance." Yvonne's face grew radiant. She was silent with the thought for a few minutes. Then she glanced about the cabin. "How did I come here?" she asked, raising herself on her elbow. ^ ^ , " This is the captain's own cabin, chene, said the old woman, with triumph in her voice. " And a bie boy-faced red-coat carried you here, at my request, and looked as if he'd like to keep on carry- ins: you forever." , . , .i. "I cannot sleep now, mother! " exclaimed the girl, slipping out of the berth and drawing the woollen cloak about her. " Let us go on deck m^ di Aboard the "Good Hope" 241 awhile. Morning will come the more quickly so." " Yes, to be sure. And I would look a last look on Grand Pre, if only on the flames of its dear roofs," agreed the old woman, obediently smothering a deep yawn. In truth, now that things bade fair to work her will, she wanted nothing so much as a good sleep. But whatever Yvonne wanted was the chief thing in her eyes. The two went on deck, and huddled themselves under the lee of the cabin, for there was a bitter wind blow- ing, and the ship was too far from Grand Pre now to feel the heat of the conflagration. The roaring of it, too, was at this distance diminished to a huge but soft sub-bass, upon which the creaking of cordage, the whistling of the wind, the slapping of the thin-crested waves, built up a sort of bitter, singing harmony which thrilled Yvonne's ears. The whole village was now burning, a wide and terrifying arc of flame from the Gaspereau banks to the woodland lying toward Habitants. Above it towered the chapel, a fixed serenity amid destruc- tion. It held Yvonne's eyes for a while ; but soon they turned away, to follow the lit sails of the other ship, now fleeting toward the foot of Blomidon. At last, with a shiver, she said to her sleepy companion : •' Come, mother, let us go back into the cabin and sleep, and dream what morning may bring to pass." 1 -v: \\ Am "|*h ! I lis l'\ 1 til ■ ! ■ t .] i' Si-" i A Sister to Evangeline 242 That of all which morning should bring to pass nothing might be missed, Yvonne was up and out on deck at the earliest biting daylight. She found the ship already well past Blomidon the vale of desolation quite shut from view To west and north the sky was clear, of a hard, steely pallor. The wind was light, but enough to control the dense smoke which still choked the greater half of the heavens. It lay banked, as it were, sluggishly and blackly revolving itself along the wooded r.dge that runs southward from Blom.don. Straight ahead, across a wintry reach of sea, sped the other ship, with all sail set. It seemed to Yvonne s eyes that she was much farther ahead than the n.ght before, and saiUng with a dreadful swiftness. " Oh, we can never catch up ! " she cried, press- ing one hand to her side and throwing back her head with a half-despairing gesture. Mother F6che, who had just come on deck, looked troubled. " We do certainly seem to be no nearer," she agreed reluctantly. At this moment the captain came up, smiling kindly He took Yvonne's hand. " I hope you have slept, mademoiselle, and are feeling better." he said. " Yes, monsieur, thanks to your great kindness, answered Yvonne, trying to smile. " but is not the other ship getting veryfar ahead? She seems to sail much faster than we do." iselle, and are Aboard the " Good Hope " 243 " On the contrary, my dear young lady," said John Stayner, "the 'Good Hope* is much the faster ship of the two. We shall overhaul them, with this breeze, one hour before noon." •' Will we ? " cried Yvonne, with other questions crowding into her eyes and voice. The stern mouth smiled with understanding kind- ness. " If we do notj I promise you I will signal them to wait," said he. ** I find three families on this ship whose men-folk are on the other. It was great carelessness on some one's part. I will send them in the boat with you, mademoiselle, — and gather in as many blessings as I can out of this whole accursed business." "As long as I live, monsieur, there will be one woman at least ever blessing you and pray- ing for your happiness." And suddenly seizing his hand in both of hers Yvonne pressed it to her lips. A look of boyish embarrassment came over his weather-beaten face. " Don't do that, child ! " he stammered. Then, looking with a quizzical interest at the spot she had kissed, he went on : " This old hand is something rough and tarry for a woman's lips. But do you know, now, I kind of think more of it, rough as it is, than I ever did before. If ever, child, you should want a friend in that country of ours you're l\"M 1 fi ; I P. ' V 244 A Sister to Evangeline fW going to, remember that Captain John Stayner, of Machias, Maine, is at your call." To escape thanks he strode off abruptly, with a loud order on his lips. Easy in her mind, Mother P^che went back to capture a little more sleep, Yvonne's restlessness having roused her too early. As for Yvonne, she never knew quite how that morning, up to the magical period of " one hour before noon, nian- aged to drag its unending minutes through. It is probable that she ate some pretence of a break- fast • but her memory, at least, retained no record of it All she remembered was that she, sat huddled in her cloak, or paced up and down the deck and talked of she knew not what to the kind Captain John Stayner, and watched the space of sea between the ships slowly - slowly - slowly diminish. , For diminish it did. That marvel, as it seemed to her, actually took place -as even the watched pot will boil at last, if the fire be kept burning. While it yet wanted more than an hour of noon, the two ships came near abreast; and at an im- perative hail from the " Good Hope" her consort hove to. A boat was quickly lowered away Four sailors took the oars. Two women surrounded by children of all sizes were swung down into it ; then the gratefully ejaculating old mother of Petit Joliet, the tear-stains of a sleepless night still salty Aboard the " Good Hope " 245 in the wrinkles of her smiles ; then Mother P6che, serene in the sense of an astonishing good fortune for those she loved; last of all, Yvonne — she went last, for self-discipline. As Captain John Stayner moved to hand her over the side, she turned and looked him in the eyes. The words she wanted to say simply would not come — or she dared not trust her voice ; but the radiance of her look he carried in his heart through after-years. A minute more, and the boat dropped astern ; and Yvonne's eyes were all for the other ship. But Mother P^che looked back ; and she saw, leaning hungrily over the taffrail of the " Good Hope," the long form of the boy-faced soldier who had twice carried Yvonne in his fortunate arms. Chapter XXXIII The Divine Right of Queens WHEN Yvonne stood at last upon the deck of the ship of her desire, her heart with- out warning, began a far too vehement gratulation Her" opP^ssed her. She dropped .t, and l"dleaning'uponMotherP.che.shoulde-^ grew suddenly pale, breathing w.th effort, and X";t hl'^^^ade a wondrous stir on dec. To those who had ever heard of such a being it loolared That the Witch of the Moon, in all the in- dSatle magic of her beauty, had been t^^^^^^^ lated into flesh. Men seemed upon the instant to find an errand to that quarter of the ship. Captain EUohaletWrye,who had been watching with great Sncl a'tiansfer whose signmcanc-eeme to him quite ordinary, came forward m haste, ea^.r to do the honours of his ship, and marvelling beyond measure at such a guest^ Captain EUp a- let had traded much among the ?«"=*' o„Ac^ die and New France. He knew well t ; difference 246 IK! 1 mL The Divine Right of Queens 247 between the seigneurial and the habitant classes ; and this knowledge was just what he needed to make his bewilderment complete. •' Here's the captain of the ship coming to see you, ch^erie! " whispered Mother P6che, squeezing the girl's arm significantly. Yvonne steadied her- self with an effort, and turned a brilliant glance upon this important stranger. With his rough blue reefing-jacket, extremely broad shoulders, and excessively broad yellow-brown beard. Captain Eliphalet looked to her just as she thought a merchant-captain ought to look. She therefore approved of him, and awaited his approach with a smile that put him instantly at ease. As he came up, however, hat in hand and with considered phrases on his lips, the old woman forestalled him. " Let me present you, Monsieur le Capitaine," said she, stepping forward with a courtesy, " to my mistress. Mademoiselle de Lamourie, of Lamourie Place." '• It is but ashes, alas ! monsieur," interrupted Yvonne, holding out her hand. "The ship is yours. Mademoiselle de Lamou- rie ! " he exclaimed, and bowed with a gesture of relinquishing evervthing to her command. It was not for nothing Captain EHphalet had visited Mon- treal and Quebec. Yvonne dropped her lids for a second, and shook ner head rebukingly. ' m ' .rll h' i>!i m III hi!'! I lu if. ' i\ III », ...1-1 ISti ■ «y '•Hi! P J 'II A Sister to Evangeline « That is not English, monsieur," she protested, mat IS nuw s ^^ ^^^^ a moment only. ^^^^ " But you, mademoiselle, you now ^^ a one as you to be sailing away into exile? Yvonne's long lashes drooped again, and this time did not rise so quickly. • " I hive reason to think, monsieur," she answered «avely " that dear friends and kinsfolk of nune !::l"this ship, then^selves going fe«er;a Jn exile I could not stay behind and let them go so But enough of myself, mons.eur, for the nresent," she went on, speaking more rapidly "T Jan to ease the anxieties of these poor souls who have' come with me^ U th- -ong >.. prisoners a young man known as P«t.t Johet Here is his mother come to look for him. " Captai^ Eliphalet summoned a soldier who stood ^A r^„t the Question to him in Enghsti. ""■There' one S^the name of Franse Jolieton , ,, „in " answered the red-cost, saluting. ^^/Ttt^he Va^r:; boy ! " cried his mother catcS the name She had ^e^n w-„g dose bv with a strained, fixed face, whicn nov tJ ptces in a medley of smiles and tears, like Reflection on still water suddenly broken. She The Divine Right of Queens 249 clutched Yvonne's hands, blessed and kissed them, and then rushed off vaguely as if to find Petit Joliet in durance behind some pile of ropes or water-butt. "And Lenoir — Tamin Lenoir," continued Yvonne, her voice thrilling with joy over her task, "and Michel Savarin. Are they, too, in the hold?" "Yes, miss," said the soldier, saluting again, and never taking his eyes from her face. She turned to the two women in their restless fringe of dingers; and they, more sober because more hampered in their delight, thanked her devoutly, and moved off to learn what more they could elsewhere. Meanwhile another figure had drawn near — a figure not unknown to Yvonne's eyes. When she first appeared Lieutenant Shafto, the English officer in command of the guard, was pacing the quarter deck, stiffly remote and inex- pressibly bored. He had two ambitions in life — the one, altogether laudable and ordinary, to be a good officer in the king's service; the other, more distinguished and uncommon, to be quoted as an example of dress and manners to his fellow- men. In London he had achieved in this direc- tion sufficient success to establish him steadfastly m his purpose. Ordered to Halifax with his regi- ment, he had there found the field for his talent '1)1 r: h- V *'l . M ?! It ^ "I ' h i -'E ' 2sO A Sister to Evangeline sorely straitened. At Grand Pr^, far worse : it ^as reduced to the dimensions of a back-door plot. Here on shipboard it seemed wholly to have vanished. Nevertheless, for practice, and for the preservation of a civil habit, he had clung to his niceties. Now, when he saw Yvonne, his first thought was to thank Heaven he had been as par- ticular with his toilet that morning as if about to walk down Piccadilly. He fitted his glass to his eye. «' Gad ! " he said to himself, " it really is ! " He removed the glass, and giving it a more careful readjustment, stared again. " Gad ! " said he, " it is none other ! A devilish fine girl ! She couldn't be beat in all London for looks or wits What does it mean? Given that cad Anderson the slip, eh? Discriminating, be- gad ! " Lieutenant Shafto had a definite contempt for Anderson, as a man who sat by the fire when he might have been fighting. If a man fought well or dressed well, Shafto could respect him. Ander- son did neither. He was therefore easily placed. "There's something rich behind this," went on the lieutenant to himself. " But, gad ! there is a savour to this voyage, after all. There's a pair of bright eyes— devilish bright eyes — to dress for!"" He hitched his sword to a more gallant angle The Divine Right of Queens 251 as he stepped primly down the deck. He gave the flow of his coat an airy curve. He would have felt of his queue had he dared, to assure himself it was dressed to a nicety. He glanced with complaisance at his correct and entirely spot- less ruffles. And by this he was come to made- moiselle's side, where he stood, bowing low, his cap held very precisely across his breast. ** The honour, mademoiselle ! Ah, the marvel of it ! " he murmured. " The ship is transfigured. I was but now anathematizing it as a most especial hell : I looked up, and it had become a paradise — a paradise of one fair spirit ! " Yvonne looked at him with searching eyes as he delivered this fantasia, then a trifle imperiously gave him her hand to kiss. She had spoken passingly with him twice or thrice before, at Father Fafard's. She understood him — read him through : a man absurd, but never contemptible ; to be quite heartily disliked, yet wholly trusted; to be laughed at, yet dis- creetly; vain, indomitable, a fighter and a fop; living for the field and the hair-dresser. Here was a man whom she would use, yet respect him the while. " You do nobly, monsieur," she said, with a faint, enigmatic smile, " to thus keep the light of courtly custom burning clear, even in our dark- nesses." i , 1 I •I W !l piii Ipftjf! h '^ MM'.t MM a m 1,1 ** I'll jUi i! !i 11- i: M ■1: "^Hn «*! 252 A Sister to Evangeline "There can be no darkness where your face shines, mademoiselle," he cried, delighted not less with himself than with her. It was a little obvious, but she accepted it graciously with a look, and he went on : " I beg that you will let me place my cabin at your disposal during the voyage. You will find it narrow, but roomy enough to accommodate you and your maid."" Here Captain Eliphalet interfered. " I claim the privilege, mademoiselle," said he, with some vexation in his tones, " of giving you the captain's cabin, which is by all odds the mo^t commodious place on the ship — the onfy place at all suitable for you." " The captain is right," said Shafto reluctantly. « His cabin is the more comfortable ; and I beg him to share mine." In this way, then, the difficulty was settled, and Yvonne found herself in quarters of unwonted comfort for a West India trader. Captain Eliphalet being given to luxury beyond the most of his Puritan kin. She was contented with her accom- plishment so far as it went ; and having two gal- lant men to deal with she felt already secure of her empire. She read approbation, too, in those enig- matic eyes of Mother Pache, with their whites ever glancing and gleaming. Moreover, as she sat down to luncheon, to the condiment of a bound- The Divine Right of Queens 253 ing heart and so much appetite as might nourish a pe-wee bird, she had two points gained to elate her. First, in passing the open hatchway which, as Captain Eliphalet told her, led to the prisoners' quarters, she had shaken lightly from her lips enough clear laughter to reach, as she guessed, those ears attuned to hear it ; and second, she had the promises both of the broad-bearded captain and the beautifully barbered lieutenant, that her cousins, Monsieur de Mer and Monsieur Paul Grande, should be brought on deck to see her that very day. " You should be very good to them, gentlemen," she said demurely, picking with dubious fork at brown strips of toasted herring on her plate. " My cousin Marc especially. He is half English, you know. He has the most adorable English wife, from Boston, with red hair wherein he easily per- suades himself that the sun rises and sets." " If you would have us love them for your sake, mademoiselle, love them not too much yourself," laughed the broad-bearded Captain Eliphalet, in vast good-humour; but the admirable lieutenant murmured : "There is no hair but black hair — black with somehow a glint in it when the sun strikes — so." And Mother P6che, passing behind them and catching a flash from Yvonne's eye, smiled many thoughts. if • II 1 m Chapter XXXIV ■->:'■ I'l I i r'1 The Soul's Supremer Sense AT this point it seems proper that I should once more speak in my own person; for at this point the story of my beloved once more converges to my own. I was awakened out of a bitter dream by Marc's lips moving at my ear in the stealthiest whispei The first pallor of dawn was sifting down amongst us from the open hatch, opened for air. I nodded my head to signify I was awake and listening. There was a ringing gabble of small waves against the ship's side, covering up all trivial sounds ; and I knew we were tacking. "Listen now, Paul," said Marc's obscure whis- per, like a voice within my head. " We have made a beginning earlier than we planned, because the guards were sleepy, and the noise of these light waves favoured us. You knew, or guessed, we had a plan. That wily fox, La Mouche, brought a file with him in his boot. It was sent to him while he was in the chapel prison. Grul, 254 The Soul's Supremer Sense 255 none other, sent it to him inside a loaf of bread — and, faith, thereby came a broken tooth. Your Grfil is wonderful, a deus ex machinB, every time. Well, we muffled the file in my shirt, and I scraped away, under cover of all this good noise, at the spring of La Mouche's handcuffs, till it gave. Now he can slip them on and off in a twinkling ; but to the eye of authority they are infrangible as ever. Oh, things are coming our way at last, for a change, my poor dejected ! We will rise to-night, this very coming night, if all goes well ; and the ship will be ours, for we are five to one." There was a thrill in his whisper, imperturbable Marc though he was. Under the long chafing of restraint his imperturbability had worn thin. My own blood flowed with a sudden warmth at his words. Here was a near hope of freedom, and freedom would mean to me but one tiling — a swift return to the neighbourhood where I might achieve to see Yvonne. I felt the strong medicine of this thought working health in every vein. "But how to-night?" I whispered back, un- willing to be too soon sanguine. " It takes time to file fetters, n'est-ce pas f " "Oh, but trust La Mouche ! ' replied Marc. "He understands those bracelets — as you, my cousin, in days you doubtless choose to forget, understood the more fragile, but scarce less fetter- Sf'' il LL . ' ^^ ^ ,M % -^ V <^^ fc ^ ^ «■•!■■'• J, Kill bill mW. » ! i 262 A Sister to Evangeline on his part, and went far to win his pardon from Yvonne. " Believe me, mademoiselle," he concluded, " it was never for one moment intended that these gentlemen, your friends, officers in the French army, and therefore, though my enemies, yet hon- oured members of my own profession, should thus obtrude upon your gentle eyes those chains, with which not their fault, but the chances of our pro- fession have for a season embarrassed them." This was so apt and so elegant a conclusion that Captain Eliphalet felt himself urged to some great things, if he would not be quite eclipsed in h.s guest's entrancing eyes. «« Indeed, mademoiselle," he made haste to say, " as these gentlemen are your friends and kinsmen, and you have dared so splendidly for their sake, they may say good-by to the irons for the rest of the voyage, if they will but ^ive their word of honour that they will in no way use their liberty to the detriment of my duties and respon- sibilities, nor to free any of the other prisoners." He turned to us with a very hearty air. Yvonne looked radiant with satisfaction. Lieutenant Shafto's face dropped — for he doubtless thought our continued freedom would much limit his priv- ileges with Yvonne. But I spoke up at once, fore- stalling Marc. . n • " I need hardly assure you, Monsieur le Lapi- •'!>^ ardon from icluded, " it 1 that these the French ies, yet hon- should thus chains, with ; of our pro- them." nclusion that o some great lipsed in h^s haste to say, md kinsmen, or their sake, for the rest 2 their word ay use their 5 and respon- r prisoners." air. Yvonne Lieutenant btless thought limit his priv- ) at once, fore- sieur le Capi- The Court in the Cabin 263 taine, that we do from our hearts appreciate your most generous courtesy. But beyond the few hours of freedom which we dare hope you may grant us each day, for the priceless solace of our fair kinswoman's company, we cannot in conscience accept a favour that would too enviably distinguish us from cur fellows." Captain Eliphalet looked unaffectedly aston- ished. Yvonne looked hurt and disappointed for a moment ; then her face changed, and I saw that her swift brain was drawing intricate inferences from this strange rejection of parole — to which Marc had assented in a word. As for the elegant Mr. Shafto, however, he was frankly delighted. " Right soldierly said, gentlemen ! " he ex- claimed. " A good officer stands by his men. I am honoured in meeting you ! " and with a very precise civility he shook hands with us in turn. "But it is very cold here, is it not?" cried Yvonne, with a little shiver, pulling her cloak close. " Let me invite you all to my cabin." This invitation she gave with a flying radiance of look at Captain Eliphalet, wherewith he stood a miliionfold rewarded. In the cabin I was not greatly astonished, though more than greatly pleased, to find Mother P^che. The undisguised tritimph in her eyes said, " Didn't I tell you? " — and in involuntary response to the challenge I thrust my hand into my breast and felt 1 bn 1 |; 1 i ' H |i 1 1 ,'J! ^ '•■I /ill si (i f 'fist il ' * 264 A Sister to Eva ngeline the little deerskin pouch containing the tress of hair and the mystic stone. She smiled at the gesture. I pressed the dear old witch's hand, and said m a low voice : " In all my life to come I cannot thank you enough. But isn't it wonderful? I'm in fear each moment of waking, and to find it a dream." "She/5 a dream, Master Paul!" said the old dame. " And see how all men dream when they look upon her ! " .u r u 4. With a jealous pang I realized the truth of what she said ; and thereupon I made haste to Yvonne's side where I saw Marc, Shafto, and Captain Eliph- alet'all hanging devoutly upon her words. I was but a dull addition to the sprightly circle, for I was wondering how I should manage to get a word with her. Had I but known her better I need not have won- dered Presently she broke off in the midst of a sparkling tirade, laid her hand upon my arm, and said : , t u "Will you pardon me, gentlemen, but I have a brief word awaiting the ear of Captain Grande," and calmly she walked me off to the cabin °" I presumed, perhaps too hastily, that you still wanted me, dear,'' was what she said. I dared not look straight at her, for I knew that if I did so my face would be a flaunting proclama- The Court in the Cabin 265 tress of hair the gesture, and said in thank you in fear each :am." laid the old I when they ruth of what to Yvonne's iptain Ehph- ords. I was circle, for I to get a word lot have won- the midst of Don my arm, , but I have a tain Grande," o the cabin , that you still • Dr I knew that ing proclama- tion of my worship. I could but say, in a voice that strove for steadiness :; «' Beloved, beloved ! have you done all this for me?" A happy mirth came into her voice as she answered : "No, Paul, not quite all for you! I had to think a little of a certain good man, madly bent on marrying a woman who would, alas ! (I know it too well) have made him a most unpleasant wife. George Anderson will never know what I saved him from. But you may, Paul? Aren't you a little bit afraid?" I am well aware that in this supreme moment I betrayed no originality whatever. I could only re- peat myself, in expressions which I need not set down. Trite as they were, however, she forgave them. "We have so much to talk about, dear," she said, " but not now. We must go back to the others ; and I must take your cousin Marc aside as I have done with you, so that this won't look too strange. Does he like me — approve of me ? " she asked anxiously. " Second only to his little Puritan he loves you," said I. " He knows everything." Then, just as we turned back to the others, I whispered in her ear : " Be prepared for events to-night ! " 1 ''^ iBaMIE' m 'ill 266 A Sister to Evangeline tiK- i», 1 ^ !! t' \r-i '1 , II ;.• u' ^^hI , i 'Mr' i ' ! '•:.. »' 1 < 1 j! ^■'^ - ■ ■'!' ^i 1 Mtcl 'i ! 'In ■4 > 'Hi ^^^H < i';l ' -J 4 J,- i'i 1 HiSj ; . i ■hti t M } i'' 1 ' She gave me a startled look, understanding ac once Then indeed, as now, whatever is in my mind she is apt to read as if it were an open book. ^ , ,„ « So soon? Oh, be careful for my sake ! I could give no answer, for by this, the cabm being small, we were quite returned from our ^"poZperhaps two hours Yvonne entertained us. not only conversing herself with a gracious wit that struck but to illumine, never to wound, but calling forth a responsive alertness in her cava- liers. Captain Eliphalet began to wonder at his own readiness of repartee and compliment. Lieu- tenant Shafto forgot the perfect propriety of his ruffles, engrossed for once in another than him- self Even my imperturbable Marc yielded in some measure to the resistless bewilderment, and played the gallant with a quaint, fatherly air that pleasured me. I, only, was the silent one. I could but listen, intoxicated, speaking when I could not escape it, and my ears averse to all words but those coming from her lips. By and by — I was vexed that his discretion should bring the moment so soon — Marc made his adieux, insisting against much protest that he desired to keep his welcome unworn for the mor- row I could do naught save follow his example ; but as I withdrew, Yvonne's eyes held me so that The Court in the Cabin 267 itanding m r is in my e an open ike ! " i, the cabin . from our ertained us, jracious wit wound, but n her cava- )nder at his lent. Lieu- priety of his r than him- : yielded in lerment, and lerly air that lent one. I :ing when I averse to all ps. lis discretion -Marc made otest that he I for the mor- his example ; Id me so that my feet in going moved like lead. The broad- bearded captain and the impeccable lieutenant most civilly accompanied us to the door of our prison. " This situation, gentlemen," said Marc, with a smile of careless amusement, " which your cour- tesy does so sweeten for us, is certainly not with- out the relish of strangeness." " It shall be made as little strange as lies in our power to make it, sir," replied Captain Eliphalet heartily ; and we parted with all expres- sions of esteem ; not till their backs were turned upon us did we extend our wrists for the irons, which the discreet guard had kept hidden under the flap of his great-coat. tm \ 1 'fP lii . ' 1. ' !; i ' '■■■ V'H \ 1 CHAPTER XXXVI Sword and Silk THAT night the weather fell thick, and, the wind freshening suddenly, the ship dropped anchor. Captain Eliphalet Wrye was not so familiar with the reefs and tides of Fundy that he cared to navigate her waters in the dark. This we considered very favourable to our enterprise ; for the tide running strongly, and the wind against it, kicked up a pother that made the hold reecho. The time agreed upon was toward three, when those asleep are heaviest. I think that most of our men slept, but with that consciousness of events impending which would bring them wide awake on the instant. Marc, I know, lay sleeping like a child. But for me no sleep, no sleep indeed. I could not spare a minute from the delight of thinking and dreaming. Here I lay in irons, a captive, an exile, — but my beloved had come. "She has come, my beloved!" I kept saying over and over to myself. 268 Sword and Silk 269 :k, and, the lip dropped ivas not so ndy that he dark. This enterprise ; 1 the wind ide the hold three, when hat most of ;iousness of them wide lay sleeping leep indeed. 2 delight of in irons, a had come, kept saying Then I tried planning for our future ; but the morrow promised her presence, and for the time I could not get my thoughts past that. There was no need to discount future joy by drawing bills of dear anticipation. But it was tonic to my brain to look back upon the hopeless despair in which I had lain weltering so few hours before. Now they seemed years away — and how I blessed their remoteness, those sick hours of anguish ! Yes, though I had not given up my purpose, I had surely given up the hope that kept it alive. Then Mother P^che's soothsaying over the lines of my palm came back to me: " Your heart's desire is nigh your death of hope ! " Wonderful old woman ! How came such wisdom to. your simple heart, with no teachers but herbs, and dews, and stillnesses of the open marsh, and hill-whispers, and the unknown stars? Out of some deep truth you spoke, surely ; for even as my hope died, had not my heart's desire come? And I said to myself, " It is but a narrow and shallow heart that expects to understand all it believes. Do we not walk as men blindfolded in the citadel of mystery ? What seem to us the large things and unquestionable may, the half of them, be vain — and small, derided things an uninter- preted message of truth ! " My revery was broken by Marc laying free hands upon mine. m i rrnnv'"^?' 'V W'"i\\ < . I •] JP'I il * , ' .<,, 3 il , ; .ii'{ ,1 il 270 A Sister to Evangeline " Are you awake? " he whispered. " The time has come. See ! This is the way to open them." And very easily, as it seemed, he slipped the iron from my wrists. " Feel ! " he went on, in the same soft whisper. I followed his fingers in the dimness. There was no light but the murk of a smoky Ian- thorn some way off, where the guards sat deject- edly smoking, — and I caught the method of unlocking the spring. " Free your next neighbour, and pass the word along," continued Marc ; and I did so. It was all managed with noiseless precision. In a very few minutes — which seemed an hour — there was a sneeze from the furthermost corner of the hold, beyond the place where the guards sat. It was not the most natural and easy sneeze in the world, but it served. It was answered by another from the opposite corner. The shrill, silly sound was yet in the air when the ominous form of long Philibert Trou loomed high behind the sitting guards and fell upon one of them like fate ; while at the same moment, like a springing cat, the lithe figure of La Mouche shot up at the other's throat. For such skilled hands it was but a moment's work, and no noise about it. Like the rising of an army of spectres, every man came silently to his feet. Seizing the musket of the nearest guard, where he lay motionless, I glided to the hatch. \' ■ i^ I Sword and Silk 271 The time tn them." [ the iron t whisper. J. There loky lan- at deject- lethod of leighbour, larc; and noiseless an hour — corner of guards sat. :eze in the ay another silly sound m of long the sitting fate; while it, the lithe ler's throat. I moment's e rising of silently to irest guard, the hatch, just far enough ahead of Marc to get my foot first on the ladder. As I reached the deck the sentry, not three paces distant, was just turning. With a yell to warn his comrades he sprang at me. Nimbly I avoided his bayonet thrust, and the butt of my musket brought him down. I had reserved my fire for the possibility of a more dangerous en- counter. There were shouts along the deck — and shots — and I saw sailors running up, and then more soldiers — and I sprang to meet them. But already Marc was at my side, and a dozen, nay, a score, of my fellow-captives. In a breath, as it were, the score doubled and trebled — the hold seemed to spout them forth, so hotly they came. There were but few shots, and a fall or two with groans. The thing was over before it was well begun, so perfect had been the surprise. We had all who were on deck in irons, save for three slain and one grievously wounded. Those who had been asleep in their bunks when the alarm was given now promptly gave themselves up, soldiers and sailors alike, being not mad enough to play out a lost game. Handcuffs were abundant, which made our work the simpler. As I went forward, wondering where Shafto was this while, I was met by La Mouche and two others leading a prisoner. It was Captain Eliphalet, with A Sister to Evangeline '.U iH I i! 272 blood on his face, sorely dazed, but undaunted. Indignation and reproach so struggled within him that he could not for the moment find speech. - Pardon, I beseech you. Captain Wrye, I made haste to say, " the need which has compelled me to make such rude return for your courtesy. This," and I tapped his irons with my finger -is but for an hour or two at most, till we get things on our ship fitly ordered. Then, believe me, you will find that this is merely a some- what abrupt reversal of the positions of host and ^"ffear that Captain Eliphalet's reply was going to be a rude one, but if so it was q^^^^^ed a h.s lins The door of the cabin opened, a bright hght streamed forth, and down it glided Yvonne in her white gown, the black lace over her head. •• Oh. Paul, what has happened? Are you -are vou safe? " she asked breathlessly, 'twixt laughing and tears. The shooting and shouting had aroused ^'' Quittfe, my dearest," I whispered. " And — the ship is ours." All that this meant flashed upon her, and her face flushed, her eyes dilated. But before she found voice to welcome the great news, her glance fell upon Captain Eliphalet's blood-stained counte- nance, and her joy faded into compassion. "Oh!" she cried, "you are not wounded, \} 1 I ' ; I V -iw ■vA ■:■«!] -if illK Sword and Silk 273 ndaunted. rithin him )eech. 2," I made pelled me courtesy, ny finger, ill we get :n, believe / a some- f host and was going :hed at his bright light )nne in her id. : you — are xt laughing tiad aroused •ed. '• And ler, and her before she i, her glance ined counte- sion. ot wounded, her hand- surely, surely ! " And she pressed kerchief pitifully to the blood-spots. " It is nothing, nothing, mademoiselle, but a mere scratch, or bruise, rather," stammered Cap- tain Eliphalet. Then she saw that his hands were fettered. •• Paul ! " she exclaimed, turning upon me a face grown very white and grave. " And he was so kind to me ! How could you ! " " As a matter of fact, I didn't, Yvonne," said I. " But this is what I am going to do." Slipping off the irons I tossed them into the sea. ♦' Captain Wrye," said I to him, with a bow, " I have much yet to do, and I must not stay here any longer. May I commit to your charge for a little while what is more precious than all else? " Yvonne thanked me with a look, and laid her hand on the captain's arm. "We will dress your wound, monsieur," said she. " Mother P^che has a wondrous skill in such matters." And she led the captain away. By this Marc was come up, with a squad of his men fully armed. Some half score approached the second cabin. A window opened, a thin stream of fire flashed out, with a sharp report of a pistol; and a man fell, shot through the head. Another report, with the red streak in the front of it, and a tall Acadian threw up his arms, screamed chokingly, and dropped across a coil of rope. 1 A Sister to Evangeline 274 The precise Lieutenant Shafto had awakened to the state of affairs. , , .< Down with the door, men. before he can oad aeain ! " shouted Marc, springing forward ; and long Sert picked up a light spar which lay at hand, very well suited to the purpose But there was no need of it. The door was But tnerc w from Yvonne's cabm thrown open, and m the iignt.ru"' was revealed the form of the English officer. He Tod in his doorway, very angry and scornful he oo°nt of his sword thrust passionately agamst the deikin frontof him. A fine and a brave figure he was a he stood there in his stockings breeches and fairly beruffled shirt -for he had not just Tot taken time to perfect his toilet with the cus- tomarv care. In this attitude he paused for a ". lightly springing his sword, and scowhng "'° I must ask yoa to surrender, monsieur," said Marc, advancing. " The ship is in our hands. I shall be glad to accept your parole. "I wiU not surrender!" he answered curtly. " If there be a gentleman among y°» ^'••o '« ^^ a sword, I am willing to fight him. If not, I w u see how many more of this rabble I can take wjth !^e" And he jerked his head toward the two '''Twn^r:ssrrdt:::h you." I cried getting ahead of Marc, "and will count myself much b ';l!'? * Sword and Silk 275 irakened to e can load I; and long ly at hand, : door was nne's cabin (fficer. He cornful, the against the )rave figure js, breeches, ad not just ith the cus- aused for a nd scowling nsieur," said ir hands. I II rered curtly, who can use If not, I will can take with ard the two cried, getting myself much honoured in meeting so brave a gentleman. But you English took my sword from me, and up to the present have neglected to give it^ back." " I have swords, of course, monsieur," he re- plied, his face lighting with satisfaction as he stepped back into his cabin to get them. But some one else was not satisfied. Yvonne's hands were on my arm — her eyes, wide with terror, imploring mine. " Don't ! It will kill me, dear! Oh, what madness! Have you no pity for me ! " she gasped. I looked at her reassuringly, not liking to say there was no danger, lest I should seem to boast ; and so instant was her reading of my thought that even as I looked the fear died out of her face. ^^ «'It is nothing, dear heart. Ask Marc," I whispered. She turned to him with the question in her eyes. ,, " Paul is the best sword in New France, said Marc quietly, " not even excepting my father, the Sieur de Briart." Now so quickly was the confidence of my own heart transferred into the heart of my beloved that she was no more afraid. Indeed, what she said was : " You must not hurt him, Paul ! He has been very nice to me ! " and this in a voice so clear that Shafto himself heard it as he came out with the swords. It ruffled him, but he bowed low to her in acknowledgment of her interest. 11 i:. ■)':';;' ¥,!', V ' ( ' * lit 276 A Sister to Evangeline " They are of the same length. Choose, mon- sieur ! " said he, holding them out to me. I took the nearest — and knew as soon as the hilt was in my hand that it was an honest weapon, of English make, something slow in action and lacking subtlety of response, but adequate to the present enterprise. Lanthorns were brought, and so disposed by Marc's orders that the light should fall fairly for one as for the other. The English- man had regained his good temper, — or a civil semblance of it, — and marked the preparations with approval. "You have had abundant experience, I per- ceive, in the arbitrament of gentlemen," said he. " My cousin has, in particular, monsieur," re- plied Marc dryly. Whereupon Mr. Shafto turned upon me a scrutiny of unaffected interest. A moment more, and the swords set up that thin and venomous whispering of theirs. Now, what I am not going to do, even to please Yvonne, is— undertake to describe that combat. She wishes it, because under my instruction she has learned to fence very cunningly herself. But to me the affair was unpleasant, because I saw from the first a brave gentleman, and a good enough swordsman as these English go, hopelessly overmatched. I would not do him the discredit of seeming to play with him. He fenced very hotly, too. He wanted blood, being bitter and humiliated. After a few Sword and Silk 277 )ose, mon- e. 3on as the st weapon, action and late to the ought, and ight should le English- -or a civil reparations ice, I per- ," said he. nsieur," re- lafto turned erest. set up that eirs. Now, ase Yvonne, She wishes has learned t to me the om the first L swordsman matched. I ning to play He wanted After a few minutes of quick play I thought it best to prick him a little sharply in the arm. The blood spurted scarlet over his white sleeve ; and I sprang back, dropping my point. " Are you satisfied, monsieur? " I asked. " No, never I Guard yourself, sir ! " he cried angrily, taking two quick steps after me. During the next two minutes or so he was so impetuous as to keep me quite occupied ; and I was about concluding to disarm him, when there came a strange intervention. It was most irregu- lar ; but the wisest of women seem to have small regard for points of stringency in masculine eti- quette. At a most knowingly calculated moment there descended between us, entangling and divert- ing the points of our weapons, — what but a flutter of black lace ! " I will not have either of you defeated ! " came Yvonne's voice, gayly imperious. *• You shall both of you surrender at once, to me ! There is no dis- honour, gentlemen, in surrendering to a woman ! " It was a most gracious thought on her part, to save a brave man from humiliation ; and my wor- ship of her deepened, if that were possible. As for the elegant Mr. Shafto, he was palpably taken aback, and glowered rudely for a space of some seconds. Then he came to himself and accepted the diversion with good grace. With a very low bow he presented his sword-hilt to Yvonne, saying : :P If' H '1 'H' r''";i:.; ,i I , i' 278 A Sister to E vangeline "Tto you, and to you only, I yield myself a prisoner. Mademoiselle de Lamourie." Yvonne took the sword, examined it with gay concern on this side and on that, tried it against the deck as she had seen him do, and then, without so much as a glance at Marc or me for permission, cravely returned it to him. " Keep it. monsieur," she said. " I have no use for it at present; and I trust to hold my prisoners whether they be armed or defenceless." "That you will, mademoiselle, 111 wager, spoke up Captain Eliphalet, just behind. \ 1 1 I !i ' '- i -■# -i t '. I tl < myself a with gay it against :n, without >ertnission, ave no use / prisoners '11 wager/' ad. Chapter XXXVII Fire in Ice SOME while after, as in my passing to and fro I went by the cabin for the fiftieth time, my expectation came true: the door opened, and Yvonne, close wrapped in her great cloak, stood beside me. I drew her under the lee of the cabin, where the bitter wind blew less witheringly. The first of dawn was just creeping bleakly up the sky, and the ship was under way. '•You are cold, dear," exclaimed Yvonne beneath her breath, catching my hand in her two little warm ones; and, faith ! I was, though I had not had time to notice it till she bade me. The next moment, careless of the eyes of La Mouche, who stood by the rail not ten paces off, she opened her cloak, flung the folds of it about my neck, and drew my face down, in that enchanted darkness, to the sweet warmth of hers. There were no words. What could those vain things avail in such a moment, when our pulses beat together, and our souls met at the lips, and 279 28o A Sister to Evangeline i w:m in silence was plighted that great troth which shall last, it is my faith, through other lives than this? Then she drew softly away, and, with eyes cast down, left me, and went back into her cabin. I lifted my head. La Mouche stood by the rail, looking off across the faintly lightening water. As I passed near him he turned and grasped my hand hard. . , ,, u -j " I am most glad for you, my captain ! he said quietly But I saw that my joy was an emphasis to his own sorrow, and his very lips were grey for remembrance of the woman who had stricken him. When it was full daylight we could see the other ship, a white speck on the horizon far ahead Long before noon she was out of sight. The wind favouring us all day, before sunset we arrived off the grim portal through which the great river of St John, named by Champlain, empties forth its floods into the sea. The rocky ridges that fence the haven were crested gloriously with rose and gold and toward this inviting harbourage we steered— not without misgivings, however, for we knew not the channel or the current. I^^h^^ ^^rait we received unlooked-for aid. Captain Eliphalet, excited by some error in the course which we were shaping, and all in a tremble lest his loved ship fall upon a reef, offered his services as pilot. They were at once accepted. We knew he was Fire in Ice 281 hich shall :han this? eyes cast ler cabin. \y the rail, vater. As i my hand ! " he said 1 emphasis re grey for icken him. • e the other far ahead. The wind arrived off :at river of es forth its J that fence :h rose and )ourage we ever, for we [n this strait n Eliphalet, 2 which we 3t his loved ces as pilot, new he was as incapable of a treachery as his situation was of turning a treachery to profit. Himself he took the wheel ; and on the slack of tide he steered us up to a windless anchorage at the very head of the harbour, beside the ruins of an old fort. The only sign of life was the huts of a few Acadian fishermen, so miserable as to have been quite overlooked by the doom that had descended on their race. Our plan was to scatter the greater part of our company among the small Acadian settlements up the river — at Jemseg, Pointe Ste. Anne, and Me- doctec ; while the rest of us, the trained men who would be needed in New France, accompanied by a half dozen women with daring and vitality for such a journey, would make our way on sledges and snow-shoes northward, over the Height of Land, down into the St. Lawrence valley, and thence to Quebec. The two carronades on the deck of our ship we dropped into the harbour. We helped ourselves to all the arms and ammunition, with tools for the building of our sledges, and such clothing as our prisoners could well spare. Of the ship's stores we left enough to carry the ship safely to Boston. Yvonne gave Lieutenant Shafto a letter for her father and mother, which he undertook to forward to Halifax at the earliest opportunity. Then, three days after our arrival in the St. John, we loosed our captives every one, bade Captain Eliphalet a 1 i)f] 11 «,» 282 A Sister to Evangeline -. si less eventful remainder to his voyage, and turned our back upon the huts of the fishermen. We crossed the Kennebeccasis River on the .ce, where it joins the St. John, just back of the r.dge wh.ch forms the northern rampart of the harbour. Thence we pushed straight up the mam river, keepmg close along the eastern shore. The rough sledges which we had hasfly thrown together were piled with our stores. They earned also such of the women and children as were not capable of enduring the march. The sledges an easily on the level way afforded by the river, wh ch was low frozen to the depth of a foot. In spots the ice was covered by a thin, hard-packed layer of snow; but for the most part it had been swept clean by the wind. r y.- -u For rny own part, I drew a light sledge, of which I had mvself directed the construction, that.t might be comfortable for Yvonne. It n'as comfortable with a back and arms, and well lined with blankets. But she chose rather, for the most of the journey to walk beside me, secretly proud to show her activity and endurance. It was Mother Peche who, under strenuous protest, chiefly occup^d my sledee Her protests were vam enough; for Yvonne told her quietly that if she would not le herself be taken care of she would not trust her to face the Quebec journey, but would leave her behind at Jemseg. Though the old dame was a Fire in Ice 283 i turned 1. We e, where re which Thence keeping y thrown y carried were not :dges ran er, which spots the layer of en swept , of which at it might mfortable, 1 blankets. 2 journey, show her her P^che cupied my Dugh ; for lid not let ;rust her to leave her ame was a witch, Yvonne had the will to have her way; and protest ended. As we marched, a little aside from the main body, Yvonne now laying her mittened hand upon my arm, and now drawing with me upon the sledge- rope, we had exhaustless themes of converse, but also seasons for that revealing silence when the great things get themselves uttered between two souls. There were some practical matters, however, not without importance, which silence was not compe- tent to discuss. " Do you know any one at the Jemseg settlement, Paul?" she chanced to ask me, that first day of our marching. " Yes," said I, with significance, taking merci- less advantage of the question, " I know an excel- lent priest, dear heart ! " She reddened, and turned upon me deep eyes of reproach. But I was not abashed. "Am I too precipitate, sweet?" I asked. ** But do not think so. I know you will not. Consider all the strangeness of the situation, most dear, and give me the right to guard you, to keep ynu, to show openly my reverence and my love." As she did not reply, it was clear enough that she found my reasoning cogent. I went on, with a kind of singing elation in my brain : " Truly, in my eyes, you are my wife now, as — I I i »l, Ji 1^ , ! 284 A Sister to Evangeline do you remember? — I dared to call you that night as we came over the ridge. I to prison, you to — But no ! I will not think of that. In deed and in truth, dear. I believe that God joined to- gether us two, inalienably and forever, not months ago, but years ago — that day in the orchard, when our spirits met in our eyes. The material part of us was slow in awaking to the comprehen- sion of that mystery, but " — "Speak for yourself. Paul." she interrupted, with tantalizing suggestion. I stopped short, forgetting all my eloquence.^^ "And you loved me then — and knew it!" I exclaimed, in a voice poignant with the realization of lost years. She came very close against my side, and held my arm tightly, as she said, in a voice 'twixt mock- ing and caressing: " I think I might have known it. Paul, had you helped me the least little bit — had the material part of you, let us say. been the least bit quicker of comprehension." She forbore to hint at all that might have been different; but the thought of it kept me long silent. ,.11, On the next day, about sunset, we reached the Jemseg settlement. That same day Yvonne be- came my wife. ■I hat night son, you In deed oined to- )t months orchard, material mprehen- terrupted, [uence. ;w it!" I realization , and held rixt mock- 1, had you e material >it quicker have been t me long cached the fvonne be- Chapter XXXVIII Of Long Felicity, Brief Word " TJOW many years, dear heart, since we made XJ. that winter journey, thou and I, from Jemsegto Quebec, through the illimitable snows?" " Ten ! " answers Yvonne ; and the great eyes which she lifts from her writing and flashes gayly upon me grow tender with sweet remembrance. During those ten years the destinies of thrones have shifted strangely in the kaleidoscope of fate. Empires have changed hands. New France has been erased from the New World. Louisbourg has been levelled to a sheep pasture. Quebec has proved no more impregnable. The flag of Eng- land flies over Canada. My uncle, the Sieur de Briart, sleeps in a glorious grave, having fallen with Montcalm on the Plains of Abraham. My cousin Marc and I, having fought and bled for France in all the last battles, and lain for months in an English hospital, have accepted the new masters of our country and been confirmed in our little estates beside the Ottawa. 285 V 286 Sister to Evangeline ■{ ■ ^ ', t , i \::m Redeeming my promise to Grftl, I have aided him in his vengeance on the Black Abb6 — a strange, dark tale which I may one day set down, if ever time makes it less painful to my memory. Much, then, have I endured in these ten years. But the remembrance of it appears to me but as a tinted gl"iss, through which I am enabled to con- template the full sun of my happiness. Yvonne in these ten years has changed but to grow more beautiful. Bodily, there was, I think, no room for that change ; but growth is the law of such a spirit as hers, and so into her perfect eyes, wells of Hght as of old, has come a deeper and more immeasurable wisdom. As to this perennial potency of her beauty, I know that I am not de- luded by my passion ; for I perceive the homage it compels from all who come within its beneficent influence. Even her mother, a laughingly mali- cious critic, tells me that my eyes see true in this (for Giles de Lamourie, having sold his ample acres in Nova Scotia, and forgiven ancient grudges, has come here to live with Yvonne). Father Fafard, when he visits us from his Bonaventure parish, says the same, but kis eyes are blind witk loving prejudice. When we go into Montreal for the months of December and January, ex- changing for a little the quiet of our .;o.mtry home for the glitter of rout and function no other ti M Of Long Felicity, Brief Word 287 ive aided Lbb^ — a day set ul to my en years. ; but as a d to con- ed but to 3, 1 think, :he law of ■feet eyes, seper and perennial Ti not de- e homage beneficent igly mall- rue in this his ample it grudges, Father )naventure are blind ) Montreal luary, ex- I c-.Titry \, no other court so choice, so loyal, and so revering as that which Yvonne gathers about her. The wise, drawn by her wit, are held fast by her beauty ; while the gay, drawn by her beauty, rise to a wor- ship of her wit and worth. Yvonne's small hands are white and alive and restless as on that day in the Grand Pr^ orchard when, prying into the heart of the apple-blossom, they pried into and set fast hold upon the strings of my ^<-art also. But this life of mine, given into the keeping of their sweet restlessness, has found the secret of rest. One thing more of her, and I have done with this narrative ; for they who live blest have little need or power to depict their happiness. It seems to me, in looking back and forward, that my wife delights particularly in setting at naught the cheap wisdom of the maxim-mongers. How continually are men heard to declare, with the tongue of Sir Oracle: "We don't woo v/hat is well won " ! But Yvonne, well won these ten years back, I woo again continually, and our daily life together is never without the spur of fresh interest and further possibilities. "The familiar is held cheap," say the disap- pointed ; and " Use dulls the edge of passion," say they whose passion has never known the edge which finely tempered spirits take on. V III ' iJ 1 : l» i\ K' . 288 A Sister to Evangeline But familiarity, the crucial intimacy of day by day companionship, only reveals to me in Yvonne the richer reasons for my reverence ; while passion grows but the more poignant as it realizes the exhaustless depths of the nature which responds to it. The mean poverty of these maxims I had half suspected even before I knew Yvonne. But one, more universally accepted, to the effect that "Anticipation beggars reality," had ever caused me a certain fear, lest it might prove true. The husband of my dear love has fathomed its false- hood, and anticipation, in my case, was little moderate in its demands. If there be any germ of truth under that long-triumphant lie, then the reason we two have not discovered it must be sought in another life than this. This life cannot be the full reality. Even so, my confident faith is that the lying adage will but seem to lie the more shamelessly under a fuller revelation. Many times have I told Yvonne that to me one life seemed not enough for love of her. As I conclude, I look across the room to where the beautiful, dark, proud head bends over her desk ; for she has outstripped me in my own art of letters, and only my old achievements with the sword enable me to maintain that dominance which the husband, even of Yvonne, ought to have. V. Of Long Felicity, Brief Word 289 Y of day by le in Yvonne ^hile passion realizes the ch responds ; I had half 2. But one, effect that ever caused ; true. The led its false- e, was little be any germ lie, then the i it must be is life cannot .fident faith is He the more Many times 2 life seemed She will not approve these last few pages. She will demand their erasure, declaring them extrava- gant and an offence against the reticence of true art. But not one line will I expunge, for they are true. THE END. 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