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The following diagrams illustrate the method: Les cartes ou les planches trop grandes pour dtre reproduites en un seul clichd sont filmdes d partir de Tangle supdrieure gauche, de gauche i droite et de haut en bas, en prenant le nombre d'images nicessaire. Le diagramme suivant illustre la mdthode : 1 2 3 1 2 3 4 5 6 ,V' <* r JEE AND SHEPARD'S i> Star Juveniles WITH NEW AND ATTRACTIVE DIES. Messrs. Lkk and SiiKrAun announce a now edition of this fine line of 12mo .Juvonilcs, consistinR of books bv Kkm.oco, Kingston, IJallantynk, IIKADIJOY, and otliers. I'rintcd oii a line (|uality of paper, fully illustrated, and bound in polished buckram cloth, at $1.00 per volume. Liberal discount for quautities. By ELIJAH KELLOCKJ. Lion Ben of Elm Island. Charlie Bell ; The Waif of Elm Island. The Ark of Elm Island. The Boy Farmers of Elm Island. The Youni? Shipbuilders of Kim Island. The Hardscrabble of Elm Island. Sowed by the Wind ; or, The Poor Boy's Portuna Wolf Run ; or, The Beys of the Wilderness. Brought to the Front : or. The Young Defenders. The Mission of Black Rifle ; or. On the Trail. Forest Glen ; or, The Mohawk's Friendship. Burying the Hatchet; or, The Young Brave of the Delawares. A Strong Arm and a Mother's Blessing. The Unseen Hand ; or, James Renfew and his Boy Helpers. The Liv^ Oak Boys ; or, The Adventures of Bichtard Constabla Af oat and Ashore. Arthu? Brown, the Young Captain. The "loung Deliverers of Pleasant Cove. The Cruise of the Casco- The Child of the Island Glen. John Godsoe's Legacy. The Fisher Boys of Pleasant Cove. A Stout Heart ; or. The Student from Over the Sea. A Spark of Genius ; or, The College Life of James Trafton. The Sophomores of Radclifife ; or, James Trafton and his Bos- ton Friends. The Whispering Pine ; or, The Graduates of Radclifife. The Turning of the Tide ; or, Radcliffe Rich and his Patients. Winning his Spurs ; or, Henry Morton's First Trial. T3y P. C. HEADLEY. jFi^ht it out on this Line ; The Life and Deeds of Gen. U. S- Grant. Pacing the Enemy ; The Life of Gen. William Tecumseh Sher* man. Fighting Phil; The Life of Lieu.. Gen. Philip Henry Sheridan. Old Salamander ; The Life of Admiral David Glascoe Farragut. The Miner Boy and his Monitor ; The Career of John Ericsson, Engineer. Old Stare ; The Life of Major-Gou. Ormsby McKnight Mitchel f By GEORGE MAKEPEACE TOWLB. Creroes and Martyrs of Invention. Vasco da Gama ; Hifi Voyages and Adventures. Pizarro; His Adventures and Conquests. Magrellan ; or, The First Voyage Round the World* Marco Polo ; His Travels and Adventures. Raleigh ; His Voyages and Adventures. Drake ; The Sea King of Devon. By CAPT. CHARLES W. HALIi. Adrift In the Ice Fields. By DR. ISAAC I. HAYES. Cast Away in the Cold; An Old Man's Story of a Young M»ii'^ Adventures. By "W. H. Q. KINGSTON. The Adventures of Dick Onslow among the Redskins* Ernest Bracebridge; or. School Boy Days. By JAMES D. McCABE JR. Planting the Wilderness ; or, The Pioneer Boys* I By DR. C. H. PEARSON. The Cabin on the Prairie. The Young Pioneers of the Northwest. By JAMES DE MILLE. The Lily and the Cross ; A Tale of Acadia. n By P. Q. ARMSTRONG. The Young Middy: or, The Perilous Avdenturea of a Boy Officer. By R. M. BALLANTYNB. The Life Boat ; A Tale of Our Coast Heroes. Sent by mail, postpaid, on receipt of priC4» Lef rnd Shepard, Publishers, Boston »11« 4-V .;^; Boy to O O 'A H U THE I ^ \ 1 ? V 1 ii mi It lyi Hi! "-^ In if'' ^^ Ini/i'' <^ wll ^ ifi: 1 mSf\\ o WKi '1 ^ uWln 11 1 ^^ Mfiv 1 ^rH nil Ir '^ Hiflli ^ B i » Mjn|||f|l ^ hIiIiIiii ^ ullu ^ BbjIMbI tij B n\\flu ^^ lllffl ^ !r i , 4 4 i LILY AND THE CROSS A TALE OF ACADIA BY PROF. JAMES DE MILLE AUTHOR OF "the dodge CLUB," " CORD AND CREESE," "tHE B. O, W. C STORIES," "the young DODGE CLUB," ETC. ILLUSTRATED BOSTON LEE AND vSHEPARD PUBLISHERS 11- ^ii; Enterca, according to Act of Congress, in the year ]8?4, Bv LEE AND SHEPARD, In tuo Office Of the Llhrarian of Congress, at Washington. CONTENTS. CHAPTER I. A Voice out of the Deep o CHAPTER II. A Meeting in Mid Ocean 20 CHAPTER III. New Friends «, CHAPTER IV. MiMI AND MarGOT J,, 41 CHAPTER V. A Strange Revelation ko CHAPTER VI. A French Frigate 64 CHAPTER VII. Caught in a Trap -, 71 CHAPTER VIII. Under Arrest. . « 5 ill 5 CONTENTS, CIIAFIER IX. Grand Pue 91 CIIArXER X. Alone in the World 103 CHAPTER XI. A Friend in Need IK CHAPTER XII. The Parson among the Philistines 125 CHAPTER XIII. A Stroke for Liberty 135 CHAPTER XIV. Manoeuvres of Zac 145 CHAPTER XV. Flight 154 CHAPTER XVI. Reunion 163 CHAPTER XVII. Among Friends 172 CHAPTER XVIII. LOUISBOURO • 180 CHAPTER XIX. The Captive and the Captors 189 CONTENTS, 103 IK 125 Examinations. . CHAPTER XX. A Ray of Ligiit. CHAraER XXI. Escape CHAPTER XXn. Pursuit CHAPTER XXni. Zac and Maroot. . CHAPTER XXIV. CHAPTER XXV. The Court Martial News from Home. CHAPI'ER XXVI. s 198 207 217 226 236 245 265 THE LILY Al^B THE CROSS. A TALE OF ACADIA. 5>l«0 CHAPTER I. A VOICE OUT OF THE DEEP. ONCE upon a time there was a schooner belonging to Boston which was registered under tlie some- what singular name of the '^ llev. Amos Adams." This was her formal title, used on state occasions, and was, no doubt, quite as appropriate as tlie more pretentious one of the " Duke of Marlborough," or the " Lord Warden." As a general thing, however, people des- ignated her in a less formal manner, using the simpler and shorter title of the " Parson." Her owner and commander was a tall, lean, sinewy young man, whose Sunday-go-to-meeting name was Zion Awake Cox, but who was usually referred to by an ingenious combina- tion of tlie initials of these three names, and thus be- came Zac, and occasionally Zachariah. This was the schooner which, on a fine May morning, might have been seen " bounding over the billows " on her way to the North Pole. About her motion on the present occasion, it must 9 10 THE LIL Y AND THE CROSS. bo confessed tlierc was not much bounding, nor much billow. Nor, again, would it have been easy for any one to see her, even if he had been brought close to her; for the simple reason that the "Parson," as she went on her way, carrying Zac and his fortunes, had become involycd in a fog bank, in tlie midst of wliich she now lay, with little or no Avind to help her out of it. Zac was not alone on board, nor had the present voyage been undertaken on his own account, or of his own motion. Tliere were two passengers, one of whom had engaged the schooner for his own purposes. This one was a young fellow who called himself Claude Metier, of Randolph. His name, as well as his face, had a foreign character ; yet he spoke English with the accent of an Englishman, and had been brought up in Massachusetts, near Boston, where he and Zac had seen very much of one another, on sea and on shore. The other passenger was a Rcmian Catholic priest, "«^diose look and accent proclaimed him to be a French- man. He seemed about fifty years of age, and his bronzed flxced, grizzled hair, and deeply-wrinkled brow, all showed the man of action rather than the re- cluse. Between these two passengers there was the widest possible difference. The one was almost a boy, the other a world-worn old man ; the one full of life and vivacity, the other sombre and abstracted ; yet between the two tliere was, however, a mysterious re- semblance, which possibly may have been something more than that air of France, which they both had. Whatever it may have been, they had been strangers to one another until the past few days, for Claude Motier had not seen the priest until after he had char- tered the schooner for a voyage to Louisbourg. The A TALE OF ACADIA. 11 to ^h- the ^ot ro- he priest had then come, asking for a passage to that port. lie gave liis iiaine as tlio Abbe Micliel, and ad- dressed Claude in sucli l)ad EngHsh tliat tlie young man answered in French of the best sort, whereat tlie good priest seemed mucli delighted, and tlio two after- wards conversed with each otiier altogether in that language. Jjosidos these tlireo, tliere were tlie ship's company dispersed about tlie vessel. This company were not very extensive, not num1»ering over three, in addition to Zac. Tliose three all diil'ered in age, in race, and in character. The aged colored man, who was at that moment washing out some tins at the bows, camo aboard as cook, with the understanding that he was to be man of all work. He was a skive of Zac's, but, like many domestic slaves in those days, he seemed to regard himself as part of his master's family, — in fact, a sort of respected relative. He rejoiced in the name of Jericho, which was often shortened to Jerry, though the aged African considered the shorter name as a species of familiarity which was only to be tolerated on the part of his master. The second of the ship's company was a short, athletic, rosy-cheeked, bright- eyed, round-iaced lad, who was always singing and dancing except when he was whistling. His name was Terry, and his country Ireland. In addition to Jerry and Terry, there was a third. He was a short, dull, and somewhat doleful looking boy of al)out twelve, who had a crushed expression, and seemed to take gloomy views of life. The only name by which he was known to himself and others was Biler ; but whether that was a Christian name, or a surname, or a nick- name, cannot be said. Biler's chief trouble in life was 12 THE LILY AND THE CROSS. % m I an inordinate and insatiable aj^petite. Nothing came amiss, and nothing was ever refused. Zac had pieked the boy ap three years bef'ure, and since that time he had never known liim to be satisfied. At the present moment, Terry was standing at tlie tiUer, Avhile Biler was at the masthead, to wiiicli lie liad climbed to get rid of the disappointments of the workl behjw, in a more elevated sphere, and from his lofty perch he was gazing with a hungry eye forth into space, and from time to time pulling bits of dried codfish from his pocket, and thrusting them into his mouth. " Hy da ! " suddenly shouted the aged Jericlio, looking up. " You da, Biler ? You jis come down heah an' help me fotcli along dese yar tings. Ef you ain't got notin' to do, Ise precious soon find you lots ob tings. Hurry down, da ; make haste ; relse I'll pitch some hot water up at you. I can't be boddered wid dese yer pots an' pans any longer, cos Ise got do dinna to meditate 'bout." With these words Jericlio stood up, regarding Biler with an appearance of grave dignity, which would have overawed even a less solemn lad than this. Biler did not refuse obedience, but thrusting a few frag- ments of dried codfish into his mouth, heaved a sigh, gave another dejected look at surrounding space, and tiien slowly and mournfully descended to the lower world. The priest was seated on a water- cask, reading his Breviary, while Zac stood not far oiF, looking tliought- fuUy over the vessel's side. Terry was at the tiller, not because there was any steering to be done, but because he thought it would be as well for every one to be at his post in the event of a change of wind. 'n. A TALE OF ACADIA. 13 iigh, and >vver his ;-lit. Her, I but lone ind. 1 ■^t He had whistled " St. Patrick's Day in the Morning," and was about beginning another interminable strain of the same kind. Claude was lounging about, and gradually drew nearer to the meditative Zac, whom he accosted. " Well, we don't appear to be making much progress — do we ? " said he. Zac slowly shook his head. '^ No," said he ; " I must say, I don't like this here one mite. 'Tain't quite right. Seems kin' o' un- lucky." " Unlucky ? How ? " " Wal, fust and foremost, ef it hadn't been you, you'd never a' got me to pint the Parson's nose for that French hole, Louisbourg." "Why not?" asked Claude, in some surprise; "you don't suppose that tliere's any danger — do you?" "Wal, it's a risky business — no doubt o' that thar. You see, my '})ini()n is tliis, that Moosoo's my nat'ral born enemy, an' so I don't like to put myself into his power." " 0, there's no danger," said Claude, cheerily. " There's peace now, you know — as yet." Zac shook his head. " No," said he, " that ain't so. There ain't never real peace out here. There's on'y a kin' o' partial peace in the old country. Out here, we fight, an' we've got to go on figlitin', till one or the other goes down. An' as to peace, 'tain't goin' to last long, even in the old country, 'cordin' to all accounts. There's fightin' already olf in Germany, or somewliars, they Bay." " But you know," said Claude, " you thought you 14 THE LILY AND THF CROSS. I could manage this for mo somehow. You said you could put me ashore some\/]icre witliout trusting yourself in Louisbourg harbor — some bay or other — wasn't it? I forget what the name is. There's no trouble about tliat now — is tliere ? " " Wal, not more'n tliar was atbre," said Zac, slowly ; " on'y it seems more resky to me here, jest now, settin" here this way, inactive like ; p'aps it's tlie fog that's had a kin' o' depressin' elfect on my sperrits ; it's often so. Or mebbe it's tlie cifect of the continooal hearin' of that darned frog-eatin' French lingo that you go on a jabberin' with the priest thar. I never could abide it, nor my lathers afore me ; an' how ever you — you, a good Protestant, an' a Massachusetts boy, an' a loyal subject of his most gracious majesty. King George ^ — can go on that way, jabberin' all day long with that thar priest in that darned outlandish lingo, — wal, it beats me, — it does clar." At this Claude bur. into a merry laugh. " Well, by George," he cried, " if this ain't the greatest case of patriotic prejudice ! What's the mat- ter with the French language? It's better than Eng- lish to talk with. Besides, even if it wern't, tlie French can't help their language. If it were yours, you'd like it, you know. And then I hope you're not beginning to take a prejudice against the good PCre Michel. He's as fine a fellow as ever lived, by George ! " " 0, mind you, now, I wan't intendin' to say any- thhi' agin him," said Zac. " I like him, an' can't help it, he's so gentle, an' meek, an' has sech a look out of his eyes. Blamed if I don't sometimes feel jest as though he's my father. 0, no, I ain't got anythin' 1 A TALE OF ACADIA. 15 said y'*u trusting other — liero's no !, slowly ; w, settin' that's had , often so. learin' of 1 go on a [ abide it, L — you, a ii' a loyal jeorge — with that — wal, it ain't the the mat- Ihan Eng- rn't, tlie ,re yours, ()u're not lood Pri'O lived, by say any- an't help )k out of d jest as mythin' agin' him. Far from it. But it's tlie idee. For here, you see — tliis is tlie way it is ; lu;re aboard tlie Parson I see a Roman Catholic; priest; I hear two people jab- ber French all day long. It nuikes me feel jest for all the world as though I'd got somehow into the hands of tlie Philistines. It seems like beiii' a captive. It kin' o' seems a sort o' bad lookout; a kin' o' sort o' sign, you know, of what's a goin' to happen afore 1 git back agin." At this, which was spoken witli much earnestness, and with a very solemn face, Claude gave another laugh. "0, that's all nonsense,'' said he, gayly. "Why, you don't really think, now, that you're going to get into trouble through me — do you? And then as to Pere Michel, wliy, I feel as much confidence in him as I do in myself. So come, don't get into this k)w state of mind, but pluck up your spirits. Never mind the fog, or the French language. They oughtn't to have such an elTect on a fellow of your size and general build. You'll put us ashore at that bay you spoke of, and then go home all rigiit. That's the way of it. As to the land, you can't have any danger from that quarter; and as to the sea, why, you yourself said that the French cruiser was never built that could catch you." " Wal," said Zac, " that's a fac', an' no mistake. Give me any kin' of wind, an' thar ain't a Moosoo afloat that can come anywhar nigh the Parson. Still, jest now, in this here fog, — an' in the calm, too, — if a Moosoo was to come along, why, 1 railly don't — quite — know — wliat — I could — railly do." " The fog ! 0, in the fog you'll be all right enough, you know," said Claude. I 'i I 16 THE LILY AND THE CROSS. " 0, but that's the very thing I don't know," said Zac. " That thar pint's tlio very identical pint that I don't feel at all clear about, an' Vv'ould like to have settled." Claude said nothing for a few moments. He now began to notice in the face, tlie tone, and the manner of Zac something very diflerent from usual — a cer- tain uneasiness approaching to anxiety, which seemed to be founded on something which he had not yet dis- closed. " What do you mean ? " he asked, rather gravely, suddenly dropping his air of light banter. Zac drew a long breath. " Wal," said he, " this here fog makes it very easy for a Moosoo to haul up alongside all of a suddent, an' ax you for your papers. An' what's more," he con- tinued, dropping his voice to a loAver tone, and stoop- ing, to bring his mouth nearer to Claude's ear, " what's more, I don't know but what, at this very moment, there's a Moosoo railly an' truly a little mite nearer to us than I altogether keer for to hev him." " What ! " exclaimed Claude, with a start ; " do you really think so ? What ! near us, here in this fog ? " " Railly an' truly," said Zac, solemnly, " that's my identical meanin' — jest it, exactly ; an' 'tain't overly pleasant, no how. See here ; " and Zac dropped his voice to still lower tones, and drew still nearer to Claude, as he continued — " see here, now ; I'll tell you what happened jest now. As I was a standin' here, jest afore you come up, I thought 1 heerd voices out thar on the starboard quarter — voices — " " Voices I " said Claude. " 0, nonsense I Voices ! How can there be voices out there ? It must have been the water." A TALE OF ACADIA. 17 Wal/' continucfl Zuc, still speaking in a low tone, " that's the very thing I thought when I fust hcerd 'em ; I thought, too, it must be the water. But, if you jest take tlie trouble to examine, you'll find that tliar ain't enough motion in the water to make any sound at all. 'Tain't as if thar was a puffin' of the wind an a dashin' of the waves. Thar ain't no wind an' no waves, unfort'nat'ly ; so it seems beyond a doubt that it must either be actooal voices, or else somethin' su- pernat'ral. An' for my part I'd give somethin' for the wind to rise jest a leetle mite, so's I could step off out o' this, an' git out o' hearin', at least." At this Claude was again silent for some time, thinking to himself whether the possibility of a French ship being near was to be wished or dreaded. Much was to be said on both sides. To himself it would, perhaps, be desirable ; yet not so to Zac, although he tried to reassure the dejected skipper by telling him that if a French vessel should really be so near, it would be all the better, since his voyage would thereby bo made all the shorter, for he himself could go aboard, and the Parson might return to Boston. But Zac re- fused to be so easily comforted. " No," said lie ; " once I git into their clutches, they'll never let me go : and as for the poor old Parson, why, they'll go an' turn her into a Papist priest. And that," he added, with a deep sigh, '^ would be too — al- mighty — bad ! " Claude now found tliat Zac was in too despondent a mood to listen to what lie called reason, and therefore lie held his tongue. The idea that a French ship might be somewhere near, behind that wall of fog, had in it something which to him wa^ not unpleasant, since 2 18 THE IJL y AND THE CROSS. •\ it JifTordtMl some vjirioty to tlio iiionotoiiy of his sitna- tion. lie stood, tlienH'oro, in silciico. witli liis I'aco tiiniod towards tlio dii-o(^ti(>n indicatiMl liy Zac, and lis- tened intently, wliile the skip;)er stood in silence by his side, listening- also. There was no wind whatever. The water was (juite smooth, and the Parson rose and fell at tlie slow undu- lations of the long ocean rollers, while at every mo- tion the spars creaked and the sails flapped idly. All around there arose a gray wall oi log, deep, dense, and fixed, which shut them in on every side, while over- head the sky itself was concealed from view by the same dull-gray cano])y. Behind that wall of fog any- thing might lie concealed; the whole French fleet might be there, without those on board the Parson being anything the wiser. 1'his Claude felt, and as ho thought of the possibility of this, he began to see that Zac's anxiety was very well ibunded, and that if the Parson should be captured it Avould be no easy task to deliver her from the grasp of the captor. Still there came no further sounds, and Claude, after listening for a long time without hearing anything, began, at length, to conclude that Zac had been deceived. " Don't you think," he asked, " that it may, after all, have been the rustle of the sails, or the creaking of the spars ? " Zac shook his head. " No," said he ; " I've heerd it twice ; an' I know very well all the sounds that sails an' spars can make ; an' I don't see as liow T can l)e mistook. (), no \ it was human voice, an' nothin' else in natur'. 1 Avouldn't mind it a mite if 1 could do anytliin'. IJut to set here an' jest git cauglit, like a I'at in a ti'ap, is what I call too — almighty — bad ! " Ill's sitna- I Ills liico Lt', and lis- •^iloiico by was (]u\t(i ow iiiidii- 'VLM-y ino- ^^\y. All oust), and lilo over- ^v by tlio fog any. ich fleet 3 Parson nd as he SCO that at if tha i task to ill tliere minp^ for t length, ^fter all, g of the yJ TALE OF ACADIA, 19 ^ At this very instant, and while Zac was yet speak- ing, there ean.e through the fog the sound of a voiee Claude heard it and Zae also. The latter grasped the arm of h,s Irn-nd, and hehl his breath. It was a human v.).ee J here was not the slightest doubt now of that. Vords had been spoken, but they were u.n-ntelligiblo. Ihcy listened stdl. There was silenee for a ^.^^ n.o- .nonts,and then the silence was broken once more Words were again heard. They were French, and they heard hen. tins time with perfect distinctness. I hey were these: — " Put ht^' head a little over this way^ I knoAv I nifdve ; ; it Avas ouldn't et here I I call 20 THE LILY AND THE CROSS. CHArTER II. A MEETING IN MID OCEAN. PUT liQ,r head a little over this way ! They were French words. To Chiude, of course, they were perfectly intelligible, though not so to Zuc, who did not understand tiny language but his mother Yankee. Judging by the distinctness and the loud- ness of the sound, the speaker could not be very far away. The voice seemed to come from the water astern. No siglit, however, was visible ; and the two, as they stared into the fog, saw nothing whatever. Nor did any of the others on board seem to have heard the voice. The priest was still intent on his Breviary. Terry was still whistling his abominable tune. Jer- icho was below with his pots and pans ; and Biler, taking advantage of his absence, was seated on the taffrail devouring a raw turnip, which he chewed with a melancholy air. To none of these had the voice been audible, and therefore Claude and Zac alone were confronted with this mystery of the deep. But it was a mystery which they could not fathom ; for the fog was all around, hiding everything from view, and the more they peered into the gloom the less were they able to understand it. Neither of them spoke for some time. Zac had not understood the words, but was more puzzled about the A TALE OF A CADI A. 21 )f course, o to Zfic, 3 mother :he loud- very fUr le water the two, hatever. ve heard breviary, e. Jer- d Biler, on the ^ed witli le voice ne were t it was the fog and the re they fact of a speaker being bo near on the water, behind the fog, than lie was about tlie meaning of the words whicli liad been spoken. That seemed to be quite a secondary consideration. And it was not until he liad exhausted his resources in trying to imagine what or wiiero the one might be, tliat he thought of asking about tlie other. "What did it mean?" he asked, at length. Claude told him. Zac said notliing for some time. " I wonder whetlier they've seen us," said he, at length. " No — 'tain't possible. The fog's too thick — and we're as invisible to tliem as tliey are to us. Be- sides, these words show that they ain't thinkin' about anybody but themselves. Well, all we've got to do is to keep as still as a mouse, an' I'll jest go an' warn the boys." With these words Zac moved softly away to warn his crew. First he went to Terry, and informed him that the whole fleet of France was around the Parson, and that their only chance of safety was to keep silent — a piece of information which eifectually stopped Terry's singing and whistling for some time ; then he told Biler, in a friendly way, that if he spoke above a whisper, or made any noise, he'd pitch him overboard with an anchor tied to his neck. Then he warned Jericho. As for Pore Michel, he felt that warning was unnecessary, for the priest was too absorbed in his book to be conscious of the external world. After this, he came back to Claude, who had been listening ever since he left, but without hearing anything more. " We must have drifted nearer together," said Zac. " The voice was a good deal louder than when I fust 'i i I 22 THE IJL)' AM) rill': CROSS. liocrd it. My (tnly hope is, tliaf, tlioy'U drift past us, an' we'll git liirtlicr away IVoiu tlioin. Hut I wonder what tlicy meant l)y hriiigin' lier head round. P'aps they've seen us, after all — an' then, again, p'aps they haven't." He said this in a whisper, and Claude answered in another whis[)er. " It seems to me," said Claude, " that if they'd seen ns, they'd have said sometliing more — or, at \\\\y rate, they'd have made more noise. J5ut as it is, they've been perfeetly silent." " Wal — 1 on'y hope we won't hear any thin' more of them." For more than two hours silence was observed on board the Parson. Terry stopped all wliistling, and occupied himself with scr.itching his bullet head. The priest sat motionless, reading his book. Jericho drew the unhappy J3iler down below for safe keeping, and detained him there a melanclioly {)ris()ner. (Uaudo and Zac stood listening, but nothing more was heard. To Claude there seemed something weird and ghostly in tliis incident — a voice thus sounding sud- denly Ib'ih out of notlu'ngness, and \\\o\\ dying away into the silence from wliicli it had emerged : there was tliat in it which made liim feel a sensation of in- voluntary awe ; and the longer the silence continued, the more did this incident surround itself with a cer- tain supernatural element, until, at length, he began to fancy that his senses might liave deceived him. Yet he knew that this had not been the case. Zac had heard the voice as well as he, and the words to iiim had been perfectly })lain. Fid her Iteud a little over this icay ! Singular words, too, they seemed to be, A TALK OF ACADIA. 23 . past us, I woridor \. P'aps 'lips thoy wcred in 3y'd seen jimy rate, , tlioy'vo in' more ;rved on ling, and id. The 'ho drew ing, and (vUaude licard. rd and ng sud- : away tlioro 1 of in- timied, a cer- bogan I him. . Zac )rds to le over to be. as ho turned th.cm over in liis mind. Under other circumstances they miglit have been regiirdcd as per- lettly c()mm()nj)laco, but now the siirroiUKhngs gave tlunn the i)ossibility of a varied interpretation. Who was the " her"? What was meanl ? Was it a ship, or a woman? What could the meaning be? Or, again, might not tliis have been some supernatural voice sj)eaking to them from the Unseen, and conveying to them some sentence either of good or of evil omen, giving them some direction, perhaps, about tlie course of the schooner in which lie was ? Not tliat Claude was what is called a superstitious man. From ordinary su})erstition he was, indeed, quite as free as any man of his age or e{)och ; nor was he even influenced by any of the conunon superstitious fancies then prevalent. i>ut still there is a natural belief in the unseen which prevails among all men, and (laude's fancy was busy, being stimuhited by this incident, so that, as he endeavored to account for it, ho was as easily drawn towards a supernatural theory as to a natural one. Hundreds of miles from laud, on the broad ocean, a voic-e had sounded from behind the impenetrable cloud, and it was scarcely to be won- dered at that he cojisidered it something unearthly. Under other circumstances Zac miiiht also have yielded to superstitious fancies ; but as it was, his mind had been too completely hlled with the one ab- sorbing idea of the French lleet to lind room Ibr any other thought. It was not an unsubstantial ghost which Zac dreaded, but the too substantial form of some frigate looming through the fog, and liring a gun to bring him on board. Every additional moment of silence gave him a feeling of relief, for he felt that !i li 24 THE LILY AND THE CROSS. tliese moments, as they passed, drew him away farther from the danger that had been so near. At length a new turn came to the current of affairs. A puff of wind suddenly filled the sails, and at its first breath Zac started up witli a low chuckle. " I'd give ten guineas," said he, " for one good hooray — I would, by George ! But bein' as it is, I'll postpone that till I haul off a few miles from this." " Why, what's the matter ? " said Claude, rousing himself out of his abstraction. " Matter ? " repeated Zac. " Why, the wind's hauled round to the nor'west, and tlic fog's goin' .0 lift, an' the Parson's goin' to show her heels." With these words, Zac hurried to the tiller, which he took from the smiling Terry, and began to bring the vessel round to run her before the wind. '• Don't care a darn whar I go to jest now," said he, " so's I on'y put a mile or two between us and the Frenchman. Arter that we can shape our course satisfactory." And now the wind, which had thus turned, blew more steadily till it became a sustained breeze of sufficient strength to carry the schooner, with very satisfactory speed, out of the unpleasant proximity to the Frenchman. And as it blew, the clouds lessened, and the circle of fog which had surrounded them was every moment removed to a greater distance, while the view over the water grew wider and clearer. All this was inexpressibly delightful to Zac, who, as it were, with one bound passed from the depths of despondency up to joyousness and hope. But suddenly a siglit appeared which filled him with amazement, a sight Avhich attracted all his thoughts, ly farther of affairs. it its first 3no good it is, I'll this." , rousing I's hauled 3 lift, an' 3r, which to bring ' said he, and the r course >d, blew •coze of ith very :imity to cssened, icm was 0, while or. All 10, as it pths of im with loughts, A TALE OF ACADIA. 25 ■■I ■f and in an instant clianged all his feelings and plans. It was a sight which had become revealed on the dis- persion of the fog, showing itself to tlicir wondering eyes out there upon the sea astern, in the place where they had been looking for that French cruiser, which Zac had feared. No French cruiser was it that they saw, no ship of war witli hostile flag and hostile arms, no sight of fear ; but a siglit full of infinite patlios and sadness — a pitiable, a melancholy sight. It was about half a mile behind them, for that was about tlie distance which tliey had traversed since the wind had changed and the schooner's direction had been altered. It seemed at first like a black spot on the v .iter, such as a projecting rock or a floating spar ; but as the fog faded away the object became more percep- tible. Then they could see human figures, some of whom were erect, and others lying down. They were on what seemed to be a sort of raft, and the whole atti- tude of the little group showed most plainly that they had suffered shipwreck, and were here now floating about helplessly, and at the mercy of the tide, far out at sea. IMoreover, these had already seen the schooner, for they were waving their arms and ges- ticulating Avildly. One glance was enough for both Zac and Claude, and then the exclamation which they gave drew t lie re the attention of all the others. The priest looked up, and putting his book back in his pocket, walked to- wards them, while Terry gave one swift look, and then disappeared below. " Quick wid ye," he called to Jericho; "put on a couple of barls o' ta-ters to bile. There's a shipwrecked ! ''i 26 77/ Jt 7J7^Y AXD 77 IE CVv'OSS. ^jllil raft afloat out tlioro boyaiit, a'' they're all dyin' or dead av stai'vution, so tlioy are." " 0, you jort go long wid yer nonsensical tomfool- ery," said Jericlio. '' Toinlbolery, is it? Go up, tliin, an' Ink for yerself," cried Terry, wlio l)oundod up on deck again, and be- gan to prepare for action. At tliis Jericlio put on his nose an enormous pair of spectacles, and thus equipped climbed upon deck, followed closely l)y tlie melancholy Bilei*, who devoured a carrot as lie went up. By this time Zac luid l)roug]it the Parson's head round once more, and steered lor tlie raft, calling out to Terry to get tlie l)oat afloat. Terry and Jerry then Avent to work, assisted by Biler, and soon the boat was in the water. " Ef I hadn't ben sich a darned donkey," said Zac, in a tone of vexation, " 1 nn'ght have got at 'cm before, an' saved 'cm all these hours of extra starvation. Ef I'd only yelled l)ack when I fust heerd the voice ! Who knows but that some of 'em hev died in the time that's ben lost?" " Can't we run alongside witliout the boat ? " asked Claude. "Wal, 3'es," said Zac; ^'but then, you know, wo couldn't stay alongside when we got thar, an' so we've got to take 'cm oif with the boat the best way we can." They were not long in retracing their way, and soon came near enough. Zac then gave up the tiller to Terry, telling him to keep as near as possible. lie then got into the boat, and Claude followed, by Zac's invitation, as well as his own urgent request. Each took an oar, and after a few strokes, they were up to the raft. The raft was on a level with the water, and A TALE OF ACADIA. 27 dyin' or tomfool- ycrsclf," and bo- lt on his quipped lanelioly I's liead lling out rry then boat was aid Zac, 1 before, on. Ef voice ! he time asked low, wo p we've "e can." id soon [iller to le. Ho y IC s Zi Each up to and ler, was barely able to sustain the weiglit of tliose who had found refuge on it. It sccuned hke the poop or round-house of some sliip wliicli liad been beaten off by the fury of tlie waves, ;nid liad afterwards been re- sorted to by those who now chnig to it. The occupants of the raft wore, indeed, a melanclioly group. They were seven in numl)er. Of these, two were connnon seamen; a third kioked hke a sliip's officer, and wore the uniform of a second Heutenant ; tlie fourth was a gentleman, who seemed about forty years of age. These four were standing, and as the boat approaclied tliem they gave utterance to every possible cry of joy and of gratitude. But it was the other three occupar\ts of tlie raft that most excited the attention of Claude and Zac. An old man was seated there, with thin, emaciated frame, and snow-white liair. TL^ was holding in his arms a young girl, while beside her knelt anotlier young girl, wlio seemed like the attendant of the first, and botli the old man and the maid were most solicit- ous in their attentions. 'I'he object of these attentions was exquisitely beaut iCul. Her slender Irame seemed to have been worn l)y long privation, ;inu weakened by famine and exposure. Her face was pale and wan, but still showed tlie rounded outlines of youth. Her hair was all dishevelled, as though it had been long the sport of the rude tempest and the ocean billow, and hung in disordered masses over her liead and shoulders. Her dress, though saturated with wet from the sea and the fog, was of rich material, and showed her to belong to l<»ity rank; while the costume of the old man indicated the same high social position. The young lady was not senseless, but only weak, perhaps w 28 THE LILY AND THE CROSS. iii ! I, iiiilii^ .1 \\\ from sudden excitement. As slio reclined in tlie old man's arms, her eyes were fixed upon the open boat ; and Claude, as he turned to grasp the rait, caught her full gaze fixed upon him, witli a glance from lier large dark eyes that tluMlled tln-ougli liim, i'ull of unutter- able gratitude. Jler lips moved, not a word escaped, but tears more eloquent than words rolled slowly down. Such was the siglit that greeted Claude as he stepped from the boat upon the raft. In an instant he was caught in tlie embraces of the men, who, fren- zied with joy at tlie approach of deliverance. Hung themselves upon him. But Claude had no eyes for any one but the lovely young girl, whose gaze of speechless gratitude was never removed from him. " Messieurs," said Claude, wlio knew them to be French, and addressed them in their own language, "you shall all be saved; but all cannot go at once; we must save tlie weakest first ; and we will, therefore, take these noAv, and come back for you afterwards." Saying this, he stooped down so as to raise the young lady in his arms, and carry her aboard. The old man held her up, uttering inarticulate murmurs, that sounded like blessings on tlieir deliverer. Claude lifted the girl as though she had been a child, and stepped towards the boat. Zac was already on the raft, and held the boat, while Claude stepped aboard. The old man then tried to rise and follow, assisted by the maid, l)ut, after one or two elforts, sank back, in- capable of keeping his feet. Upon this Zac flung the rope to the French lieutenant, and walked over to the old man. Claude now had returned, having left the girl in the stern of the boat. ■ym A TALE OF ACAD/ A. 29 L the old 3n boat ; iiglit lior ler lai'i^o iiniitter- cacaped, 1 slowly e as lie 1 instant ho, fren- ce, Hung eyes for gaze of )m him. m to be anguage, at once ; hcrefore, i^ards." le young The old urs, tliat Claude lild, and on the aboard. sted by )ack, in- " Look hero," said Zac, as lie caino up ; " the old gentleman can't walk. You'd best carry him aboard, and I'll carry the gal." With these words Zac turned towards the maid ; slie looked up at him witli a sliy ghmce, and sliowed such a pretty face, such black eyes and smiling lips, tliat Zac for a moment hesitated, feeling quite para- lyzed by an overflow of bashfulness. But it was not a time to stand on ceremony ; and so honest Zac, with- out more ado, seized the girl in his arms, and bore her to the boat, where he deposited her very carefully by the side of the other. Claude now followed, carrying the old man, whom he placed beside the young lady, so that he and the maid could support lier as before. There was yet room for one more, and the gentleman still on the raft came forward at Claude's invitation, and took his place in the bows. The rest waited on the raft. The boat then returned to the scliooner, which now had come very close. Here Claude lifted the lady high in the air, and Pore Michel took lier from his arms. Claude then got on board the schooner, and took her to the cabin, where he laid her on a couch. Zac then lifted up the maid, who was helped on board by Pore Michel, where Claude met her, and took her to the cabin. Zac then lifted up the old man, and Pere Michel stood ready to receive him also. And now a singular incident occurred. As Zac raised tlie old man, Pere Michel caught siglit of his face, and regarded it distinctly. The old man's eyes were half closed, and lie took no notice of anything ; but there was something in that face which produced a profound impression cm Pere Michel. He stood rigid, as though rooted to the spot, looking at the old 30 THE LILY AND THE CROSS. man with a fixed stare. Then his arms sank down, his head also fell forward, and turninji; ahrnptly away, he walked forward to tlie bows. Upon tliis Jericho came forward ; and he it was wlio lifted the old man on board and assisted him to the cabin. After this, the other gentleman got on board, and then the boat returned and took off the other occu- pants of the raft. ^^ down, ^ away, Jericho 1(1 man Li'd, and r occu- A TALE OF ACADIA. CHAPTER III. NEW FRIENDS. 31 EVERY arrangement was made that could be made within the confines of a small schooner to secure the comfort of the strangers. To the young lady and her maid Claude gave up the state-room which he him- self had thus far occupied, and which was the best on board, while Zac gave up his to the old man. The others were all comfortably disposed .of, and Zac and Claude stowed themselves away as best they could, feeling indifferent about themselves so long as they could minister to the wants of their guests. Food and sleep were the things tliat were the most needed by all these new-comers, and these they had in abun- dance. Under the beneficial effects of these, they be- gan to regain their strength. The seamen rallied first, as was most natural ; and from these Claude learned the story of their misfortunes. The lost ship had been the French frigate Arethuse, which had left Brest about a month previously, on a voyage to Louisbourg and Quebec. The old gentle- man was the Comte do Laborde, and of the two girls whom they had saved, one was his daughter, and the other her maid. The other gentleman was the Comte de Cazeneau. This last was on his way to Louis- bourg, where an important post was awaiting him. 32 11 IE LILV AM) 1UI-: CROSS, ?l if. III km ^m AWm I About ii wc'L'k lu'Cnro tliis tlio Arethuso liad cn- coiiutorod ;i s(^V(M"o giilc, accoinpiuiiocl by a dciiso In^-, ill which tlioy Iiad h)st (heir rei'lconiiig. To add to llicir miseries, they tbiiiid themselves suiTouiided by i(;eborgs, amoii^L;; which uavi;j,'ati()n was mo diffi- cult that the seamen all became demoralizi d. At leii<;'th the ship struck one ol" Ihese lloating masses, and instantly began to fill. Tlie desperate ellbrts of tlio crew, Jiowever, Bcrvod to keep her afloat for another day, and might liavo saved lier, had it not been for the continuation of the fog. On the follow- ing niglit, in the midst of intense darkness, she once more struck against an iceberg, and this time the consecjuences were more serious. A Imge fragment of ice fell upon tlie poop, sliattering it and sweeping it overboard. In an in^jtunt all discipline was at an end. It was ficiuvc qui pent. The crew^ took to the boats. One of these went down with all on board, while tlie others passed away into the darkness. This little liandful had thrown themselves npon the ship's poop, which w^as floating ah)ngside w^ithin reach, just in time to escape being dragged down by the sinking ship ; and there, for days and nights, with scarcely any food, and no shelter whatever, they had drifted amid tlie dense fog, until all hope liad died out utterly. Such had been their situation wdien rescue came. Claude, upon hearing this story, expressed a sympa- thy which Avas most sincere ; and to the seamen it was all the pleasanter as his accent showed him to be a countryman. But tlie general sympathy which the young man felt, sincere though it was, could not be compared Avith that special sympathy which he experi- enced for the lovely young girl whom he had borne "*^ A TALE OF ACADIA. 33 had cn- a (lonso Ti) add urrouiided Ls so difli- li/. d. At iig masses, cilbrts of afloat for had it not the folio w- ;;, she once \ time the e fragment ^wcepmg it ^ at an end. ) the boats. I, while the This little blip's poop, ,ch, just in e sinking ith scarcely Ihad drifted out utterly, came, d a sympa- seamen it |l him to be which the uld not be 1 he experi- had borne from the raft into the sdiooncr, nnd whose doop glance of speechless gratitude liad never since faded from Ids meiiiorv. She was now aboard, jiml was occu})ying his own room. ^h>i'c than this, slie had already taken \\\) a position within his mind wliich was a pre-eminent one. She had driven out every thought of everything else. The liighest desire whicli lie had was to see once again that face which had become so vividly im- pressed upon liis memoiy, and lind out what it miglit be like in less anxious moments. J>ut for this he would have to wait. Meanwhile the schooner had resumed her voyage, in wliicli, however, she made but slow progress. The wind, which had come up so o])p()rtunely, died out again ; and, though the fog had gone, still lor a few days thev did little else than drift. After tiie lirst day and night tlu^ (\)unt de Laborde came ujjon deck, lie was extremely feeble, and had great dilHculty in walking; with him were his daugh- ter and her maid. Altiiough her exhaustion and pros- tration on the raft had, apparently, been even greater than his, yet youth was on her side, and she had been ahle to rally much more rapidly. She and her maid supj)orted the feeble old count, and anxiously antici- pated his wants with the i'ondest care. Claude had hoped for this appearance, and was not disapj)ointed. lie had ^iiut unfortunately this effort proved as much of a failure as the other; so Terry was once more com- I i t m : I 1 !i f I: an !• 44 7'//E LILY AND THE CROSS. pcllod to trust to Ill's wits. Tliosc wits of his, being active, (lid not fail, indeed, to sii^'gest inany wa3^s, and of tlie l)est kind, \\y wln"eli lie hrouglit Iiiniself into coniniunieation with his new iViends. At the iirst i'e])ast he found tliis out, and insisted upon pass- injj; everytliing to them with liis own hands, accom- panying each friendly oiler with an all'ectionate smile, which went straight to the hearts of the forlorn and hall-starved guests. This was a language which was every way intelligihlo, the language of universal hu- manity, in which the noblest precept is, to be kind to enemies and to feed the hungry. In addition to this, Terry also found out other ways of holding communication with them, the chief of which was by the language of song. Terry's irre- pressihle tendency to singing tlius burst forth in their presence, and after trolling out a few Irish melodies, he succeeded in eliciting fj-om them a sympathetic response in the shape of some lively French songs. The result proved most deliglitful to all concerned ; and thereafter the muse of Ireland and the muse of France kept up a jiei'petual anti phonal song, which beguiled many a tedious hour. AVhile the various characters on board the schoon- er were thus enterinii: into connnunication with one another, Zac endeavored also to scrape an acquaint- ance with one of the rescued party, who seemed to him to be worth all the rest put together. This was Mimi's maid, ^largot, a beautiful little creature, full of life and s})irit, and lit companion for such a mistreas as hers. The good little Margot was very accessible, and had not failed to pour forth in language not very intelligible her sense of gratitude to Zac. She had I'l A TALE OF ACAD/ A. 45 3, being y ways, liimsolf At tiio jiccom- j smile, orii and licli was rsal Un- kind to er ways •liief of ^'s irre- in tlieir lelodies, pathetic 1 songs, cerned ; mnse of which schoon- ni\\ one cqnaint- med to his was ure, fnll Tiistreas essible, lot very 5he had not forgotten tliat it wns Zao wlio liad con. •. ed licr in his strong ai'ins from (knitli to life, and tlieref-'o persisted in regarding liim not only as tlie i)reserver of lier own self, but as the real and only preserver of all the others. jMargot had one advantage which was deliglitful to Zac ; and that was, she could si)oak a little Knglish. She had once spent a year in England, wliere slie had picked up enough of the language to come and go upon, and this knowledge now proved to bo of very great advantage. The calm weather which continued gave Zac many opportunities of drifting away towards Margot, and talking with her, in which talks they gradually grew to be better acquainted. " I am so happy zat I spik Tngelis ! " said Margot ; " I novar did sink dat it was evare useful." " An' pooty blamed lucky it's ben for me, too," said Zac, in a joyous tone ; '' for as I don't know French, like Claude over there, 1 have to trust to you to keep up the conversation." '^ I not know mooch Ingelis," said Margot, '^ for I not understan de moocli of what you say." *' 0, you'll learn dreadful fast out here," said Zac. " But I not weesh to stay here so long as to learn," said Margot. '' Not wish ! Sho, now ! Why, it's a better country than France." "Than France — better!" cried Marg(_)t, lifting her hands and throwing up her eyes in amazement. " France ! Monsieur, France is a heaven — mais — dees — dees — is different." "Why, what's the matter with America?" said Zao II * I' V. ' ;i| 1: 1 !| 1 i ' .i 'ill ■ i! '! li 1 : i 1 46 T//E IJL Y AND THE CROSS, " Am(3riqiic — cot ccs jill lull of do sauvago — do Indian — do wild men — an' wild beasts — an' desert." ^H), you ain't ben to Boston; that's clar," said Zac, mildly. " Jest you wait till you see Boston ; that's all." '•'' Boston ! I nevaro hear of Boston," said IMargot, '•'- till you tell me. I do not believe eet it is more mag- nifique dan Paris." '' The most magnificent town in tlie hull world," said Zac, calmly. " You take tlie House of Assembly an' Govement House — take King Street and Queen Street, an' I'd like to know whar you'll find a better show any whar on airth." " Sais pas," said Margot ; " nevaro see Boston. Mais vous — you nevare see Paris — so we are not able to compare." " 0, well, it's nat'ral enough for you," said Zac, with magnanimity, " nat'ral enough for you, course, to like your own place best — 'twouldn't bo nat'ral ef you didn't. All ^our friends live tliar, course. You were born thar, and I s'pose your pa an' ma may be there now, anxiously expectin' to hear from you." Zac put this in an interrogative way, for he wanted to know. But as he said these words, the smiling face of Margot turned sad ; she shook her head, and said, — " No ; I have no one, no one ! " " What ! no relatives ! " said Zac, in a voice full of conmiiseration and tender pity. Margot shook her head. " An' so you've got no father nor mother, an' you're a poor little orphan girl ! " said Zac, in a broken voice. Margot shook her head, and looked sadder than ever. M A TALE OF ACAD/A. 47 Tears came to Zac'a eyes. Ho felt as he had never felt before. There was sometliinp^ so inexpressibly touching al)ont tliis orplian ! He took her little hand tenderly in his own great, hrc^'n, toil-worn fist, and looked at her very Avistfnlly. For a few moments ho said nothing. Margot looked npat him with lier great brown eyes, and then looked meekly at the deck. Zac heaved a deep sigh ; tlicn ho phiced his disengaged hand solenmly npon her head. *' Wal," said he, gravely, " Til protect you. Ef any- body ever harms you, you jest come to me. I'll — I'll be — a father to you." Again Margot looked up at him with her great browi. jyes. " 0, dat's noting," slie said. '^ I don't want you to be my fader. But, all de same, I tink you one very nice man ; an' you safe my life ; an' I sail not forget • — nevjire ; an' I weesh — . Sail I tell you what I wecsh ? " '^ Yes, yes," said Zac, eagerly, with a strange thrill of excitement. JMargot threw a quick look around. " Dees Monsieur do Cazencau," said she, drawing nearer to Zac, and s])eakijig in a low, quick voice, " I 'fraid of lieem. Dere is danjfiire for my mademoiselle, lie is a bad man. He liaf a plot — a plan. You moos sail' us. Dees Monsieur Metier is no good. You haf safe us from death ; you moos safe us from dees danjaire." " Ilow ? " asked Zac, who took in at once the mean- ing of Margot's words, though not fully understanding them. '' I will tell. Dess Monsieur de Cazeneau wish to TTi 48 Till': I. II A AM) Till': CROSS. SI; got US to Loiiislxiiir^', wlicrc lie will iMiiii us all — dut is, do olc couut and do niadciuoisi.'llo. You moos tuin al)()ut, and taku us to Hostou.'' " 'I'ako you to Hostou ! Uut this scIiooult is eupigcd to ^o to Louishourj;" with Mr. Moticr." ]\rarp)t shook hor hojid. '• ^'ou moos do it," said she, '^ or wo sail Ix; ruin. Yoa moos toll Monsieur Moticr — " Zac now hogaii questionionjj,- licr furtlior; l)ut Mar;j;ot could not remain any longer; she therefore hurrie(l away, witii the i)romise to see him a^ain and explain more al)out it; and Zac was lel't alone witii his own tliouf»"lits, not knowing exaetly what he could say to Claude, or how he could make up, out of ^lar^-ot's scanty information, a story whidi juiii-ht olfer suflieicnt ground for a (;hani[;"e in tho [)urpose of tlie voyage. Meanwliile Claude had se(>n Mimi at various times, and had conversed witii her, as l)elore, in a very con- fidential maimer. The danger of which Margot had s])()ken was present in Mimi's thoughts, also; and she was anxious to secure Claude's assistance. Thus i* that Mimi communicated to Claude all altout ^)crsonal alfaii's. There was something almr .nldish in this ready communicativeness ; hut she knew no reason for concealing anything, and there- fore was thus franlv and outspok(m. Claude, also, was quite as willing to tell all about himself; tliough his own story was somewhat more involved, and could not he told i)iecemeal, hut required a longer and more olah- orato explanation. *' Have you many friends in Franco?" asked Mimi, in an abrupt sort of way, the next time they mot. " Friends in France ? ' ' repeated Claude J " not one, that I know of." A TALK OF AC AD/A. 49 ^' No frionds ! 'I'lion wliiit cmm yon <1() tlierc?"sli3 {iskcul, iiiiiocciitly. '^ Wi'll, 1 don't know yet," said lie. " I will -jco when I ^ct tlioro. Tlic fact is, 1 am p»in^ tlicri' to lind out soniL'tliing- about my own liimily — my })ar('nts and niyscir." At this Mimi i'astencd her largo cyos upon Claude with intense interest. " How stran^cdy you talk ! " said slio. " I'll tell you ii seeret," said Claude, al'ter a jkiuso. "What?'' slie asked. " You will ncn'er tell it \o anyone? It's very im- portant." '' I tell it ? " repeated Mimi ; '^ I ! Never. Of coursc- not. So, now, wluit is the seeret ? " " Well, it's this: my name is not Motier." " Well," said Mimi, " I'm sure I'm vei-y .dad that it isn't ; and it seemed stran,t;-e when you told me h'rst, for Motier is a ])lel)eian name; and you eertainly are no plebeian." " I am not a plebeian," said Claude, proudly. '^ You arc ri^'ht. My name is (me of the nob est in Franco. I wonder if you can tell me what \ want to know !" " I ! Why, how can T ? " said Mimi. " J^ut 1 sliouhl so like to knoAv wliat it is that you want to know ! And 0, monsieur, I sliould so love to know what is your real name and family ! " "AVell," said Claude, 'M don't as yet know much about it myself But I do know what my real name is. I am the Count de ^hmtresor." " Montresor,'' exclaimed jMimi, '' Montresor ! " As she said this, there was an evident agitation in her voice and manner which did not vscape Claude. •^fi 50 THE LILY AND THE CROSS. '' Wliat's tlic matter?" said lie. "You know somo- tliing. Tell me what it is ! 0, tell me I " ]Mimi looked at him very earnestly. " 1 don't know," said slie ; " I don't know anything at all. I only know tliis, tliat poor papa's troubles are connected in scmie way Avitli some one whose name is Montresor. But h' . troubles are a thing- that 1 am afraid to speak about, and therefore 1 have never fouad out anything about them. So I don't know anything al)out Montresor, more than this. And the trouble is somctliing terrible, 1 know," continued Mimi, " f(U' it has forced him, at liis time of life, to leave his home and become an exile. And I'm afraid — tliat is, I imagine — that he himself luts done some wrong in his early life to some Montresor. 15ut I'm afraid to ask him; and I tliink now tliat the sole object of his journey is to atone for this wrong that he has done. And 0, monsieur, now that you tell your name, now that you say how you liave been living here all your life, I have a fearful suspicion that my papa has been the cause of it. Montresor ! How strange ! " Mimi was very much agitated; so nmch so, indeed, that (^laude repented having told licr this. But it was now too kite to repent, and lie could only try to find some way of remedying the evil. " Suppose I go to your father," said he, " and tell him who I am, and all about myself." " No, no," cried Mimi, earnestly ; " do not ! 0, do not ! 1 would not have you lor worlds. My hope is, that he may give up his search and go home again, and find peace. Tliere is nothing tliat you can do. What it is that troubles him I don't know; but it was something that took place before you or I were born % Hi A TALE OF ACADIA, 51 — many, many years ago. You can do nothing. You would only trouble him the more. If he has done wrong to you or yours, you would only make his re- iiiorso tlie worse, for he would see in you one whom his acts have made an exile." '' 0, nonsense ! " said Claude, clieerilv; "I haven't been anytliing of tlie kind. For my part, I've lived a very happy life indeed ; and it's only of late that I found cmt my ,-eal name. I'll tell you all about it some tone, and then you'll understand better. As to anybody feeling remorse about my life, that's all non- sense. I consider my life rather an enviable one thus far." At this Mimi's agitation left her, and slie grew calm agam. Slie looked at Claude with a glance of deep gratitude, and said, — "0, liow glad, liow very glad, I am to hear y(m sav that ! Perliaps y„u may be able yet to tell that to my dear papa. But still, I do not wisli you to say an/- tinng to lum at all till I may had some time when vou may do it safely. An.l you will promise me — will you not? — that you will keep this a secret from him till he is able to l)ear it." "^ Promise ? Of course," said Claude. ^ She held out her hand, and Claude took it and car- ried It to his lips. They had been sitting at the bows of the schooner during this conversation. No one was near, and they had been undisturbed. 52 THE LILY AND THE CROSS. CHAPTER V. A STRANGE REVELATION. THE old Count Lal)()r(lu liad Ijcgu too mucli woak- oucd by siil'ibriiijj;' and j)rivati(»n to recover very rapidly. For a lew days lie spent most of liis time re- clining upon a eoueli in the little cabin, whei'e Minii devoted herself to him with the tenderest (^are. At times she would come upon deck at the urgent request of her father, and then Clau dways wish that pai)a had chosen some dilferent kind of a person for his friend and confidant." "Is he all that?" askvd Claude. " 0, I suppos- so," said Minii. " Tlicy have secrets together, and make, together, plans tliat 1 know nothing about." " Do you suppose," asked Claude, " that you will ever be in any way connected witli their plans ? " He put this question, wliich was a general one, in a very peculiar tone, which indicated some deei)er mean- ing. It seemed as tliougli Mimi understood him, for she threw at him a hurried and luilf-friglitened look. " Why? " she asked. ^' What makes you ask such a question as that ? " "0, I don't know," said Claude. "The thought merely entered my mind — perhai)s because I dislike him, and suspect him, and am ready to imagine all kinds of evil about him." Mimi regarded him now with a yary earnest look, and said nothing for some time. " Have you any recollection," she asked, at length, " of ever having seen liis face anywhere, at any time, very long ago?" Claude shook his head. " Not the slightest," said he. " I never saw him in 66 THE LILY AND THE CROSS. all my life, or any one like liiiii, till I saw him on the raft. But wliat makes you ask so strange a question?" " I liardly know," said Mimi, " except that lie seems so in papa's confidence, — and I know tliat papa's chief trouble arises from some alfair tliat he iiad witli some Montresor, — and I tliought — well, I'll tell you what I thought. I thought that, as this Montresor had to leave France — that perhaps he had been followed to America, or souglit after; and, as you are a meml)er of that family, you might have seen some of those who were watching the family ; and the Count de Cazeneau seemed to be one Avho might be connected with it. But I'm afraid I'm speaking in rather a c(Hifused way; and no wonder, for 1 hardly know what it is that I do really suspect." " 0, I nnderstand," said Claude ; " you suspect that my father was badly treated, and had to leave France, and that this man was at the bottom of it. Well, I dare say he was, and that he is quite capable of any piece of villany ; but as to his hunting us in America, I can acquit him of that cliarge, as far as my experience goes, for I never saw him, and never heard of any one ever being on our track. ]>ut can't you tell me some- ihing more definite about it? Can't you tell me ex- actly what you know ? " Mimi shook her head. '' I don't know anything," said she, " except what little I told you — that poor papa's troultle of mind comes from some wrong Avhicli he did to some Mon- tresor, wlio had to go to America. And you may not be connected with that Montresor, after all ; but I'm afraid you must be, and that — you — will have to be — poor papa's — enemy." if A TALE OF ACADIA. 57 >> " Never ! " said Claude, veliemeiitly ; " never ! not if your father — Whatever has happened, 1 will let it pass — so far as I am eoneerned." " O, you don't know what it is that has ha[)[)ened. "Neither do you, for that matter; so there now; and for my pai't i don't want to know , and 1 won't try to find out, if you think I'd better not." " I don't dare to think anything about it ; I only know tliat a good son has duties towards his parents, and tliat lie must devote liis life to thc^ vindieation of their honor." " Undoubtedl}^," said Claude, placidly ; " but as it happens my parents have never eommunieat(Hl to me any story of any wrongs of theirs, I know very little about tliem. They never desired tliat 1 should inves- tigate their lives ; and, as I have never heard of any wrongs wliieli tliey suHered, 1 don't see how 1 can go about to vindicate tlieir honor. I liavc;, l)y the merest chance, come upon sometliing wliicli excited my curi- osity, and made me anxious to know something more. I have had no deeper feeling tlian curiosity ; and if you tliink tliat my searcli will make me an enemy of your fatlier, I hereby give up tlic search, and decline to pursue it any I'arther. In fact, I'll fall back upon my old name and rank, and become ])lain ('laude Motier.'* Claude tried to speak in an off-hand tone ; but Ih^ assumed indifference could not conceal the deep devo- tion of the look which he gave to jMimi, or the pro- found emotion which was in his licart. It was for her sake that he thus offered to I'clinquish his purpose. She knew it and felt it. " I'm sure," said she, " I don't know what to say to that. I'm afraid to say anything. I don't know what ! 68 THE LILY AND THE CROSS. may liappcn yet; yon iriay at any time find out soinc- tliiug which would hrcak through all your iudilU'rence, and lill you with a thirst lor v(;Hgeaucc^ 1 don't knoW; and you don't know, what may bo — holbi'e us. So don't make any rash oilers, Init merely do as 1 asked you before ; and tiiat is, — whilo i)a{)a is iicre, — re- frain from mentioning this subject to him. It is simply for the sake of his — his peace of mind — and — and — his health. I know it will excite him so dread- fully — that I tremble for the result." ''0, of course," said Claude, "1 i)r()mise, as I did before. You needn't be at all afraid." " Would you have any objection," she asked, after a short silence, '* to tell me how much you do really know ? " " Of course not," said Claude, with his usual frank- ness. '' I'll tell you tlie whole story. There isn't much of it. I always believed myself to be the son of Jean Motier, until a short time ago. We lived near Boston, a place that you, perhaps- have heard of. lie was always careful to give me the best education that could be had in a, colony, and particularly in all the accomplishments of a gentleman. We were both very happy, and lived very well, and I called Inm father, and he called me son; and so things went on untd a few weeks ago. I went off hunting with some British ofHcers, and on my return found tlie old man dying. The shock to me was a terrible one. At that time I boli(ived that it was my father that I was losing. What made it woi-sc, was the evident fact that there was something on his mind, something that he waa longing to tell mo ; but he could not collect his tlioughtri, and lie could only speak a few broken words. A TALE OF ACADIA. 59 did iiig. [ere Ilia rds. lie kept muttering, • J/o/i frcsor, 3'on trrsor ; ' but I thought it WHS merely some loving words ut" en- dearment to me, and did not imagine what they really meant. Still I saw that there was something on ids mind, and that he died witiiuut being able to tell it.-' Claude paused for a moment, quite overcome by his recollections, and Mimi's large dark eyes lilled with tears in her deep sympathy with his sorrows. "Well," said Claude, regaining iiis composure with an effort, " FU go on. As soon as lie was bui-ied I began to search the pai)ers, partly tt) see how the business was, and how 1 was situated in the world ; but more for the sake of trviuLi- to lind out wliat this secret could be. There was an old cal^inet tilled with papers and parcels, and here I began my search, i^'or a long time I found nothing but old l)usiness letters and receipts ; but at last 1 found some religious books — with a name written in them. The name was Louise de Montresor. Well, no sooner had 1 seen this tlian I at once recollected the words of my father, as I supposed him, wliich I thought words of endear- ment — Monti'esor, Montresor. 1 saw now that it was the name of a person — of a woman; so this ex- cited me greatly, and 1 continued the search with greater ardor. " After a while I came to a drawer in whicli was a quantity of gold coins, amounting to over a hundred guineas. In this same drawer was a gold watch ; on the back of it were engraved the letters L. I). M., showing that it was evidently the i)roperty of this Louise de Montresor. A gold chain was connected with it, upon which was fastened a seal. On this was ¥ 60 THE IJLY AND THE CROSS. engraved a grifTin rampiiiit, witli tlio motto, Noblesse obllije. " Well, after this I found anotlior drawer, in wlilcli were several lady's ornairients, ;vnd among tliem was a package carefully wrajjped u]). On opening it I iound the miniature portrait of a lady, and this lady was the same Louise de Montresor, for her name was written on the back." " Have you it now ? " asked Mimi, with intense in- terest. " Yes," said ('laude ; " and I'll show it to you some time. ]>ut I have sometliing else to show you just now. Wait a minute, and I'll exi^ain. After 1 found the portrait, I Aveiit on scare) ling, and came to another package. On opening this 1 found some ];)apers wliich seemed totally diiferent from anything I had seen as yet. The ink was fadcul ; tlio writing was a plain, bold hand; and now I'll let you read this for yourself; and you'll know as much as I do." Saying tliis, Chiude produced from his pocket a •paper, wliicli he o[)ened and handed to Mimi. It was a sheet of foolscap, written on tlu'ce sides, in a plain, bold hand. The ink was quite faded. As Mimi took tlie paper, her hand trem])led with excitement, and over her face there came a sudden anxious, half-fright- ened look, as thougli slie dreaded to make herself ac- quainted with the contents of this old document. After a moment's hesitation slie mustered up her resolution, and began to read. It was as follows : — i 1 It li '^ ylji *' Quebec, June 10, 1725. " Instructions to Jean Metier with reference to my eon, Claude de Montresor, and my property. A TALE OF ACADIA. 61 and and I'right- slf ac- 1725. to my " As I do not know liow long T sliall l>o al)scnt, I think it bettor to leave directions about my son, which may be your guide in tlie event of my deatli. 1 nuist stay away K)ng enough to eiial»le me to overcome the grief tliat I feel, f^oiig, long indeed, must it l>e before 1 shall feel able to settle in any one place. The death of my dearest wife, Louise, has left me desolate beyond expression, and there is no home for me any more on earth, since she has gone. *' 1 have pro{)crty enougli for you to bring uj) Claudo as a gentleman. 1 wish him to have the best educa- tion whicli he can get in the coh)nies. I do not wish him to know al)out his family and tlie past liistory of his unhappy parents until he shall bo old enougli to judge for himself. In any case, I should Avish him not to think of France. Let him content himself in America. It is done. In France there is no redress. The government is hopelessly corrupt, aud there is no possibility of wrong being righted. Besides, the hiws against tlie Huguenots are in full force, and lie can never live with his mother's enemies. I revere the sacred memory of my ITuguenot wife, and curse the knaves and fanatics who wronged her and cast her out; yet I thank Gt)d tliat I was able to save her fi'om the horrible fate that awaited lier. " I wish my son, therefore, to know notliing of Franco, at least until he shall be of ago, and his own master ; and even then I should wish him never to go there. Let him content himself in the colonies. For how could he ever redeem the position which is lost? or how could he hope to face the powerful and unscrupulous enemies who have wrought my ruin ; the false friend who betrayed me ; his base and infernal TmF 62 THE LILY AND THE CROSS, accomplice ; tlie uiigratef'iil govcnmuMit wliicli did flucli foul wrong to a loyal sorvaiit ? All is lost. Tlio es- tates .arc coiifiscatLMl. Tile unjust deed can never bo undone. Let my son, therefore, i*esi^-n liiniselr to fate, and 1)0 content witli the position in whieii he may find himself " The property will bo suflicient to maintain him in comfort and independenee. Here he will have all that ho may want ; here the ehureh will give him her conso- lations without bigotry, or fanaticism, or corruption, or persecution. lie will be free from t)ie vices and tcnup- tations of the old world, and will have a hai)pier fate than that of his unhapi)y lather. 'M!]u(;ene de Montresor." Another paper was folded up with this. It was written in a dilferent hand, and was as follows : — "Boston, June 20, 1740. " Count Eugene do INFontresor left on the 2d July, 1725, and has never since been heard of I have fol- lowed all his instructions, with one exception. It was from the countess that I lirst heard the word of life, and learned the truth. The [)riests at Quebec gave me no peace ; and so I had to leave and come here, among a people who are of another nation, but own and hold my faith — tlie faith of tlie pure worship of Christ. The ct)unt wished mc to bring you up a Catholic ; but I had a higher duty than his will, and I have brought you up not in yoijr father's religion, but in your mother's faith. Your father was a good man, though in error. He has, no doubt, long since rejoined the saint who was his wife on earth ; and I know that the A TALE OF ACADIA, ea spirits of your fatlior and mother smile approvingly on '^ If I (lie l.eforo I tell yon all, clear Claude, you will see this, and will understand that I did my duty to your parents and to you — " Here it ended abruptly. There was no name, and it was evidently unfinished. 1) was 1 ' ■ 1 .' 64 7J/£ LILY Ai\D THE CROSS, CHAPTER VI. A FRENCH FRIGATE. I j I i TIMI read botli papers throngli rapidly and breath- l-*J- lessly, and liaving finished tliem, she read them over once mure. As she (inislied the second reading, Claude presented to her in silence a small package. She took it in the same silence. On opening it, she saw inside a miniature portrait of a lady — the same one which Claude had mentioned. She was young and exquisitely beautiful, with rich dark hair, tliat flowed luxuriantly around her head ; soft hazel eyes, that rested with inexpressible sweetness upon the spectator ; and a gentle, winning smile. This face pro- duced an unwonted impression upon Mimi. Long and eagerly did she gaze upon it, and when, at length, she handed it back to Claude, her eyes were moist with tears. Claude replaced the portrait in its wrapper, and then restored it, witli the letters, to his pocket. For some time they sat in silence, and tlien Claude said, — " You see there is no great duty laid on me. Judg- ing by the tone of that letter, I should be doing my (Uity to my father if I did not go to France — and if I did not seek after anything." " Ah ! but how could you possibly live, and leave all this unexplained ? " 1 pro- and she with , and For |id,- Tudg- my if I leave A TALE OF ACADIA. 65 '' I could do it very easily," said Claude. '' You don't know yourself." " 0, yes, 1 could : 1 could live very easily and very happily — if I only had your assistance." At these words, which were spoken in a h)w, earnest voice, full of hidden meaning, Minii darted a rapid glance at Claude, and caught his eyes fixed on her. Her own eyes fell hefore the fervid eagerness of the young man's gaze, a ilusli overspread her face, and she said not a word. Nor did Claude say anything more just then ; but it was rather as though lie felt afraid of having gone too far, for he instantly changed the subject. ^' I'm afraid," said he, ^^ that I shall not be able to find out very much. You canni^t give me any en- lightenment, and there is nothing very precise in these papers. The chief tiling that I learned from them was the fact that Jean Metier was not my fatiier, but my guardian. Then a few other tilings are stated wliich can easily be mentioned. First, that my father was the Count Eugene de Montresor; then that he was driven to exile by some false charge which he did not seem able to meet ; tlien, that his estates were confiscated ; then, that his wife, my mother, was a Huguenot, and also in danger. 1 see, also, that my father considered his enemies altogether too powerliil for any hope to renuiin that he could resist tliom, ;ui(! that finally, after my mother's deatli, lie grew weary of the world, anu went away somewliere to die. " Now, the fact that he lived two years in Quebec made me have some thouglits at first of going there ; but afterwards 1 recollected how long it had been since he was there, and it seemed quite improbable 6 1 J ! 66 7'//E LILY AND THE CROSS. that I should find any one now wlio could tell mo any- thing about him ; Avliilo, if I went to France, I thouglit it might be comparatively easy to learn tlie cause of his exile and punisliment. And so, as I couldn't find any vessels going direct from Boston, I concluded to go to Louisbourg and take ship there. I thought also that I might find out something at Louisbourg ; though wliat I expected I can hardly say. '' You spoke as though you supposed tliat tliis Caze- neau liad something to do with my father's trouble. Do you think that his present journey has anything to do with it ? Tliat is, do you think he is coming out on the same errand as your lather ? " '' I really do not know Avliat to say al)out that. I should tliink not. I know tliat he has some office in Louisbourg, and I do not see what motive he can have to searcli after tlie JMontresors. I believe tliat pfipa hopes to find your papa, so as to make some atonement, or something of that sort; but 1 do not believe tliat Cazeneau is capable of making atonement for anything. I do not believe that Cazeneau has a single good qual- ity. Cazeneau is my father's evil genius." Mimi spoke these words with much vehemence, not caring, in her excitement, whether she was overheard or not: but scarce liad she uttered them than she saw emerging from the forecastle the head of Cazeneau himself. She stop])ed short, and looked at liim in amazement and consternation. He bowed blandly, and coming upon deck, walked past her to the stern. After he had passed, Mimi looked at Claude with a face full of vexation. '' Wlio could have supposed," said she, " that he was 80 near ? lie must have heard every word I " A TALE OF ACADIA. 67 i "Undoubtedly he did/' said Claude, - and ],e liad a chance of verifying tlie old adage that ^ listeners never hear good of themselves.' " "0, I wish you would be on your guard!" said Mimi, m real distress. - It makes me feel very anx- lOUS." "^ She threw at Claude a glance so full of tender in- terest and pathetic appeal, that Claude's playful mood gave way to one of a more sentimental cliaracter; and It IS quite nnpossible to tell what lie would have done or said had not Cazeneau again made liis appearance, on his way back to the forecastle. He smiled a cold smile as he passed them. "Charming weather for a tHe-a-tHe, mademoiselle," said he. - Parhleu ! Monsieur Metier, I don't wonder you don't make your vessel go iaster. 1 quite envy you; but at present I must see about my fellows below here." ^ With these words he turned away, and descended into the forecastle. Mimi also turned away, and Claude accompanied her to the stern. " How old do you suppose he is ? " asked Claude very gravely. ' "How old? What a funny question! Why he must be nearly fifty ]jy this time." " Fifty ! " exclaimed Claude, in surprise. " Yes. ?) " Why, I thought he was about thirty, or thirtv- five." -^ "Well, he certainly doesn't look over forty; ])ut he IS a wonderfully well-kei)t man. Even on tlie 'raft, the ruhng passion remained strong in the very presence of death, and he managed to keep up hi, youthful f l< ' II 68 THE LILY AND THE CROSS. appearance; but, I know tliatlie is almost, if not quite, as old as papa." '' Is it possible ? " eried Claude, in amazement. Mimi turned, and witli lier iaee close to Claude's, regarded liim witli an anxious look, and spoke in a low, liurried voice : — '^ 0, be on your guard — beware of liim. Even now he is engaged in some plot against you. I know it by his face. That's wliat takes liim down there to confer with tlie seamen. lie is not to be trusted. He is all false — in face, in figure, in mind, and in heart. lie knows notliing about honor, or justice, or mercy. He has been the deadly enemy of the Ah)ntresors, and if he finds out who you are, he will be y(mr deadly enemy. 0, don't smile that way ! Don't despise this enemy ! Be careful — be on your guard, I entreat you — for my sake ! " These last words were spoken in a hurried whisper, and the next moment Mimi turned and hastened down into the cabin to her father, while Claude rem;iined there, thinking over these words. Yet of them all it was not the warning contained in tliem that was pres- ent in his memory, but rather the sweet meaning con- veyed in those last three words, and in the tone in which they were uttered — the words/or w// sake! Out of his meditations on this theme he was at length aroused by an exclamation from Zac. Looking up, he saw that worthy close beside him, intently watching something far away on the horizon, through a glass. " I'll be darned if it ain't a French frigate ! " This was the exclamation that roused Claude. lie at once returned to hiuiself, an. " said Zac. "0, nonsense!" said Claude. "They couldn't. What, after saving so many lives, and conveying these : I : I Mi 72 THE LILY AND THE CROSS. rescued fellow-countryrnen to their own flag, do you suppose they couhl thiuk of arrestmg you ? Nonsense I The thmg's impossible." Zac said no more, but was evidently ill at ease, and in his own mind there was no end of dark forebodings as to the event of this meeting. These forebodings were in no way lessened as the schooner rounded to under the lee of the frigate, and Zac saw a row of guns heavy enough to blow him and his " Parson " to atoms. The frigate did not wait for the schooner to send a boat aboard, for her own boat was all ready, and soon appeared, well manned, rowing towards the scliooner. On coming alongside, the olHcer in command stepped on board, and Claude at once went forward to meet him. Cazeneau also walked forward with the same purpose. Claude politely raised his hat, and the officer civilly returned his greeting. " This, monsieur, is the schooner Amos Adams, of Boston. Wc have recently picked up the survivors of His Royal French Majesty's frigate ' Arethuse,' which has been lost at sea, and we have come to see whether you could take them. Will you have the goodness to tell me where you are going?" " Mon Dieu ! " exclaimed the officer, " the Arethuse lost ! Is it possible ? What a terrible misfortune ! And she had on board the new commandant for Louis- bourg." At this Cazeneau came forward. '' He is safe, monsieur, for I am he." The officer respectfully removed his hat, and bowed very low. "What ship is this?" asked Cazeneau, in the tone of a superior. I I A TALE OF ACADIA, 73 11 " L'Aiglo/' replied tlie officer. ^' Where are you lK)nii(l ? " "To Brest. We Imve just been cruising to the different settlements m„l fnrts on the \Uy of Fun.lv with some supplies which were sent iron, Louishourg.'' All ! And you are now on your return to France v '' " Yes." '' Who commands your ship?" " Captain Ducrot." " Ah ! Very good. You see, monsieur," said Caze- ncau to Claude, " this ship is h.und to France: alul that (iestniation will not suit any of us. I think I had better go aboard and see the captain, with whom I may have some little influence. Perhaps, as my com- mand IS an Hiiportant one, he may be persuaded to alter his course, and lan.l us at Louisbourg, or some other place^— And so, monsieur," he continued, turning to the ofJicer, " I shall be obliged to you if you will put me aboard the Aigle." The officer assured him that tlie boat was altogether at his service; whereupon Cazeneau stepped aboard, followed by the officer, and in a short time the boat was on Its way back to ih^ f,-igate. Claude watclied this m silence, and without any misgivings. It seemed to him quite natural, and, indeed, the best thing tliat could be done, under the circumstances 11 the ship was going to France, slie could not be of service to them; but if her captain could be induced to^ change his course and land tliem at Louisbourg this would be exactly what they wanted ; and (\ize- neau seemed to be the only one on board who was at all likely to persuade the captain of the Aigle to do such a thing as this. u THE LILY AiXl) THE CROSS. ' i i It soemofl }i l()nj>; time before Jiiiy furtlier notice was taken of the scliooner. Meanwliile, all on board were watcliing the frigate with much anxiety, and wonder- ing wliat the result would be. In any case it did not seem a matter of very great importance to any one ; for the lieutenant and the two sailors, who might have been most concerned, were very well treated on board the schooner, — better, perhaps, than tliey would be on board a frigate, — and evinced no particular desire to leave. The i)riest said nothing: and to him, as well as to Claude, there was nothing to l)e gained by tak- ing to the ship. As for the nged fjaliorde, lie was still too weak to take any notice of events going on around him ; while Mimi, perhaps, found herself as well situated here, under tlie care of Claude, as slie could possibly be on the lai'ger shij), under tlie care of one who might be less agreeable. Claude himself would certainly have preferred letting things remain as they were. The situation was very pleasant. Mimi's occasional companionship seemed sweeter than anything he had ever known ; and, as he was master on board, he naturally had a certain right to show her attentions ; which right he could not have under other circumstances. He would have liked to see Cazeneau take his departure for good, together witli the French sailors, leaving Laborde and Mimi on board the schooner. Finally, Zac was not at all pleased with anything in Ins present situation. The thought of possible foul })lay never left his mind for an instant; and though the blow w^as delayed for a considerable time, he could not help feeling sure that it would fall. During this period of waiting, the aged Laborde -■i' A TALE OF A CAD/A. 75 had been brnnglit, up on dock, and placed tliero on a seat. This was done from a liopo whicli Minn' had that he wouhl he benefited by the excitement of the change. Tlie sight of the ship, howover, produced but httle effect of any kind iip,,n tli(^ languid and worn-out old man. IIo gave an in.b'fferent ghmce at the frigate and the surrounding scene, and then sub- sided into himself, while Mimi in vain strove to rouso him from his indifference. At last their suspense came to an end, and ihey saw preparations making for another visit to tho schooner. This time a second boat was lowered, which was filled with marines. The sight of thij formidable boat's crew produced on Claude an im- pression of surprise; wliilc in Zac it enforced a con- viction tliat his worst fears were now to be realized. '^ Look thar ! " said he in a hoarse wliisper. '^ Now you see what's a comin' ! Go«jd by, poor old Parson ' Yer ni the claws of the Philistines now, an' no mis- take." To tliis Claude made no reply , for he began to feel rather perplexed himself, and to imagine that Caze- neau might have been playing him lidse. All that Mimi had said about him now came to his mind, and the armed boat's crew seemed like the first act of a traitor. He tried to account for this in some other way, but was not able. He could no longer laugh away Zac's fears. He could only be still and wait. "^ The two boats rowed towards the schooner. Caze- neau was not in eitlier of them. He had remained on board. At length one of the boats touched the schooner, and tlie same officer who had visited her before again stepped on board. ; If 76 Till': I.ILV A\l) THE CROSS. " Is tlic Count do Lsibordo hrro ? " lio iiskofl. C1jui(1(3 pointed lo where! tlie old niiiii WIS Rcatod. The olliccr iidvaneed, and I'einoved his hat with a bow to tho ohl count, and another to tliu beautiful Mimi. '" Monsi(!ur V\ Conite," said lie, '' T have the bonor to convey to you the; eomplinienls of Captain Ducrot, witb tho rerpu^st tliat you would honor him with your company on board tlie Ai<^le. IJis exeelleney tho Comto do Cazoneau, conimandant of Louisbourg, lias persuaded liim to convey himself, and you, and somo others, to the nearest Freii .1 ibrt. It is tli(! intention of Captain Ducrot to sail back up the J5ay of Fundy, and land you at CJrand Pre. from which place you can reacli Tiouisbourg by lancL" To this Laborde ma.iinired a few in(bstinct words in reply, wliih; Mimi made no remark wbatever. Sho was anxious to know what (Uaude was intending to do. The ollicer now turned away to tho others. " My instructions," said he, " are, to convey tho in- vitation of Captain Ducrot to ^lonsicur I'Abbc Michel and Lieutenant d' Angers, whom he will bo happy to receive on board the Aigle, and convc}^ them to Grand Pre, or France. The twH) seamen of the Arethuso will also go on board and report themselves." The olHcer now went back to Laborde, and offered to assist him. The old man rose, and taking his arm, walked feebly towairds the vessel's side, wdience ho descended into tlie boat, and was assisted to the stern uy the seamen. The olFicer then assisted Mimi to a place by her father's side, anticipating Claude, who stepped forw^ard with the offer of his assistance, lien followed Pore Michel, and Lieutenant d' Angers, ! . A TALE OF AC APIA. 77 5rod linn, ho :erii to cl ^vllo ice. lers, of tlio Aretbnso ; tli(;n Margot ; mid, finally, tlio two Roamen. Mcaiiwliilo nothing was said to Clando. TTo was not inclndcd in tlio coinpliniciitH of (^ij)tain Dutirot, nor was ny notice taken of liini in any way. Ho conld not. li('l|) fooling slightod and irritated at tlio w]m)1o i)r()Ooeding. To hinisolf and to Zac thi.s wholo party owed their lives, and they were all leaving liini now with no more regard for him tlian if he were a perfect stranger. But the fact was, tiie Avliole party took it for granted that lie and Zac would he invited on board, and that they would see tlieni both again, and su])posed that they were coming in the samo boat. Mimi and Pere Michel both tliouglit that Claude, at least, was going with them ; for he had told them both that ho was going to leave the schooner and send Zac home. ]5ut Claude's feelings were somewhat eml)ittered l)y this whole incident, and were destined to be still more so before it was all over. The lieutenant I'cmained on l)()ard. The ])oat r(jwed back to the Aigle, carrying the passengers above named, after wliich the lieutenant motioned to tho other boat. This one moved a )ngside, and a half- dozen armed seamen stepped on board. '' Monsieur," said the lieutenant, advancing to Claude, " I hope you will pardon me f r being the instrument in a very unpleasant duty. I am pained to inform you that you are my prisoner, on the command of liis ex- cellency the commandant of Louisbourg, whoso in- structions I am ordered to fulfil. I deeply regret this painful necessity, and most sincerely hope that it may prove only a temporary inconvenience." ( 78 T//E LILY AND THE CROSS. ! ■! If At tliis ClsMidc was so astoimdcd tliat for some time lie could only staro at tlio ofliccr, without being able to utter a syllable. At length lie said, — " What, monsieur ! A prisoner? You must be mis- taken ! And who — The connnandant of Louisbourg — is not that the Count de Cazeneau ? '' '' It is." *^ But, monsieur, it must be a mistake. I have never injured him. or any one. I have done nothing but good to him. My friend here, the captain of this schooner, and I, saved his life ; and we have treated him with the utmost kindness since he was ou board here. Finally, we sailed towards you, and put our- selvet. in your powxr, solely that these shipwrecked passengers, of whom tlie Count de Cazeneau was one, might reach their friends sooner. How, then, can he possibly mean to arrest me? " " Monsieur, I assure you that it grieves me most deeply," said the officer — '' most exquisitely. 1 know all this — all, and so does Captain Ducrot ; but there is no mistake, and it must be." " But what authority has he here, and why should your captain do his orders ? " '' Monsieur, I am only a subordinate, and I know nothing but my orders. At the same time, you mi'st know tliat tlie connnandant of Louisbourg has general control, by land and sea, and is my ca].)tain's superior." Claude made no reply. He saw that this m;in was but, as he said, a subordinate, and was only obeying his orders. But the officer had something still on his mind. His Avords and his looks all sliowed that the present business Avas exceedingly distasteful to him, and that he was only doing it under pressure. ' 1 ; I A TALE OF ACADIA. 79 hid the I him, " Monsieur," said he, after a pause, " I have another painful duty to perform. 1 am ordered to take pos- session of this schooner, as a prize of war, and take the captain and crew as prisoners of war." At this Claude stared at the officer once more, ut- terly stupefied. " Mon Dieu!" he cried, at length. "Are you a Frenchman? Is your captain a French gentleman? Do you know, monsieur, wluit you are doing? We have saved some shijiwreckod Frenchmen; we have carried them to a place of safety ; and for this we are arrested ! This honest man, the captain, might ex- pect a reward for his generosity ; and what does he get ? Why, he is seized as a prisoner of war, and his schooner is made a prize ! Is tliere any chivalry left in France ? Are these the acts of Frenchmen ? Great Heavens I Has it come to this ? " Monsieur," said the officer, '' be calm, I implore you. All this gives me the most exquisite distress. But I must obey orders." " You are right," said Claude. " You are a subordi- nate. I am wasting words to talk with you. Take me to your captain, or to the Count de Cazeneau. Let me iearn what it is that induces him to act towards us with such unparalleled baseness." " Monsieur, I shail be hap[)y to do all that I can. I will take you to the Aigle, — under guard, — and you will be a prisoner there. 1 hope that his excellency will accord you the favor of an hiterview." All tlii une Zac had been a silent spectator of the scene. Iio had not understood the words tliat were spoken, but he had gathered the general meaning of this scene from the gestures and expression of the 1 I ^ - I •! Ill: 80 TNIi IJLV AXI) THE CROSS. 'I two speakers. TIk^ ])i-('seii('e, also, of tlie armed guard was enough to show liiui that the l)low whicli he dreaded had litllcn. And now, since the worst had happened, all his uneasiness de[)arted, and he re- sumed all the vigor of his mind. He at once decided uj)on the ])est course to i'ollow, and that course was to he em})hatically one of" (piiet, and cahuness, and cool Avatchfulness. Claudci had become excited at this ev 3nt ; Zac liad ])ecome cool. " Wal," said he, advancing towards Claude, '' it's just as 1 said. 1 alius said that these here fVog-eatin' Frenchmen wan't to l)e trust(Ml : and hei'e, you see, 1 was rig] it. L see about how it is. The j)oor, un- ibrt'nate Parson's done for, an' I'm in for it, too, I s'pose." Claude turned, and gave Zac a look of indescribable distress. '^ There's some infernal villain at work, Zac," said he, " out of the common course, altogether. Pm ar- rested myself." " You? Ah ! " said Zac^, who did not appear to l)c at all surprised. ''You (h)n't say so! Wal, you've got the advantage of me, since you can sjjeak their darned lingo. ;So they've gone an' 'rested you, too — have they ? " '' It's that infernal Cazeneau," said Claude ; " and I haven't gottlie faintest idea why." " Cazeneau, is it ? O, well," ^:iid /^ac, '' they're all alike. It's my opinion that it's tlie captain of the iVigate, an' he's doin' it in Cazeneau's name. Ye see lie's ben a cruisin' about, an' hankers after a prize : an' I'm the only one he's picked up. You're 'rested — • course — as one of the belongin's of the Parson. You ill" A TALE OF ACADIA. 81 '' it's ciir f I an' I an' the hull crow : tlmt\s it ! We're all prisonei's oi war ! " "O, no," said Claude. Mt isn't that, altogether; there's some deeper game." ''Pooh ! " said Zae ; -^ the game ain't a deep one, at all; it's an every-day game. IJut I must sav it' is hard to be done for jest because we had a hvtle too much hooman iecdin'. Now, et' we'd only let them Frenchies rot and drown on their raft, — or ef we'd a' taken thein as prisoners to Boston, — we'd ben spared this present tribulation.'' Zae heaved a sigh as he said this, and turned away. Then a sudden thouglit struck him. " 0, look here," said he ; "jest ask 'em one thing, as a partiklar favor. You needn't mention me, though! It's this. Ask 'em if they won't leave me free — that IS, I don't want to be handculTed." ''Handcuffed!" exclahned Claude, grinding his teetli in futile rage. " They won't dare to do tliat ! "' " 0, you jest ask this Moosoo, as a favor. They needn't ol)ject." Upon this Claude turned to the officer. " Monsieur," said he, " I have a favor to ask. I and my Iriend here are your prisoners, but we do not wish to be treated with unnecessary indignity or insult. I ask, then, that we may be spare ■ : '( 84 T//E LILY AND THE CROSS. All tlic next inorning Cliiiidc^ waited f'oi' some mes- sage from (^jptaiii Diicrot: Imt none camo. Ilis breakfast was hrouglit to liini, consisting of tlio coarse fare of connnon seamen, and then his (hmicr; l)nt the captain did not make liis a})peai'ance. l^Ncn the oilicer wlio liad arrested liini, and wlio had liithi'i"t(» shown himself stifFiciently sym})athetic, did not appear. The sailor wlio brouglit liis meals gave no answer to liis questions. It seemed to ('lan(h' as though his captors were unwilling to give liini a hearing. At length, in about the middk; «)!' tlie al'ternoon, Claude heard tlie tranij) of men approaching liis prison; the door was opened, and he saw an ollicer enter, while three marines, with lixed bayonets, stood outside. " Have I the honor of speaking to Captain Diicrot?" asked Claude. "I am Captain Ducrot," said tlie other. He was a small, wiry man, dressed with extreme neatness, who looked rather like an attorney than a seaman. His voice was thin and harsh, his manner cold and re])ulsive, with an air of ])rinmess and for- mality that made him seem more like a machine than a man. Tlie first sight of him made Claude feel as though any ap})eal to his humanity or generosity, or even justice, Avould be useless. He lo()ke(l like an automaton, iit to obey the will of another, but without any inde])endent will of his own. Nevertheless, ( laude had no other resource; so he began: — '^ I have asked for this interview, monsieur," said he, "from a conviction that thei-e ninst he some mistake. Listen to me for a moment. T have lived in Boston all m}- life. I Avas on my way to Louis- "■; I; I A TALE OF ACADIA. 85 A^ ' said some lived jouis- i -i bourg, intending- to go to France from tliere, on busi- ness. I had engaged a schooner to take me to Louis- bourg; and at sea I canu^ across a, portion of the wreck of the Arethuse, witli six peo[)le on l)oard, one of wlioni was the Count d(^ Cazencau. I saved tliem all — that is, witli the assistance of the ca[)tain of the schooner. After T l)rought tlicm on board the schooner, I treated them all witli the utmost kind- ness ; and finally, when J saw your sliip in tlie dis- tance, I voluntarily sailed towards you, for the pur- pose of allowing my i)assengers to go on board. I had designed coming on l)oard myself also, if your your destination suited my views. And now, mon- sieur, for all this I find myself arrest(Ml, licld here in prison, treated as a common felon, and all l)ecause I have saved the lives of some shipwrecked fellow- beings. Monsieur, it is not [)o.ssil)le that this can be done witli your knowledge. If you want confirmation of my words, ask the good priest Pere Michel, and he will confirm all tliat I have said." The captain lir toned to all this very patiently, and without any interruption. At length, as Claude end- ed, he replied, — '^ But you yourself cannot sup[)ose that you, as you say, are imprisoned merely for this. People do not arrest their benefactors merely because thev ar(^ thoir benefactors; and if you liave saved the lif; of his ex- cellency, you cannot suppose that he has ordei-cd vour arrest for titat sole reason. Monsieur has moi-e good sense, and must understand well that tliere is some sort of charge against him." "Monsieur," said Claud(^, '' T swear to yon T not only know no reason for my arrest, bnt 1 cannot even f il (i . 'I \r ] 86 T//E LILY AND THE CROSS. imagine one ; and I entreat yoii, aa a man of honor, *o tell me what the charge against me is." " Monsieur," said the captain, blandly, '' we are both men of honor, of course. Of your honor 1 have no dou])t. It is untouched. Every day men of honor, and of rank, too, are getting into dilliculties; and whenever one meddles witli political ail'airs it must be so." " Political aifairs ! " cried Claude. " What have 1 to do with political affairs?" The captain again smiled blandly. " Parhleu, monsieur, but that is not for me to say." " But is that the charge against me ? " " Most certainly. How could it be otherwise ? " " Politics, politics ! " cried Claude. " 1 don't under- stand you ! 1 must be taken for some other person." " 0, no," said the captain ; " there's no mistake." " Pardon me, monsieur, there must be." " Then, monsieur, allow me to indulge the hope that yon may be able to shoAV where the mistake is, at your trial." The captain made a movement now as though he was about to leave ; but Claude detained liim. " One moment, monsieur," said he. " Will you not tell me something more ? Will you not tell me what these political charges are? For, I swear to you, I cannot imagine. How can I, who have lived all my life in Boston, be connected with politics in any way ? Let me know, then, something about tliese charges ; for nothing is more distressing than to be in a situa- tion like this, and have no idea whatever of the cause of it." <^ Eh bien, monsieur," said the captain, " since you *o no Diior, and must Ito jf my 'ay ? rgos ; litiia- tiiise I you 1 1 i! !• ' ( ;!f,i I , A TALE OF A CADI A. 87 i wisli It, T have IK) ol)jeoti()n wliatovor to state wliat tlioy are; and if you can cl,.ar yimY^(i\[' and show your nniocrnc.', 1 sliall ho tlio first to con^-ratulato yon. His excollency will not ohjoct to my tcllin;.- you, I am snro, for ho is the soul of ^oodnoss, and is iull of gonorous impidsos. Very well, then. In th(^ hrst place you call yoursoll' Claude iMotior. Now, this is^aid to he an assmncd name. Your real name is said to he Claude do Montresor; and it is said tliat you are the son of a certain Eu-ene do Montrosor who conunittod ^-rave oirencos ahout twenty years ago, for which lie would have heen severely pum-shod liiHl he not fled from tlie country. His wife, also,— your mother, perliaps, — was proscril.od, and would have l)oen arrested and punished had she not escaped with her husband. Tiioy were tlien outlawed, and their estates wore confiscated. Tlio wife died, the husliand disappeared. This is what happened to them." '' That is all true," said Claude. ^^ But my father and motlior Avere both most foully wronged — '' '^Pardon, monsieur," said the captain.'' "That is very probable ; but 1 am not here as judge ; I am only giving you information about tlio charge against you. 1 have not time to listen to your answer; and I would advise you not to speak too hastily. You have already confessed to the assumed name. I would advise you to be careful in your statements. And now, monsieur, should you like to liear any more ? " '' Yes, yes ! " cried Claude, eagerly ; "' tell me all that there is to know." '' Very well," said the captain. ''^ Now you, under an assumed name, engage a schooner to take you, not IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) // '<^. .// A 7a 1.0 I.I :!: 1^ 12.0 1.8 11:25 IIIIIU Hill 1.6 v] <^ /2 W > ,v^ ^.^ .'^ .V /^ '^ y ,\ iV ^^ o ^^ <1^ ""i 88 THE LILY AXD THE CROSS. to Louisbourg, but to some place in the vicinity of Louisbourg. Being tlie son of two dangerous political offenders, who were both outlawed for grave crimes, you are found coming from Boston to Louisbourg under an assumed name, and upon a secret errand, which you keep to yourself. Under tliese circum- stances tlie commandant could not overlook your cas(3. It seemed to him one whicli was full of susjjicion, and, in si)ite of the gratitude wliich lie felt for your kind oHices, he nevertlieless was compelled, by a strong sense of public duty, to order your arrest. You will be accorded a fair trial; and, though a[)i)earances are against you, you may succeed in proving your inno- cence ; in which case, monsieur, 1 am sure tliat no one will be more rejoiced than myself and his excel- lency. " You have also complained, monsieur, of the arrest of your captain. Tliat was done on account of his unfortunate connection with you. He may be inno- cent, but that remains to be seen. At present ap- pearances are against him, and he must take his sliare of the guilt which attaches to you. Ilis arrest was a political necessity." After tliis the captain left ; and, as Claude saw how useless it was to attempt to plead liis cause to tliis man, he made no further attempt to detain him. Left once more to his own refl(M^tions, Claude re- called all that the captain had said, and at first was lost in wonder at the gravity of the charges that had been raised up against him. Nor could he conceal from himself that, though they were based on noth- ing, they still were serious and formidable. Even in France charges of a political kind would lead to seri- A TALE OF ACADIA. 89 ous consequencea ; anne and t!ie same person, and, what was more, the person wlio for some reason had chosen to become his bitterest enemv. Dark in- deed and gloomy was the })rospect that now lowered before him. Before an imi)artial court the charges against him might be answered or refuted; but where could he find such a court? Cazeneau had created the charges, and would know how to make them still more Ibrmi- dable. And now he I'elt that behind these charges there must lurk something mon^ dangerous still. Already there had arisen in his mind certain sus- picions as to Cazeneau's designs upon Alimi. These suspicions he had hinted at in conversation with her, and his present circumstances (lee[)ened them into con- victions. It l)egan now to seem to him tliat Ca/eneau liad designs to make the beautiful, high-born girl his wife. Everything favored liim. lie was supreme in authority out here ; the old Laborde was under his in- fluence ; the daughter's consent alone was wanting. Of that consent, under ordinary circumstances, he could make sure. But he had seen a close and stiong friendship arising between Mimi and lier preserver. This Claude considered as a better and more probable cause for his hate. If tliis were indeed so, and if this hate grew up out of jealousy, then his prospects ■fp THE LILY AND THE CROSS. were indeed dark, for jealousy is as cruel as the grave. The more Claude thought of this, the greater was the importance which lie attached to it. It seemed to l)e this which liad made Cazeneau transi'orm Iiimself into an eavesdropper; this winch had occasioned his dark looks, his morose words, and haughty reticence. In his eavesdropi)ing he must have heard enougjj to excite his utmost je:d.ousy ; and Claude, in recalling his conversations with Mimi, could rcmeniher words which must have been gall and bitt miess to such a jealous listener. 3! lii 'i\ t jrry i:! ; » ■i ' F:; 'I \. It » A TALE OF ACADIA. 91 CHAPTER IX. GRAND PRE. VfEARLY thirty years before this, the French ^^ government liad been compelled to give up the possession of Acadie to the EngHsli, and to retire to tlie Ishmd of Cape Breton. Here they liad l)uilt a stronghold at Louisbourg, which they were enlarging and strengthening every year, to the great disgust and alarm of the New England colonies. J3ut though Acadie had been given up to the English, it could hardly be said to be held by them. Only two j^osts v;ere occupied, the one at Canso, in the strait that separated Cape Breton from Acadie, and the other at Annapolis Royal. At Canso there was a wooden block-house, with a handful of soldiers ; while at An- napolis Royal, where the English governor resided, the fortifications were more extensive, yet in a miser- able condition. At this last place there were a few companies of soldiers, and here the governor tried to ])erfbrm the difficult task of transforming the French Acadians to loyal British subjects. But the French at Louisbourg never forgot their fellow-countrymen, and never relinfjuished theu de- signs on Acadie. The French inhabitants of that province amounted to several thousands, who occu- pied the best portions of the country, while the Eng- w I j hi! ir i; 92 T//E LIL Y AND THE CROSS. lish consistcfl of only a few liidividnals in one or two posts. Among tlie Frencli Acadians emissaries were constantly moving alxmt, wlio songlit t(» keep np among them their old loyalty to the Fieneli crown, and l)y their pertinacity siirely distui-hed the peace of the English governor at xVnnapolis Koyal, I'lie French governor at Lonishoin-g was not slow to second these efforts ]»y keeping tlie Acadians sup- plied with arms and amnninition; and it was lor this purpose that the Aigle had heen sent to the settle- ments up the Bay of Fundy. Up the bays he now sailed, in accordance wn'th the wish of Cazeneau. His reason for this course was, that he might see the people for himself, and judge how far they might be relied on in the event of war, wdiich he knew must soon be declared. It was his intention to land at Grand Pr{^, the chief Acadian set- tlement, and thence proceed l)y land to Louisbourg. He had understood from Captain Ducrot that an Indian trail went all the way througli the woods, which could be traversed on horseback. Such a course would impose more hardship upon the aged Laborde and Mimi than would be encountered on shipboard ; but Cazeneau had his own purposes, which were favored, to a great extent, by the land route. Besides, he had the schooner with him, so that if, after all, it should be advisal)le to go by water, they could make the journey in her. The Aigle sailed, and the schooner followed. The wind had changed, and now blew more steadily, and from a favorable quarter. The currents dehiyed them somewhat ; but on the third morning after the two vessels had met, they reached the entrance of the Basin of Minas. A TALE OF ACADIA, 93 Tho scenery liere was wild and grand. A few miles from the shore there rose a lofty rocky island, pre- cipitous on all sides save one, its summit crested witli trees, its base worn by the restless waves. Opposite this was a rocky shore, witli clifls crowned with tlie primeval forest. From this pond tlie strait l»egan, and went on for miles, till it readied the Basin, Ibrm- ing a majestic avenue, with a sublime gateway. On one side of this gateway were rocky shores receding into wooded hills, while on the other was a towering cliff standing apart I'rom the shore, rising abruptly from the water, torn by the tempest and worn by the tide. From this the precipitous clif!" ran on for miles, forming one side of the strait, till it terminated in a majestic promontory. This promontory rose on one side, and on tlie other a lofty, wooded island, inside (jf v/liich was a winding shore, curving into a harbor. Here the strait ter- minated, and beyond this the waters of the Basin of Minas spread away for many a mile, surrounded on every side by green, wooded shores. In one place was a cluster of small islands ; in another, rivers rolled their turbid floods, bearing with them the sediment of long and fertile valleys. The blue waters s})arkled in the sun under the blue sky; the sea-gulls whirled and screamed through tlie air ; nowhere could the eye dis- cern any of the works of man. It seemed like some secluded corner of the universe, and as if those on board the ship " were the first that ever burst Into that silent sea." But, though not visible from this point, the settle- ments of man were here, and the works of human in- 1 I! lil^ I- r ! I ^ il u THE Lll.V AM) THE CROSS, dustry lyin^ fiir away on tlio slopes of distant hills and the e(l^(^s ol'low. iiiarsliy sliores. It was not without iimcli caution that tliey had passed throiigli tlie strait. Tliey had waited for the tide to come in, and tlien, with a favoral)le wind, they had made the venture. I^orne onward 1)V wind and tide to^'c^tlier, they sailed on far into the ])My, and then, directing their course to the soutliward, tliey sailed onward for a few miles fartlier. The captain had been here before, and was anxions to find his former anchorage. On the former occasion he had waited outside and sent in for a pilot, but now he had ven- tured inside without one, trusting to his memory. IIo knew well the perils that attend upon navigation in this place, and was not inclined to risk too much. For here were the highest tides in the world to be en- countered, and swift currents, and sudden gusts of wind, and far-spreading shoals and treacherous quick- sands, among which the unwary navigator could come to destruction only too easily. But no accident happened on this occasicm ; the navigation was made witli the utmost circumspection, the schooner being sent ahead to sound all the way, and the ship Ibllowing. At length both came to anchor at a distance from the shore of about five miles. Nearer than that tlie captain did not dare to go, for fear of the sand-banks and slioals. Here a boat was lowered, and Cazeneau prepared to land, together witii tlie aged Laborde and Mimi. The Abb(i Michel also prepared to accompany them. Ever since Laborde had been saved from the wreck, he had been weak and listless. It seemed as though the exhaustion, and exposure, and privation of that A TALE OF ACADIA. 05 event luul utterly broken down liis eoiistitntion. Since he liud l)een taken to (lio sliip, liowever, lir liai(,'licaii, with a low how to (\izon('Hn, informed him that ho tlioii;;lit tlici-c mi^ht Iju room lor them all, if they woiihl Ik; williiii;- to ac('('[)t his hiimhlo hospitality. '^I'hi^ old man s|n)k(> with much endiarrass- ment, yet with sincere j;'ood will. Ih^ was exideiitly overwhelmed by the grandeur of his visitors, yet anx- ious to do all in liis power to ^ive them littini;* enter- taimnent. Ducrot now informed him that the Count de Lahordii needed innne(liate I'est and attention; whei'e- upon Robicheau went in to sunmion his dame, who at once set to work to prt'})are rooms for tlie guests. Ducrot now returned to tlie landinr. Mimi walked by her father's side, wdiile Pere .Michel followed in the rear. In tliis way they reached Rolticheau's house. The room and the bed were already ])repared, and Laborde w^as carried there. As he was placed ui)on that bed, JMinn' looked at him with intense anxiety and alarm, lor his pale, emaciated face and wcidc, at- tenuated frame seemed to belong to one who was at the last verge of life. An awful fear of the worst came over her — the fear of bereavement in tliis dis- tant land, the presentiment of an appalling desolation, which crushed her young heart and reduced her to despair. Her fjither, her only relative, her only pro- tector, was slipping away from her ; and in the future there seemed nothing before her but the very black- ness of darkness. The good dame Robicheau saw her bitter grief, and ahed tears of sympathy. 8he oftered no word of con- A TALE OF ACAD/ A. 09 Hohitioii, for to her I'XjxM'icnccd eyes this fcclde ohl insin scciulmI jihx'iidv hcNoiid tho ivjicli ol" hope. She «- ft 1, L'oiihl (Hilv sliow her cninrmssion l»v her tears. IV'r(3 Micliel, ulso, liiid iKttliiii^* to s:i\ : aiid to all the dis- tress of tho despairing' ynmij;' ;.';irl lie eoidd olVci* no Word of eond'ort. It was a ease wlieic eoiidort e left U) strn;^';;lo with its nwn griefs — ah)no. A few lioiir.'^ after tlu; first lioat went ashore*, a sec- ond l)oat lande(h By this time, a larj^c nnmher nl' (he inhahitants had asseniltle(| at the landing-place, to seo what was p)in»j!; on; for to these people the sii;ht of a ship was a rare oecuri'ence, and they all i-(.M'(»j;iiizcd the Aijj^le, and wondered why she had returned. This second hoat carried Claude, who had thus heen ro- iTjoved from the ship to the shore for the purpose of being conveyed to Louishoui'g. Cai)tain I)ucr(>t and Cazcneau had already succeeded in finding a place where he could he ke})t. It was the house of one of the farmers of Grand Pre, named Comeau, one of tho largest in the whole settlement. Claude landed, and was committe ! i i ! mis- , he e of that A TALE OF ACADIA. 103 CHAPTER X. l; I ALONE IN THE WORLD, THE condition of the old Count do Laborde p;rcw steadily worse. Tlio cliange to tlieland liad done liim no good, nor was all the loving* care of Miiiii of any avail whatever. Every one I'clt that he was doomed : and i\liini liersclF, thoiigli she struggled against that thouglit, still had in lier heart a dark terror of the truth. This truth could at last be con- cealed no longer even from herself, for Pere JMicliel came to administer the holy eucharist to tlie dying man, and to receive his last confession. Mimi could not be present while tlie dying man unfolded to his priest the secrets of his heart, nor could she hope to know what those secrets were. But dark indeed must they have been, and far, very far, beyond the scope of ordinary confessions, for the face of Pere Michel, as ho came forth from tliat room, was pale and sombre ; and so occupied was he with his own thoughts that he took no notice of tlie weeping girl wlio stood there, longing to hear from him some word of comfort. But Pure Michel had none to give. lie left the house, and did not return till tlie next day. By that time all was over. Lal)()r(le liad passed away in the night. The priest went in to look upon the form of the dead. Mimi was there, bowed down 'i I ■ ! I i, • : t ■ . ft: i I "i ■ i - i f 'l' ■ ii' ;' i. r.! ■ 1 j ( 1 '■ i r ■ i ! t ■ 1 ji 1 1 1 i 1 ;ii :: s4< .1 1 '■' i '/ i ■ 1 1 1! 104 THE LILY AND THE CROSS. in the deepest grief, for slie felt herself all alone in the world. Tlie priest stood looking at the face of the dead for some time witli tliat same gloom upon liis face which had been tliere on the preceding day, when lie left that bedside. At lengtli he turned to Mimi. " Child,'' said lie, in a voice full of pity, " I will not attempt to utter any words of condolence. I know well how the heart feels during the first emotions of sorrow over bereavement. Words are useless. I can only point you to Heaven, where all comfort dwells, and direct you to remember in your prayers him who lies here. The cliurch is yours, with all her holy offices. The dearest friend must turn away from the dead, but the church remains, and follows him into the other world. Your heart may still be consoled, for you can still do sometliing for tlie dear fatlier whom you loved. You can pray for the soul of the departed, and thus it will seem to you as though you have not altogether lost liim. He will seem near you yet wlien you pray for him ; your spirit will seem to blend with his ; his presence will seem about you. And besides, my dear child, this also I wish to say : you are not altogether alone in the world. I will watch over you till you go wherever 3'ou may wish. It is not much that I can do ; but perhaps I can do for you all tliat you may now wisli to be done for yourself. Think of this, tlien, dear child, and whenever you wish to have a friend's advice or assistance, come to me." To this Mimi listened with streaming eyes ; and as the priest ended, she pressed his hand gratefully, and uttered some unintelligible words. His offer had come to her like balm. It did not seem now as though A TALE OF A CA D/A . 105 as land Iliad igh Rhe was so desolate, for she had learned already to love the good priest with sonietliing of a daughter's feelings, and to trust in him profoundly. Laborde was buried in tlie little churchyard of Grand Pre ; and now, in addition to the })angs of be- reavement, Mimi began to feel otlior cares about her future. What was slie to do ? Could slie go back to France ? That was her only present course. But how? She could not go in tlie Aigle, for that frigate had left the day after her arrival, not having any time to spare. There was no other way of going to France now, except by going first to Louisbourg, and taking a ship from that place. But she was not left very long in suspense, for, two or three days after her father's burial, the Count de Cazeneau came to see her. " I hope," he began, '' that it is not necessary for me to say to you how deeply I sympathize with you in your bereavement, for I myself have my own be- reavement to mourn over — the loss of my best, my only friend, the friend of a lifetime, the high-minded, the noble Laborde. The loss to me is irrevocable, and never can I hope to find any mere friend who may fill his place. We were always inseparable. We were congenial in taste i:nd in spirit. My coming to America was largely due to his unfortunate resolve to come here, a resolve which I always combated to the best of my ability, and over which you and I must now mourn. But regrets are useless, and it remains for both of us tv) see about the future." This somewhat formal opening was quite character- istic of Cazeneau, who, being of a distant, reserved nature, very seldom allowed himself to unbend ; and, though he threw as much softness into his voice and J I i 106 77/A' L/L i ' AND THE CROSS. iiicinnor as he was capable of using, yet Miini felt re- pelled, and dreaded what might be coming. '* When we were first picked up by the Aigle," ho continued, " it was in my power either to go direct to Louisbourg, or to come here, and then go on by land. 1 chose to come liere, Ibr two reasons ; first, because I ho])ed that my dear I'riend would be benelited by reaching the land as soon as possil)le, and I thought tiiat the pure, I'resli air, and genial climate, and l)eau- tiful scenery of this lovely i)lace W(juld exercise upon him an immediate eifect tor the better. Ancttlier pur- pose wliich 1 had was an oilicial one. 1 wished to see this place and this i)eople with reference to my own administration and designs for the future. Unhappily, my hoi)es for my friend liave proved unfounded, and my only consolation is that, thougli I have been dis- appointed as a private man in my affections, yet, as a public ofHcial, 1 have been al)le, during my sliort stay here, to do good service to my country, in a way wliich my country's enemies shall feel at a vital point before another year has passed away." To this Mimi had notliing to say, for it was all pre- liminary, and slie expected something more. She therefore waited in silence, though Avith much trepi- dation, to see wliat it iiiiglit be that tliis man had in view with regard to her. Cazeneau then continued : — " As I have now done all tliat I intended to do in tliis phice, it is my intention to set forth for Louis- bourg by land. I liave some faitliful Indians as guides, and the journey is not very fatiguing. In Louisbourg you will be able to obtain every comfort, and there will bo friends and associates for vou, vour own social equals, wlio may make your life pleasantcr than it has been for a long time." A TALE OF ACADIA. 107 ho pre- She repi- 1(1 in 1: — lo in jouiri- ■iiides, )ourg there socicil it haa By tiiis Cazcneau directly stated his intention of taking Mimi witli liim to Lonishunrg — a statement wliich did not surprise Miini, lor it was what she had ex[)ected. Now, however, that he said this, and in this way, without pretending to ask her consent, her trepidation increased, and siie thought with terror over that long and lonely journey, which she would have to make with this man and a hand of savages. There was nothing else, however, to he done. She could neither hope nor desire to remain in Grand Pr^'. Her position was a painful one, and the only ho])e remain- ing was that of returning to France. And to go to Louisbourg was the snrest way of doing that. One thing, however, she could not help asking, for this she felt to be a matter of extreme importance. " Is Pere Michel going? " " He is," said Cazeneau. " He has asked permission to go with our party, and I liave granted it." At this answer a great relief was felt by Mimi, and the future seemed less dark. ^' I have granted it," said Cazeneau, '' because he Beems a harmless man, and may be useful in various ways to me, hereafter, in my plans. He seems to know the people about here. I dare say he's been here before. " Your position at Louisbourg," continued Cazeneau, " will be one which will be most honorable : as the daughter of the Count de Laborde, you will receive universal attention, and my influence shall be exert- ed to make everything contribute to your happiness. As commandant, I shall, of course, 1)0 supreme ; my house will be like a small vice-regal court, and the little world of Louisbourg will all do homage to any 108 THE LILY AND THE CROSS. !i I I :: \^. I I 1 ; I I \ ' ' I ono whom I may hold up before them as a worthy object." Cazcneau paused after he had said tliis. It was a speech wliicli was uttered slowly and with empliasis, but its meaning was not altogether apparent to Minii. Still there was enougli of it intelligible to her to make it seem excessively unpleasant. What he exactly meant was of no importance, the general meaning be- ing certainly this : that he designed for lier some pro- longed stay there, during which he intended to se- cure homage and respect for her. Now, that was a thing that Mimi recoiled from with distaste. She had always detested this man, she had always shrunk from him. Her present position of dependence was most bitter ; but to have that position continue was intoler- able. It was as thougli he tried to put himself into the place of her beloved father, — he, whom she re- garded as her father's evil genius, — as thougli he in- tended to make liimself her guardian, and introduce her as his ward. " You speak," said she, in a trembling voice, "just as — as if — I — you supposed that I was going to live at Louisbourg." " And where else do you wish to live ? " asked Cazeneau, placidly. " I want to go home," said Mimi, her eyes filling with tears, and her voice sounding like the wail of a child that has lost its way, " My poor child," said Cazeneau, more tenderly than he had yet spoken, " you evidently do not understand your position as j^et. I did not intend to say any- thing about it ; but, since you feel this way, and have spoken so, I suppose I must make some explanation. A TALE OF ACADIA. 109 of cl Well, then, my poor cliild, wlion yonr fatlier left France on this vinfortiuiiite errand, he turned all liis property into money, expecting to nse tliat money in America ill some way, in that mysterious design of his which brouglit him out here. All this money was on hoard the Aretlnise witli liiiii, and it is hardly necessary to say that it was all lost. I know that his grief over this, and the thouglit that he was leaving you penni- less, did more to shorten his life than the sufferings which he had on the sea. He sank under it. lie told me that he could not rally from it ; and it was his utter hopelessness that made him give way so com- pletely. So, my poor child, tliis is your present situ- ation : your father's estates are sold, and arc now in the hands of strangers ; your father's money is now at the bottom of tlie Atlantic Ocean ; so that to return to France is, for tlie present, at least, not to be thouglit of, '' For my part," continued Cazeneau, as Miiiii sat there dumb witli horror at hearing this fresh and crushing news, '' I do not see anything in your situ- ation which need give you one moment's uneasiness. You have lost your fatlier, but your father's best friend still lives, and he will never see tlie daughter of his friend know one single trouble, if he can help it. We were more than brothers. Suppose you try to tliink of me with something of the same contidence that your fatlier felt. I, for my part, will put you in his: place. You shall never know a care. You may con- sider yourself rich. You shall have no trouble except that deep sorrow which you I'eel as a fond daughter." " I cannot live in America," moaned ^limi, despair- ingly, recoiling in her heart from Cazeneau, and dread- ing him more than ever. " I cannot. I want to go ii i no yy/A' y.//. ]■ aad ihe cross. \ I lioine ; or, if I Iwivc no Iioino, I want to go to France. 1 will enter a convent." Cazeneau smiled at lliis. " Sn^h a wisli, (l(.'ar cliild," sjiid ]i(% " is (|uile nsilnral now, in (lie iirst fresluu'ss of vour IxTeavenieni : Itiit time alleviiites all soi'row, and you may think dill- i- ontly lierealter. As to nsturnin^i;" to Fi'ance, you shall most certainly do that. 1 intend to p) hac-k alter a time ; and you will once moi*e live in our dear, native land. But, lor the present, let ns not talk of these things. L()uisl)()urg is now our destination. Fear noth- ing*. You shall not know a cai'c. Yon sliall Ik; guardtMl from every want, and every wisli shall ])e gratified. You shall find yourself suri()nn) These last words were spoken in a warmer and more impassioned manner tlian Cazeneau liad thus far used, and tlieir eifect upon Mimi was so much the more unpleasant. He tlien raised her hand to his lips with res})ectful affection, and took his departure. Mimi was for a time quite overwhelnienrpns.'. I'lic tli()M»:;lit had never occiinnMl to her hi'lor(; : hut, now tliat it was stated, she did not (h-eani of doiilttiiii;' it. It seemed too tlMlt;. Secondly, she saw tliat C'azonoan, for some reason or other, was detci-miiicd to kcc]) her nn(K'r Ins con- trol, fie w;is dctci'mined not to allow her to retui'ii to France, and not to enter a convent. 1I(> was hcnt upon associatin.i;' her with his own life, and cansinj^ her to he adniii'eil in fjonishourj;-. Added to this was liis promise to take her hack to Fninee with himself All this showed that he would on no acconnt allow lier to part with him. What was the meaning- ol" it all? And now tlie thouglit could no longer he kei)t out of lier mind: Cazeneau's purimse was to make her his wife. His wife ! The tliouglit was to her most odious ; hut, having once presented itself, she could not argue it away, nor could she get rid of itatall. Yes, that was the mean- ing that lurked hehind his words all the time. That was the meaning of his promise to make her adnn'red and happy. Finally, she remend)ered how he had stated to her the fact that he was supreme in Louishourg, and that through his grandeur she was to receive homage from all the lesser throng. To her this seemed like a plain vitatement that she was in his power, and entirely at his mercv. And now, wdiat could she do ? The future was worse than ever. She was completely in the power of a man whom she detested — a man upon wdiom she 112 THE LILY AND THE CROSS. \ •« \ .: 1 ,' 1 1 . I ■ : i' ; looked {irt lior fatlior's evil p^cMiiiis, as one wlioso evil counsel had loii|^' ag-o led Iilt Hither to that act whieh he had atoned for by remorse and (ksitii. She was now in the hands of this villain. Kseape seenie(l im- possible. He was suiM-eme here. From him there was no appeal. And she was a l)e^}j;ar. Hut, even if she were rich, what hope could she have against him ? As she asked herself this question, there was no answer. She did not know what she could do, and could scarcely hope that she would ever know. It was in this state of mlnut there was also another reason. He could not bear the thought of leaving Mimi forever, and never seeing her again. If he sliould succeed in escaping to Annapolis Royal, it would be an eternal separation between her and himself. Grand Pr^ A TALE OF ACADIA. 115 seemed pleasant to him since she was here ; and he thought it better to be a prisoner here than a free man elsewhere. He, tlierefore, deliberately preferred to run any risk that might be before him, with the faint hope of seeing Mimi again, rather than to attempt flight. Wliat had happened since lie had come here he did not know verv cloarlv. From conversation which he had overheard lie had gathered that Laborde was dead; but, when he asked any of tliem about it, tliey refused to tell him anything at all. Claude was, there- fore, left to make the most that he could out of this vague information. But the intelligence caused him to feel much anxiety about Mimi. He remembered well all that she had ever told him, and could not help wondering what she would do under present circum- stances. Would she be willing to remain in the neigh- borhood of Cazeneau? But how could she help it? Would not Cazeneau take advantage of her present loneliness to urge forward any plans that he might have about her? Already the suspicion liad come to Claude tliat Caze- neau had certain plans about Mimi. What lie thouglit was this: that Laborde was ricli, that Mimi was his heiress, and tliat Cazeneau was a man of profligate life and ruined fortunes, who was anxious to repair his fortunes by marrying this heiress. To such a man the disparity in their years would make no difference, nor would he particularly care whether .Mimi loved him or not, so long as he could make her his wife, and gain control over her property. What had given him this idea about Cazeneau's position and plans it is dilH- cult to say; but it was probably his own jealous U>.« 11 ipi«Ji»i^^p^^inw«"™ I 116 THE LILY AND .THE CROSS. I \ i ■■^ \ \ ill! fears about Mimi, and liis deep detestation of his enemy. And now lie began to cliafe against the narrow con- fines of liis clianiber witli greater impatience. lie longed to have some one with whom lie could t;>lk. He wondered whether Cazeneau would remain hero much longer, and, ii' he Avent awa}', whether he would take Mimi or leave her. lie wondered, also, whether he would be taken to Louisbourg. lie felt as it' he would rather go there, if ^limi was to go, even at the risk of his life, than remain behind after she had left. But all his thoughts and wonders resulted in nothing whatever, for it was impossible to create any knowl- edge out of his own conjectures. He was in the midst of such thoughts as these wlien his ears were attracted by the sound of a familiar voice. He listened attentively. It was the voice of P^re Michel. No sooner had Claude satisfied himself that it was indeed the priest, than he felt sure that he had come here to visit him ; and a little longer wait- ing showed that this was the case. There were ad- vancing footsteps. Madame Comeau opened the door, and Pere Michel entered the chamber. The door was then shut, and the two were alone. So overcome was Claude by joy that he flung him- self into the priest's arms and embraced him. The good priest seemed to reciprocate his emotion, for there were tears in his eyes, and the first words that he spoke were in tremulous tones. " My son," the priest commenced, in gentle, paternal tones, and in a voice that was tremulous with emotion, *' you must calm yourself" Then, suddenly speaking in English, he said, " It is necessaire dat we sail spil^ Ingeles, for ze peuple of ze house may suspeck >; w m A TALE OF ACADIA. 117 Upon this Claude poured tbrtli a torrent of questions in English, asking ahout Laborde, Cazenean, Zae, and Mimi. It will not be necessary to report the words of tlie priest in liis broken English, but rather to set them down according to the sense of them. So the priest said, — " You speak too fast, my son. One thing at a time. The poo" Laborde is dead and bui-ied. The Count Cazeneau is about to go to Louisbourg. ^limi is going with him." '* Mimi going with him ! " cried Claude, in deep agitation. " Be calm, my son. Do not speak so loud. I have told the people of this house that your life is in danger, and that I have come as a priest, to Iiear your last confession. I do not wish them to suspect my real errand. We may talk as we wish, only do not allow yourself to be agitated." '^ But tell nre," said Claude, in a calmer voice, "how is it possible that Mimi can trust herself with Cazeneau? " "il/a/oi," said the priest, "it is possible, for she cannot help it. But do not fear. I am going to ac- company them, and as far as my feeble power can do anything, I will watch over her, and see that she suf- fers no injustice. I hope that Heaven will assist her innocence and my protection ; so do not allow yourself to be uneasy about her ; but hope for the best, and trust in Heaven." At this Claude was silent for a few moments. At length he said, — " 0, Pere Michel, must I stay here when she goes ? Can you tell me what they are going to do with me ? " ! p 1- 1 f 1 'i MM n." m ami 118 THE LILY AND THE CROSS. I, I "It is about yourself tint I am going to speak, and it was for this that I came," said the priest. " Can I go with the others to Louisljourg ? " asked Claude, eagerly ; for he thought only of l)eing near Mimi. " Heaven forbid ! " said the priest. " It is in a far different way that you are to go. Listen to me. Tlie Count de Cazeneau is going to set out to-morrow, with a party of Indians as escort. Mimi is to be taken witli him. I am going, too. It is liis intention to leave you here for a time, till his escort can return. They will then take you to Louisbourg. If lie can find any In- dians on the way whom lie can make use of, ho will send them here for you. But meantime you are to be kept imprisoned here. " Now, I am acquainted with the Indians better than most men. I lived in Acadie formerly, long enough to be well known to the whole tribe. I am also well known to the Acadians. Among the Indians and the Acadians there are many who would willingly lay down their lives for me. I could have delivered you before this, but I saw that you were not in any immediate danger ; so I preferred postponing it until the Count de Cazeneau had left. I do not wish him to suspect that I have any interest in you ; and when he hears of your escape, 1 do not wish him to think that I had anything to do with it. But I have already made all the plans that are necessary, and the men are in this neighborhood with whom I have arranged for your escape." " What is the plan?" asked Claude, eagerly. " I will tell you," said the priest. '' There are six Indians, all of them devoted to me. They will guide / A TALE OF ACADIA, 119 tl you to a place of safoty, and will be perfectly faithful to you as long as tliey are with you. They are ready to go anywliere with y(.u, to do anytliiiig for you, even to the extent of laying down tJieir lives for you. It is for my sake that they are willing to sliow this de- votion. I have presented you to tlieni as my repre- sentative, and they Ijok upon you as they woidd look upon me. But, first of all, you are to get out of this. Can you open that window? " " Tt was fastened tight when I first came," said Claude ; '^ but I have loosened it, so that I can take it out very quickly." " Very good. Now, one of tliese Indians will ])e here to-morrow night. We shall leave to-nu)rrow morning; and I do not want you to be rescued till after our departure. At midnight, to-morrow, then, the Indian will be here. He will give a sound like a frog, immediately outside, under the window, lou must then open the window. If you see him, or hear him, you must then get out, and he will take you to the woods. After that he and the rest of the Indians will take you through the woods to Port Royal, which they call Annapolis Royal. Here you will be safe from Cazeneau until such time as may suit you to go back to Boston. Annapolis Royal is about twenty-four leagues from this place, and you can easily go there in two days." Claude listened to all tiiis without a word ; and, after the priest had ended, he remained silent for some time, with liis eyes fixed on the floor. " The Indians will be armed," said the priest, "and will have a rifle and a sword for you. So you need have no trouble about anything." i-. 1, ' H ■ :' ■ I 1^ ^'t i! ! ^■^^; 1 1 '^t20 •-Wv***-^" T//E LIL V AND THE CROSS. " ^fy dear Pore Michel," said Claude, at last, " you lay me under very great obligations ; but will you not add to them by allowing nie to select my own route ?" "Your own route?" asked tlie priest. " What do you mean? You dijn't know tlie country, especially the woods, while these Indians will l)e at liome there." "What I mean is this," said Claude : " will you not allow me the use of this Indian escort in another direction than the one you mention?" " Another direction ? Why, where else can you pos- sibly go? Annapolis is the nearest place for safety." " I should very much prefer," said Claude " to go to Canso." " To Canso ! " said the priest, in great surprise ; " to Canso ! Why, you would come on our track ! " - " That is the very reason why I wisli to go there. Once in Canso, I should be as safe as in Annapolis." The priest shook his head. " From what I hear, Canso cannot be a safe place for you very long. P^ngland and France are on tlie eve of war, and Cazeneau expects to get back Acadie — a thing that is very easy for him to do. But why do you wish to venture so near to Louisburg? Caze- neau will be there now ; and it will be a very different place from what it would have been had you not saved Cazeneau from the wreck, and made him your enemy." " My dear Pere Michel," said Claude, " I will be candid with you. The reason why I wish to go in that direction is for the sake of being near to Mimi, and on account of the hope I have that I may rescue her." " Mimi ! Rescue her ! " exclaimed the priest, aston- A TALE OF ACADIA. 121 jj Do ill iii, ue isliecl, not at the young mim's feelings towards Minii, for those he had ah'eady discovered, hut rather at tlie bokhiess of liis plan, — '' rescue her! Why how can you possibly hope Ibr tliat, when slie will he under the vigilant eye of Cazeneau?" " I will hope it, at any rate," said Claude. ^' Be- sides, Cazeneau will not be vigilant, as he will not suspect that he is Ibllowed. His Indians will suspect nothing. 1 may be able, l)y means of my Indians, to entice her away, especially if you prepare her mind for my enterprise." The priest was struck by this, and did not have any argument against it ; yet the project was evidently distasteful to him. '' It's madness," said he. ^' ^ly poor boy, it may cost you your life." ^' Very well," said Claude ; " let it go. I'd rather not live, if I can't have Mhni." Tiie priest looked at him sadly and solemnly. " My poor boy," said he, '^ has it gone so far as that with you ? " '' As far as that — yes," said Claude, "and farther. Recollect 1 saved her life. It seems to me as if Heaven threw her in my way; and I'll not give her up without striking a l)h)\v. Think of that scoundrel Cazeneau. Think of the danger she Is in while under his power. There is no liope for her if he once gets her in Louisbourg; the only hope for her is befoi-e she reaches that place ; and the only one who can save her is myself Are my Indians faithful for an enterprise of that kind ? " " I have already told you," said the priest, " that they would all lay down their lives for you. They :! 1 1 i |i : lii 122 TJ/I£ LILY AND THE CROSS. will go wherever yon lead. And now, my dear son," continued the priest, " 1 did not think that you would dream of an enterprise like this. Hut, since you have made the proposal, and since you are so earnest about it, wliy, I make no opi)osition. 1 say, come, in Ileav- en's name. Follow after us; and, if you can come up with us, and cifcct a cfminumication with Mimi, do so. Your Indians must be careful ; and you will find tliat they can be trusted in a matter of tliis kind. If I see that you are coming up witli us, and Inid any visitors from you, I will j)repare ]\limi for it. But su[)pose you succeed in rescuing her," added tlie priest ; ^' have you thought what you would do next ? " " No," said Claude ; " nor do I intend to tliink about that. It will depend upon where I am. If I am near Canso, I shall go there, and trust to linding some fish- erman ; if not, I shall trust to my Indians to take us back through the woods to Annapolis. But there's one thing that you might do." "What?" " Zac — is he on board the schooner, or ashore ? " " The skipper? " said the priest. " No. I have not seen him. I think he must be aboard the schooner. It is my intention to connnunicate with him before I leave this place." " Do so," said Claude, eagerly ; " and see if you can't get him free, as you have managed for me ; and if you can persuade him, or beg him for me, to sail around to Canso, and meet me there, all will be well. That is the very thing we want. If he will only promise to go there, I w411 push on to Canso myself, at all hazards." The priest now prepared to go. A few more words A TALE OF ACADIA. 123 J) you and sail well, only self. ^ords were exchanged, after which Claude and IVro Michel embraced. The priest kissed him on both cheeks. '^ Adieu, my dear son," said he. ^^ I hope we may meet again." ^' Adieu, dear Pere Micliel," said Claude. '^ I shall never forget your kindness." With this farewell the two separated ; tlie priest went out, and the door was fastened again upon Claude. For tlie remainder of that night, Chiude did not sleep much. His mind was lillcd with tlie new pros- pect tliat the priest's message liad opened before him. The thouglit of being free once more, and at tlie head of a band of devoted followers, on tlie track of Minii, filled him with excitement. That lie would be aide to overtake the party of Cazeneau, he did not doubt ; that he would be able to rescue Mimi, he felt c(Uifi- dent. The revulsion from gloom and despondency to hope and joy was complete, and the buoyant nature of Claude made the transition an easy one. It was with difficulty that he ctmld prevent himself from bursting forth into songs. But this would have been too dan- gerous, since it would have attracted the attention of the people of the house, and led them to suspect that the priest had spoken other words to him than those of absolution ; or they might report this sudden change to Cazeneau, and tiicreby excite his suspicions. The next day came. Claude knew that on this day Cazeneau and his party had left, for he overheard the people of the house speaking about it. According to their statements, the party had left at about four in the morning. This filled Claude with a fever of im- patience, for he saw that this first day's march would t . r 124 THE LIL V AND THE CROSS. !! I ! ^*i \ put them II long way alioad, and make it diHicult for him to catch up with tlicin. But there was only one day, and he tried to comfort liimself witli the thouglit that lie could travel faster than tiie otheis, and also that the priest and Mimi would hoth manage to retard their progress, so as to allow him to catch u}). The day passed thus, and e\ening came at last. Hour after hour went hy. All the family retired, and the house was still. (Jlaude tiien slowly, and carefully, and noiselessly removed the window from its place. Then he waited. The houis still jjassed on. At last he know that it must he about midnight. Suddenly he heard, innnediately outside, a low, gut- tural sound — the well-known sound of a frog. It was the signal mentioned by the [)riest. The time had come. He put his head cautiously outside. Crouched there against the wall of the house, close underneath, he saw a dusky figure. A low, whispered warning came up. Claude res})onde(l in a simihir manner. Then, softly and noiselessly, he climbed out of the window. His feet touched the ground. No one had heard him. He was saved. ..i,i \ I A TALE or ACADIA, 125 also CHAPTER XII. had THE PARSON AMONG THE PHILISTINES. A MAP of tilis part of Amcrini, in tliis year, 1743, >^^ would show a very diilerciit scuiio from that winch is presented hy one of the present date. ^J^lie country held by the Englisli did not reach beyond the Kennebec, although claimed by thoin. But north of this river it was all in the virtual possession of tlie French, and on the map it was disiinguished by the French colors. A line drawn from the mouth of the Penobscot, due north, to the River St. Lawrence, divided New England from the equally extensive territoiy of New Scotland, or Nova Scotia. This New England was bordered on the east by Nova Scotia, on the north by the River St. Lawrence, and on tlie west by the prov- ince of New York. But in New England tlie French colors prevailed over quite one half of this territory ; and in Nova Scotia, though all was claimed by the English, every part was actually held by the French, except one or two points of a most unimportant char- acter. Looking over such a map, we perceive the present characteristics all gone, and a vast wilderness, full of roaming tribes of Indians, filling the scene. North of Boston there are a few towns ; but beyond the little town of Falmouth, the English settlements are all called 12G THE LILY AND THE CROSS, ■ 'A ! ■ ,r Fort tin's 5111(1 Fort tluit. V\^ tlic valloy of'tlic rvcnnobcc is the niiiikof 51 road to Qucht'c ; and alxnit hall" way, at tlio head wators of the Kcnncbc'c, a point is inarkod on tlio ina[) witli tlu;so words : ^^ halhin and French retidczvous. Krfrcnuli/ jirojxr/or a fort, ic/iUh tvouhl ri'.stniin the French and cnrh the Abcnakkl Indlan.sy And also : *' From QueUc to Kennct)ek Hirer mouth, )toi much aljove Jndf icay to Boston, and, one third to New York, thence Ity that It. and ye Chaudiere ye road to Canada is short:^ North of the St. Lawrence is a vast country, which is called New France. As Old France and Old Eng- land struggle for the supremacy in the old world, so New France and New England struggle for the su- premacy in the new world, and the hone of contention is this very district alluded to, — this border-ground, — called by the French L'Acadie, but claimed by tho English as Nova Scotia, wdiich bordered both on New England and New France. This debatable territory on the map is full of vast waste spaces, together with the names of savage tribes never heard of before or since, some of which are fa- miliar names, merely spelled in an unusual manner, while others owe their origin, perhaps, to the imagina- tion of the map-maker or his informant. Thus, for ex- ample, we have Massasuk, Arusegenticook, Saga Da- hok, and others of equally' singular sound. In this debatable territory are numerous forts, both French and English. These are situated, for the most part, in the valleys of rivers, for tiie very good reason that these valleys afford the best places for settlement, and also for the further reason that they are generally used as the most convenient routes of travel by those A TALE OF ACADIA. 127 wlio go by land from one post to aiiotluT. Tliopo forts are mimcrons on tlu^ west of Now Mn^land ; tlioy also stud tlio nia}) in various places towards the north. The valley of the St. .lohn, in Nova Seotia, is niarkecl by several of those. Farther on, the important isth- nnis wliieh connects the peninsula of Nova St^otiawith the main lan«l is protected by the strong post called Fort IJeausejour. In tliis peninsula of Nova f^cotia, various settlements are mjirked. One is named Minas, whicli is also known as (jJrand Pro, a larg-e and important connnunity, situ- ated in one of the most beautiful and fertile valleys in America. In tlie neighborhood of this are a lialf dozen points, marked with the general name of Frencli set- tlements, while tlio vacant places between and beyond are marked with tlie name Mic Macs, which is the titlo of the Indians who inhal)it Nova Scotia. One post here, however, possesses a singular interest in the eyes of the good people of Boston. It is marked on tho map by tho name of Annapolis, once the Fnmcli Port Royal, but now the only Englisli i)ost of any consofiuenco in all Nova Scotia. Here resides tlio handful of Englisli- men who claim to rule the province. But tlio govern- ment is a mockery, and tlio French set it at defianco. If England wishes to assert her power hero, she must have a fardiflerent ibrce in the country from tho band- ful of ragged and ill-armed soldiers who mount guard on the tumble-down forts at Annapolis. Beyond all tliose, at the extreme oast of the penin- sula, is an island called by tlie French lie Iioyalo, and by the English Capo Breton. This is bold by tho French. Hero is their greatest stronghold in America, except Quebec, and one, too, which is regarded by ^Miii^JM<e best lor Jerielio to do this, so that in case tlie noise should wake tlie Wiitch, he and Terry might be on hand to deal with thcni. Jeriehcj was now sent aft, charged with the burden of jin important com- mission. He went soltly and swil'tly, like a spirit of night. Ilis whole nature seemed changed by the pur- pose before him. In an instant lie had ceased to be the lowly slave intent on cookery, and had started up into the attitude of an African warrior. As he glided along, Zac and 'J'erry, with equal noiselessness, moved towards the slumbering watch, and then waited. It wa,i necessary that the cabin should first be closed, so that those within, if alarmed by tlie outcry of their friends, should not be able to help them. All went on well. Jericho readied the cabin, and then swiftly, and with as little noise as possible, shut the door and fastened it. Upon this, Zac and Terry each seized one of the slumbering Acadians, and be- fore they were fairly awake they were disarmed. Zac and Terry bc^th scorned to bind them, partly out of kindly feeling towards them, partly because they themselves had not been bound, and partly out of the pride of their manhood. The Acadians at first stood stu])efied, and then, recognizing the whole truth, they slunk forward, and stood dejectedly in the bows, where they awaited Avith fear the further action of their late prisoners. Both Terry and Zac made friendly signs to them, pressing their hands on their hearts, smiling, nodding, i; yl TALE OF ACAD/A. 137 and shut 'crry be- artly ;ause out first ruth, OWS) n of hem, ling, and so forth ; wliilo Terry even went so far as to whistle one of tlieir favorite niehxhes. Hut tlie Aca- dians were not to l)e reassure(h They Itoked upon themselves as lost men, and evidently regarded "^''erry as a traitor of the deepest dye. They now waited till tlic others in the cahin sliould make some sign. Jericho had armed himself with an axe, with wliich he stood ready to act in case of a fight. It Avas evident that tlie Acadians in the cahin had heard nothing whatever, and not one of them awaked before the usual time. Then, of course, the painful discovery was made by them. At first, loud cries and threats were made ; but these were stilled by Zac, who in a vc 3 of thunder awed them into silence. " You are prisoners ! " said he. " Give up your arms. » The one who understood a little English was nble to comprehend this. The command was followed by an excited debate among the four, which was at last ended by a second mandate from Zac, accompanied by a threat to fire upon them. At this a hurried answer was given : — " We render. We render. Fire not." A small skylight was then opened, and all the arms and equipments of the pris(,)ners were passed up. These were appropriated by Zac. The door of the cabin was then unfastened and opened, and tlio prisoners called upon to come forth, 'i'hey came looking fearful and dejected, as though apprehending the worst. Zac, Terry, and Jericho, each with his musket, stood at the stern, and as they came out they motioned to them to go to the bows. The Acadiana I; r: l!i y ■■ i is 138 77//:' L/LV AND THE CROSS, ()])cyc(l in silence, and soon joined their two compan- ions. Some time was now occupied by Zuc in talking over witli 'Perry the ])est course to be pursued. They at length decided to allow the Acadians to remain unbound by day, and to shut them down at night, or while sailing. As long as tliese men were unarmed and themselves armed, .iiey had not the sbglitest fear ol" any trouble arising. For the Acadians, tliougli stout, muscular iVdlows, were all so good-natured and phlegmatic in their faces that no danger of anything so desperate as an attack on their part was to be an- ticipated. It was decided, liowever, while tliey were on deck, to keep them confined to the forward part of the schooner. Tliis Zac succeeded in making known to them. ^^ We won't do you no harm," said he. '^ We won't tic you or bind }'ou. At night you must go below to sleep. If any of you make an attack, we won't show you any mercy. So you'd best keep quiet." The chief Acadian understood tliis as well by the signs with which it was acr .iiied as from tlie words, and he e>cplained it followers. lie then informed Zac that they i be quiet ; whereupon Tei'ry went forward and sliook hands with each and all of tliem. '- Commy 2^ortij-voo? Bon jure, moo- soo,^^ said he ; to wliicli the Acadians, liowever, made no response. 11iey did indeed allow him to sliake tlieir hands ; but tliey would not say anytliing, and evidently regarded him as a perjured villain, and traitor to their cause. ^'Biler!" roared Zac. " Whar are you, you young cuss cf .'ii'e?" A TALE OF ACADIA. 139 tllG tho then ipon and moo- iiadc luiko and 1 aiic )ung Upon tin's tho yonnp^ cuss of life slowly emerged from the forecastle, holding a cold potato in his hand. Tho scene on deck made no impression on him, but ho walked aft witli his oyes fixed on Zac. " Stand there ! " commanded Zac ; and Biler stood. " Feller seamen and comrades at arms," said Za(;, stretching out liis arm in the oratorical fasiiion wliieh lie had seen used at town meetings " to lium." '' This is a gellorious day for his great and gracious maj"(Mty King George, wiu)se loyal suhjects we air, as we have proved by this reseoo of his ship from the hands of the l^hilistines. It air all very well for the king to send out his red-coats ; l)ut I tell you what it is, I ain't seen a red-coat that lives that's e(pial to the natyvo pro-vincial. Who aii' the ones that doos the best fightin' out liere ? The pro-vincials ! Who air the men that's druv the wild and bkxjdthusty Tnjin back to his natyve woods? The pro-vincial! And who air the men that's goin' to settle tho business of Moosoo, an' make America too liot to hold liim an' his'n? The red-coats? Nay; l)ut ra^'ther the pro-vincials, tlio men that's fit the catamounts, an' bars, an' Injhis, an' turned the waste an' ])owlin' wilderness into a gardin', an' made the desert bk)ssom like a rose. So, 1 say, Hooray for the pro-vincials ! " At this Zac removed his liat. Terry did the same; so did Jericlio. Biler had none to remove, but he raised his potato in the air. Zac led olf — " Hij), hip, hip, li-o-o-o-r-a-a-a-y ! " " Arrali, captain, darlint, an' while ye's about it, sure ye won't be forgettin' ould Ireland,'' cried Terry, as the ringing cheers died away over the waters. " Certingly," said Zac. " Course. Here goes I " 140 THE LII.V AM> THE CROSS. I And three cliocrs in tlio same fashion followed for Terry's native land. " 'J'are an' ages!" cried Terry; ''an' wliile we're abont it, sni'e an' we's ouglit to give three; chairs for Africa, in lionor of Jericho."' " Hooray ! "' ci'ied Zac. '' ITere goes ! " And tlireo clieers followed for Afi'ica. Wliethc Jericlio knew mucli al)()nt Africa, may be a (piestion; hnt lie under- stood at least that th's lionor was oifered to liimsclf, and accepted it accordingly. It almijst overwiielmed him. A wild chuckle of spasmodic deliglit burst from him, wliich tlireatened to end in a convulsion. And though he rallied from tliis, yet he was (piite demoral- ized, and it was a long time l)cibre he settled down into that sedate old darky wliich was his normal con- dition. And now Zac waited. Finding himself in command of his own schooner again, he felt more able to act in case of iiecessity. lie was so I'ar out from the shore that he was easily able to guard agjunst the unex- pected arrival of any boat. By day he lay at anchor; but when night came the Acadians were sent below, the anchor was raised, and the schooner cruised about the bay. The strong tides and currents caused a little trouble, but Zac soon got the run of them, at least in a general way, and several nights were thus passed. At length he began to grow impatient, and felt quite at a loss what to do. He Avas half inclined to send one of the Acadians ashore with a message, but as yet con- cluded to wait a little longer. The Acadians, whether from fear or policy, did as they promised, and kept quiet. They kept by them- selves always, and refused to accept the advances of 3lior; ■low, lb out ittle ill a At at a 10 of cou- ld as liem- 5S of A TALE OF ACADIA. HI Terry, though tlioy wore frequently made. They all a))peared listless and dejected, and tlie sniihjs, tlio laughter, and the singing wliieli Iiad i-haracterized their first days on hoard liad all j)assod away, and given place to low, niunnured conversation or si- lence. At length, one evcMiing at al>out six o'clock, Zac saw a solitary hoat coming from tlie shore. It was a long way off when lie first saw it, and it seemed to l)c coining towards tlie schooner. 'J'he tide was nnlavor- able, so tliat the ])rogress was rjnite slow; hut its course lay steadily towards him, and Zac, who watched it intently, was turning over in his mind his best plan of action. It did not seem large enoiigli to contain any very l'ormidal)le force; Init Zac thought best to take every precaution, and so sent all the Aca- dians below, while Terry and Jericho stood ready for action. The time passed away, and the boat drew steadily nearer. At length it came near enough for Zac to see that it was rowed by two men, whicli sight was most welcome, since it assured him tliat no danger was to be apprehended. As he watched it, the boat drew nearer and nearer. lie said nothing, but waited for them to speak first He could see that both of the men were unarmed. At last the boat touched the schooner's side. One of the men leaped on boai'd, securing tlie boat, and the other followed imme(liatelv. Thev were both dressed like all the Acadians, but the second boat- man had a slouched hat, which concealed his face. Zac, who carelessly regarded him, noticed that ho was a smooth-faced boy, while the first boatman was a grizzled old man. i I ,i^:U - I 1 1 1. I- -^t i»i' 142 THE LILY AND THE CROSS. Both of these looked fironnd, aiKl seemed surprised. At length the boy {idvauced towards Zuc. " Capitaino/' said this boy, '^ wliat ees dees ? You no seem a preesonaire. You haf a gun. Air you free?" At the sound of tliis voice Zac started back a step or two in utter amazement. Could it be possible ? Yet that voice could not belong to any otlier. It nuist be* And even as lie stood tluis bewildered, the boy raised his hat with a shy smile, witli wliich tliere was also mucli sadness mingled, and revealed the face of the little Margot. '^ Wal," exclaimed Zac, '' this does beat creation ! " Zac then caught both lier hands, and held them in a tight grip, and for a few moments could not speak. '' I do feel good, little one," said lie, in a tremulous voice. "This here's Avliat 1 ben a waitin' for — to see you — an' you only — though I skiirse dared to hope it. At any rate, 1 did hope and feel that you wouldn't go oif without a word, and no more you heven't ; an' I feel so happy that 1 could cry." It was not exaggerated. Honest Zac was unused to such emotions, and hardly understood them. His eyes were moist as he looked upon IMargot, and slie saw that his simple confession was true. Her own emotion was as great as his. Tears started to lier own eyes, and in her sadness slie leaned on his arm and wept. Whereupon Zac's tears fell in spite of him, and he began to call himself a darned fool, and her a dear little pet ; till the scolding of himself and the soothing of iMargot became so hopelessly inter- mingled that he called lier a darned old pet, and him- self a dear little fool. Whereupon Margot burst into A TALE OF ACADIA. 143 ised lllis islie )wn llicr lu'iii of imd liiid ler- im- ito a laiigb, dashed her tears away, and started off from Zac's grasp. And now Margot proceeded to tell Zac the reason of her journey. From her he learned for the first time tlie events that liad taken i)lace on shore. First, she informed liim tliat Claude was in confinement, and that Cazeneau intended to take him or send him to Louisbourg ; that Cazeneau himst'lf was bitterly hos- tile to him. Slie informed him that Laborde was dead; that Mimi was in terril)le distress, and in mortal terror of Cazeneau ; and linally, that she was to be taken to Louisbourg. All this filled Zac with concern and apprehension. She informed Zac that she and her mistress were to be taken away eai'ly on the following morning, and that she had slipped off thus in disguise, witli tlie consent of her mistress, to let him know the danger of his friend ; for Claude was to remain in Grand Pr.' for some time longer, and her mistress thought that after Cazeneau had departed, it might be possible to do something to save him. This occupied some time, and Zac interrupted her with many questions. At length, having told her story, ^largot turned aAvay. This startled Zac. "What!" said he; '^ you're not a goin' to leave me ! " and poor Zac's voice was like a wail of de- spair. " Why, wdiat ees eet posseeble to do ? I moos go to ma maitresse.'' '^ But — but what'U become of me?" mourned Zac. " I may never see you again." Margot sighed. " I moos go to ma maitresse," she murmured. " 0, don't ! don't now ! " cried Zac. " She ain't half 144 THE LILY AND THE CROSS. :h I I i: f ^"•i ^ f' 'V ' ii as fond of you as me. Slio can tiikc care of herself. Tlie priest'll watch over licr. O, don't go, don't ! I declar I feel like dnjundin' niyseli at the bare idee." Zac, npon tliis, seized lier liand, and begged, and coaxed, and prayed lier to stay; till jx^or little Mai"got began to cry bitterly, and conld only })lead in broken tones her love for her dear mistress, who was in siu-li danger, and how base it would be to desert her at such a time. '^ Wal, wal — would you — would you come with me if — if it warn't for her?" mourned Zac. Margot looked up at his face Avith a slight smile shining through her tears, which seemed to reassure poor Zac. " We sail meet again," said ]\largot, in a more cheer- ful voice. Zac shook his head disconsolately. '^ And so, adieu," said ^hirgot, in a low voice. Zac said nothing, l)ut with an ex])ression of despair lie took her in his arms, kissed her, and then turned aAvay and wept. Margot cried l)itterly, and got into the boat. The old Acadian followe(L The boat rowed away. ^^ Adieu, et mt rcmlr, cher Zac/- said Margot, calling back and waving lier hat. " Goo-oo-d by-ye," said Zac, in a, wail of despair. For hours Zac stood looking after the boat in per- fect silence. At last he turned away, gulping down a sigh. '' Darned ef 1 know what on airth's tlie matter with me," he murmured. A TALE OF ACADIA. 145 CHAPTER XIY. MAXCEUVRES OF ZAC. Ivith ZAC slept but little that night. T^. re were two causes for Avakel'uliiess. The first was Margot, who had wrought such mischiei witli his thoughts and feelings that he did not know what was the matter with him. The second cause was the condition of Claude. Gradually Margot's image faded away, and he l)egan to turn his tlioughts towards tlio })r()l)lem of deliver- ing Claude. IIow was tliat to be done ? Over this he thought for the greater part of that night. Towards morning lie called Terry, who was to watcli for tlie remainder of the niglit, and pro- ceeded to hold a coiuicil of war. First of all he acquainted Terry witli the general state of affairs. Part of Margot's information had been overheard by him ; but Terry, seeing how things were, had discreetly withdrawn aft, and kept up a loud whistle, so as to prevent himself from overliear- ing their words ; so that now tlie greater part of this information was news to the Irish Ijoy. " And have ye tliought of anythin' at all, at all? " he asked. " Wal, Pve tliouglit over most everything said Zac. '' You see, the state of the case is this : they've 10 14G THE LILY AND TLIE CROSS. f I) ^1! ■'I i i \\ '/Ml ; '■ ifIS -il . ' w t F i u 1 1 f: ..'!>- ■ i 1,- ■ lis ■ 1. *^ got one of us a prisoner .'islioro over there, but we've got six of them a prisoner out here." " Tlirue for you/' said Terry. " Wal, now, you see, if tliis Cazeneau was here, he hates Motier so like pison tliat he'd sacrifice a hun- dred Frenclnnen rayther'n lot him go — an' in my 'pinion he's worth a hundred Frenchmen, an' more. But now, bein' as Cazcneau's goin' away to-morrer, we'll be in a position to deal with the people here that's a keepin' Motier; an' when it comes to them — why, they won't feel like losin' six of their men for the sake of one stranger." " I wonder," said Terry, " whether the owld boy that came out in the boat found out anythin'. 'Deed, if he'd had his wits about him, an' eyes in his head, he'd have seen it all, — so he would." " Wal, we'll hev to let 'em know, right straight off." " To-morra'd be best." " Yes ; an' then Cazeneau'U be off. I'd rayther wait till then ; it'll be better for us to have him out of the way." "What'Uye do?" " Wal, I'll sail up, and send w^ord ashore." " How'U you sind word ? We can't spake a word of the lingo." "• Wal, I ben a thinkin' it over, an' I've about come to the conclusion that the old Frenchman down thar in the cabin'U be the best one to send." " Sure, an' ye won't sind the Frenchman ashore in yer own boat ! " " Why not ? " '' He'll niver bring it back ; so he won't." " Then we'll keep the other five Frenchmen." )rd le lar in I A TALE OF ACADIA. U7 ''Sure, an' it's a hard tiling altogetlier, so it is, to hev to tlirust him. He"!! W) after rousiii' the country, an' they'll power down upon us in five hundred fishin' boats; so they will." '' Wal, if I staid lierc to anchor, that might be dan- gerous," said Zac ; '' but I ain't got no idee of standin' still in one place for them to attack me." " Sure, an' it'll be best to let him see tliat if he don't come back wid Misther Metier, the whole five'll hev their brains blown out." " Sartin. He'll have to go witli that in his mind ; an' what's more, I'll make him swear an oath to come back." " Sure, an' it'll be the hard thing to do when neither ofyez ondherstan' enougli of one another's lingo to ax the time af day." " Wal, then I'll have to be satisfie■ 150 THE LILY AND THE CROSS. ii' » ) l(l> hero in three hours — three," lie repeated, holding lip three fingers ; '^ three hours." " 0, oui — yes — ccrtaiiieniad — tree liour." '' These others will be all prisoners if he don't come." ^^ 0, oui — yo^ ; ftll personaire ; mals ho vill come, tout certalnemodJ^ " You und'stand now, Moosoo, sure?" " 0, Old ; me coniprotds — ond'stand — certaine- merit.^^ '^ Well, then, you wait up here till wo get nearer, and then you cTin go asliore in the Ijoat." But Zac's preparations were destined to undergo some delay, for the wind died out, and the schooner lay idle upon the surface of the water. For several hours Zac waited patiently, hoping for a change ; but no cliango came. At length tlie tide turned, and after a time the scliooner, which had already been drifting helplessly, now began to be carried back towards the place from Avliich she had started. Zac was now left to his own invention, and could only decide that on the following day, if the wind should fail him, he would send tlie boat ashore from his present anchorage, and wait the result. For various reasons, however, lie preferred going nearer ; and therefore he had refrained from sending the boat ashore that day. The next day came. There was a fresh breeze and a favorable one. The waters began to rise. Zac was all ready. Up went the anchor, the sails were set, and once more the Parson was turned towards the landing. The breeze now blew steadily, and in course of time Zac found himself sufficiently near for his pur- poses, and he began to act. I!: liil A TALE OF ACADIA. 151 First of all, np went tlio Britisli onsip;n. Then, tlio howitzer wan fired. The noise of the report did not fail of the effect wliicli Zac liad anticipated. He saw tlic people tnrning* out from their houses, some stand- ing still and loolcinij:, otliei's running towards the lanut to this Zac sternly respon^(«^«iq«rfwm4*<<«Bfi«^ )♦ I 156 yy/^- z/zj' ^^/.w; 7//E aaoss. of powder and l)all. Taking tlicse, Cbmdo then set out on his long tramp. Tlicro were six Indians. Of these, three went in front, and three in the rear, the wliole party going in single file. Tlie trail was a wide one, and eoniparatively sniootli. '^Fhe guide drew Claude's attention to tracks on the ground, wliieh eould easily be recognized as the prints of horse hoofs. To Claude's iiupiiry liow many there were, the Indian informed him that tliere were four. By this it seemed to Claude tliat Mimi and her maid had each one, while tlie other two were used by Cazeneau and the priest. After several hours they at length came to a river. It was like tlie Gaspcreaux in one respect, for it was turbid, and rolled witli a swift current. Tlie banks also were lined with marshes, and the edges were composed of soft mud. No way of crossing it ap- peared, and as they approached it, the Indians turned away to go up the stream. The prospect of a long detour was very unpleasant to Claude ; and when at length he came to a })lace Avliere the tracks of the horses went towards the river, he asked why this was. The Indians informed him that the horses had crossed here, but that they would have to go farther up. It did not turn out so bad as Claude had feared, for after about half an hour's further walk, they stopped at the bank of the river, and Avaited. To Claucje's question why they waited, an extraor- dinary answer was given. It was, that they were waiting till the water ran out. This reminded him of the old cLissic story about the fool who came to a river bank and waited for the water to run out, so that ho might cross. Claude could not understand it ; but, supposing that his guides knew Avhat they were about, A TALE OF ACADIA. 157 p. traor- were lim of I river at he but, about, u . he waited for tlio result, taking advantage of this rest to fortify his inner man witli a sound repast. After this was over, ho rose to examine the situation ; and tlie first siglit showed In'm an astonisliing cliange. He had lingered over liis repast, now eating, now smoking, for about an liour, and in that time tliere had been wrought wliat seemed to ln"m like a wonder of Nature. The water of the river liad indeed 1)een running out, as the Indian said; and there before him lay the chan- nel, running low, with its waters still pouring forward at a rate wliich seemed to tlircaten final emptiness. And as he looked, the waters fell lower and lower, until at length, after he had been tliere three hours, the channel was almost emi)ty. This particular spot was not sonmddy asotlier parts of the river bed, and tlierefore it had been chosen as the best place for crossing. It was quite hard, except in the middle, wliere tlio mud and water together rose over their knees ; and tlius this miglity flood was crossed as though it had been some small brook. A few hours more served to bring tliem to the foot of some hills ; and here tlie party halted. Tliey had once more picked up the trail, anut his own excite- ment interfered with that display of skill wliich he in- tended to show ; and Claude, who had regained his coolness, had the advantage in this respect. A few strokes showed Cazeneau that he had found his master. But this discovery only added to his rage. He determined to bi-ing the contest to a speedy issue. With this intent he lunged forward with a deadly thrust. But the thrust was turned aside, and the next instant Claude's sword passed through the body of Cazeneau. ! A TALE OF ACADIA. 1G3 CHAPTER XVI. REUNION. THE wounded man fell to the ground, and Claude, dropping his sword, sank on his knees beside him. In that one instant all his anger and his hate fled away. It was no longer Cazeneau, his mortal enemy, wliom ho saw, l)iit his fellow-creature, laid low by his hand. Tlie thought sent a quiver through every nerve, and it was with no ordinary emotion that Claude sought to relieve liis fallen enemy. But Cazeneau was unchanged in his implacable hate ; or, if possible, he was even more bitter and more malignant now, since he had thus been beaten. " Away I " he cried, in a faint voice. " Away I Touch me not. Do not exult yet, Montresor. You think you have — avenged — your cursed father — and your mother. Do not exult too soon ; at least you are — a pauper — a pauper — a pauper ! Away ! My own people — will care for me." Claude rose at this, and motioned to Cazeneau's In- dians. They came up. One of tliem exjunined the wound. He then looked up at Claude, and solemnly shook his head. " May Heaven have mercy on his soul ! " murmured Claude. " I thank Heaven that I do not know all the bitter wrong that he has done to my parents. What he has done to me I forgive." 1G4 THE IJLV AND TIIK CROSS. i Then, by ii siiddoii impulse, lie bent down over the fallen man. '' Cazeneau," said he, " you're a dying man. You have something on your conscience now. What you have done to me 1 forgive. May others whom you have iiijure(l do the same." At this magnanimous speech (-azencau rolled his glaring eyes furiously towards tlie young man, and then, su[)plied with a sudden s[)asmo(lic strength \)\ his own i)assion, he cried out, with bitter oaths and execrations, — " Curse you ! you and all your race ! " He raised himsell' slightly as he said this. The next instant he I'ell back, senseless. For a moment (4au(le stood looking at the liieless form, undecided what to do. h^hould he remain here h>nger? If Cazeneau hould revive, it would only be to curse him ; if he died, he could do nothing. Would it not be better to hurry forward after the rest of the party, who could not be very far away ? If so, he could send back the priest, who would, come in time eitlier for lii'e or death. The mtanent that he tlumght of this he decided that he would hurry forward for the priest. lie then ex- plained to his guide wliat he wished, and asked the Indians of Cazeneau how far the rest of the party were. Tliey ccmld speak but very little French, l)ut managed to make Claude understand that they were not far. To his Indian they said more, and he told his employer. What they said was to this effect : tliat on this morning Cazeneau had left the party with these two Indians, for the sake of a little recreation in hunting. The rest had gone forward, witli the understanding that tliey should not go more than two or three hours. Then they were to halt and wait. Cazeneau was just about to go after them as Claude came up. ext iidc , ttj eau 'lie r to .nia the itli. liat ox- tlio ro. ed To 'or. iu^- est ley len out lis c f/ C r; !>► f c r: p :-ii>'; ^MmJi'd': %■ ''■'^M' r^^^'VK ! I ii i ;i /^ TALE OF ACADIA, 105 This infnrm;iti(>n sIiowimI riuiulo tluit tlio rost of tlio party woro within easy distance, and tliat tlu^ priest coiiM 1)0 readied and sent hack Iief'ore evening. Ac- cordin^-ly he liesitated no longe", hut set forth at once in tlio greatest haste. The thought that Minii was so near ins])ircd Chiude witli fresh energy. Altliough he had l»een on the tramp all day, and without rest, — although he had re- ceived a severe and unparalleled shock in the terrible fate of Cazeneau, — yet the thought ol' Minii had sulli- cicnt power over him to chase away the gloom tliat for a time had fallen over his soul. It was enough to him now that a priest was within reacli. Upon that priest he could throw all the responsibility which arose cmt of the situati(m of his enemy. These were the thoughts that animated him, and urged him forward. The Indians of (^izeneau had made him understand that they were only a few liours ahead ; but Claude thought that they were even nearer. lie thouglit it unlikely that Cazeneau would let them go very far, and supposed that he had ordered the other Indians to go slowly, and halt after al)out three or four miles. lie therefore confidently expected to come up with them after traversing about that distance. With this belief he urged on his attendants, and himself put forth all his powers, until at length, after nearly two hours, he was compelled to slacken liis speed. This showed that they were not so near as ho had expected ; yet still he believed that they were just ahead, and that he would come up with them every moment. Thus his mind was kept upon a constant strain, and he was always on the lookout, watching both with eyes Jli 11, mi f;!i i! !!>• IGG 77//': I.//.V AX/) /'///C CROSS, ;in(l o.irw cilbcr lo see some A^p\ of tlioni, or to liear tlioiii lis (hey wciil oil lid'orc liiai. And this constant slniiii ol" niiiii-wliil(wiial< (J ^'^'; '111. I {\y,^[ "•^J>'t'-<;'i(MV()nI(l| "i^;' il oiit Iii polled to tl,ink al ^^^vvasto iollSSj|)|(. 'foro 1 "ivo Olio great '"" '^'^^ ''tpidiy and \ o P"»«- to lutlt, I ^'^t (lay CLtudo 1 ""•'•fed ojnvanl '"ipatioijco, ; '>oing siistaiiiod l,v 1 ^^''llioiit st on- '^"I'portod \nnx on tl ^^^'^ also l,y tl ''<^^/on', like tl 'y' •^'>jue l,op,> ,v'lii,.|, I,.,, '^ preceding;- dav. J„f ^jW.s of his pursuit. ^<^ I^^ugth, towards tl P'^rsuitofan^/././^, n wa; a J-iver, and the iv,u\ soemed i l„(l,. | JO close of tiled, '^•v, ;iiid tjvej- M )e JiJii. ly, 11 sometimes loaviug ft; and "'" "''^'^^'' ''y its side / ; "'oy i-eaclied <"' miles. aguni i-etuniing to it. ^^\ le ' tl r^ IG8 THE LILY AND THE CROSS. 1 ^ f I I 1 - i \ I' patli was broad, tlic woods were free from underbrush, and more open than usual. Suddenly tlie gnide stopped and looked forward, with the instinct of his Indian caution. But Claude had one idea only in liis mind, and knowing well tliat there could be no eneniv now, since Cazeneau was out of tlie way, he hurried onward. Some moving figures attracted his gaze. Then he saw liorses, and some men and women. Tlien he emerged from the trees, bursting forth at a run into an open place which lay upon the river bank. One glance was sufficient. It was the priest and liis party. With a cry of joy he rushed forward. Tlie otliers saw him coming. The priest turned in amazement ; for he had no idea that Chuule was so near. Before he could sjjcak a word, however, the young man had flung himself into his arms, and the priest returned his embrace w^tli equal warmth. Claude then turned to ^limi, who was stand- ing near, and in tlie rapture of that meeting was on the point of catching her in his arms also ; but Mimi saAv tlie movement, and retreated shyly, while a man- tling blush over her lovely features showed botli joy and confusion. So Claude had to content himself with taking her hand, wliicli he seized in both of his, and held as thougli he Avould never let go. After these first greetings, there followed a torrent of (piestions from botli sieles. Tlie priest's story was but a short one. On tlie day wlien Cazeneau had left them, he had gone on a sliort hunting excursion, simi)ly for the sake of relieving the monotony of the long tramp. He had cliarged tlie Indians not to go farther than two hours ahead. His intention was to make a circuit, and join them by evening. But the Indians II A TALE OF ACADIA. 169 with , iiiid In cut was ll left Imply long rther [c a Llians were altogether under the influence of Pere Michel, and were willing to do anything that he wished. The "Great Father/' — the Frencli king, — witli wliom Cazeneau thought he could overawe them, was in truth a very shadow^y and unsubstantial personage. l>iit Pere Michel was one wliom they knew\ and for some reason regarded w^ith boundless veneration. AVhen, therefore, he proposed to tliem to go on, they at once acceded. For P^re Michel caught at this unexpected opportunity to escape, which was thus presented, and at once set forth at the utmost possible speed. He travelled all tliat day and far into the niglit, until lie thouglit tliat a sufficient distance had been put l)e- tw^een liimsclf and Cazeneau to prevent capture. He would have gone nnicli farther on this day liad it not been for Mimi, wlio, already fatigued by her long jour- ney, was unable to endure this increased exertion, and after trying in vain to keep up, was compelhul to rest. They had been encamping here for about tln-ee liours, and were already delif)erating about a niglit journey, when Claude came up. The time had been spent in constructing a sort of litter, wdiich the priest intended to sling between two horses, hoping by this means to take Mimi onward with less fatigue. lie had made up his mind, as Claude indeed had suspect(Ml, to make for Canso, so as to put himself out of the reach of Cazeneau. Claude then told the priest his story, to wliich tlic latter listened with deep emotion. FTc had not antici- pated anything like this. Amazed as he had been at the sudden appearance of Claude, he had thought that by some happy accident the yoniig man had eluded Cazeneau, and he now^ learned how it really was. m > jwmn H^w^t^^^p^^ 170 7//E LILY AXD THE CROSS. [' (■ ii'i I.'' I ('( 1 1 For some time lie said not ti single word, and indeed tliere was notliii"^; that lie could say. He knew well that Claude had been deei)ly and Ibidly wronged by Cazeneau, and lie knew also tliat this last act was hardly to be considered as aiiytliing else than tlie act of Cazeneau himsell", wlio first attacked Claude, and forced liini to iiglit. J5ut there still remained to be considered what might now be done. Claud(;'s first thought was the one which liad l)een in his mind during th(; past day; that is to say, he still thought of sending tlie priest back to CazenoaU; witliout thinking of the distance, and tlie time that now lay between. His excitement had prevented him irom taking this into consideration. The priest, liowever, at once reminded him of it. ''I do not see," said he, ^^ what I can do. You for- get how long it is since you left him. lie must be dead and buried by this time. Even if he sjiould linger longer than you expected, J could not hope to reach that place in time to do anything, not even to bury him. Jt is a good two days' journey from here to there. It is two days since you left him. It would take two days more forme to reach him. That makes four da^^s. By that time, if he is dead, he would already be buried ; and if he is living, he would be conveyed by the Indians to some place of rest and slielter. ''As long as 1 thought that Cazeneau was pursuing us," continued the priest, '' I tried to advance as rap- idly as possible, and intended to go to Canso, where I should be sale from him. But now that he can trouble us no more, tiiere is no reason why we should not go to Louisbourg. That will be better for Mimi, A TALE OF A CAD/A. ^yj and it will also suit my vicnvs l)ettor Von f as well go there, since you will 1 e ibl, ' ' '""' : I :l I 172 THE LILY AND THE CROSS. ;'M^ :' ! CHAPTER XVII. AMONG FRIENDS. : f if) : 1 ' IN order to make their escape tlie more certain, tlic priest liad carried oil' tlie horse wliich Cazeiieau had used, so that now Chinde was no more ol»ligcd to go on foot. Mimi no long'(;r com])hiined of" fatigue, but was aV)le to bear \\\) witli tlie iatigues of the rest of the journey in a wonderful way. Claude did not seem inclined to make much use of the spare horse, for he walked much of the way at Mimi's side, and where there was not room, he walked at her horse's liead. The remainder of the journey occupied about four days, and it was very nmch like what it had been; that is, a track through the woods, sometimes rough, sometimes smooth. The whole track showed marks of constant use, which the priest explained to Claude as being caused by droves of cattle, which were con- stantly being sent from Grand Pre to Louisbourg, where they fetclied a liandsome price. The Indian trails in other places Avere far rougher and narrower, besides being interrupted by fallen trees. The only difficulty that tliey had to encounter was in crossing the Strait of Canso ; but after following the shore for a few miles, they came to a place where there was a barge, used to transport cattle. Two or three French ill A TALE OF ACADIA. 173 fishermen lived here, and tliey took the wliole party over to the opposite side. Alter this they continued their journey. That journey seemed to Claude altogctlier too short. Each day passed away too ra{)idly. Wandering by the side of Minii through the fragrant forests, under the clear sky, listening to her gentle voice, and catch- ing tlie sweet smile ol' her innocent face, it seemed to liim as tliough he would like to go on tliis way forever. A cloud of sadness rested on licr gentle hrow, wliich made her somewhat unlike the s])ri!''litlv a'irl of the schooner, and more like the despairing maid whom lie had rescued on the raft. But there was reason for his sadness. JMimi was a fond and loving daughter. She had chosen to follow her father across the ocean, w!ien she might have lived at home in comfort : and the death of that father had been a terrible lilow. For some time the blow had been alleviated by the terrors which she felt about Cazeneau and his designs. IJut now, since he and his designs were no more to be thought of, the sorrow of her bereavement returned. Still, she was not without consolation, and even joy. It was joy to her to have escaped from the man and from the danger that she dreaded. It was also joy to her to find herself once more in company with Claude, in whom she had all along taken a tender interest. Until she heard his storv from his own lips she had not h'.id any idea that he had lieen tlie victim of Caze- neau. She had supposed that lie was in the schooner all the time, and had wondered why Ik^ did not make his appearance. And her anxiety about her father, and grief over his death, prevented her from dwelling much upon this. \\ II i' :l\ III Ml ' 174 TI/E LILY AND THE CROSS. Atlcngtli tlicy rnnio in si<;-1it .)rtlic kcji. Tlio trees lierc were siiiall, stunted, and st-nibhy ; the soil was poor, tlie grass coarse and interspersed wilh moss and stones. In many ])laees it was hogi^-y, wliile in others it was rocky. Tlicir path ran ahuii;' the slioi'c lor some miles, and then entoi'cd the woods. For soiiii; distance iarther they went on, and then emerged into an open country, wliere they saw^ l>ei'ore them the goal of tlieii" long joui'ney. Open fields lay hel'oi'c^ them, with houses and l)ai-ns. Fartlier on tliere lay a heautil'ul hai'hoi-, ahout live or six miles long and one mile \vide, with a naiM'ow en- trance into the outer sea, and an island wliich com- manded the entrance. Ui)on this island, and also on one side of the entrance, were ])atteries, while on the side of the hai'hor on which they were standing, and about two miles away, was anotlier l)attery, larger than either of these. At the farthest end of the liar- bor were small liouses of farmers or ilsjiermen, with barns and cultivated fields. In the harltoi- were some schooners and small lishing vessels, and two large frigates. But it was n])on the end of the harbor nearest to themselves that their eyes turned with the most pleasure. ITero Louisbourg stood, its walls and si)ii*es rising before them, and tlie flag of France floating from the citadel. 'J'he town was ahout half a mile long, surrounded by a stockade and occasional bat- teries. V\xn\ the highest ])oint the eitadid stood, with the guns pee]u'ng over the ])ara])(^t. The path here entered a road, whicli i-an towai'ds the town; and now, going to this I'oad, they went on, and soon reached the gate. liar- wit li s(>ni(3 iiii'i;'(3 ^t to most ^l»i^es iitiiiii,' luilo l)!lt- itood, path own A TALF. or ACADIA. 175 and On entering tlu^ g'alc, they \V(M-(> sto[)po(l and ques- tioned ; but the priest, who seeiiiLMl to l»e known, easily satisfied his exaniineis, and they were allowed to go on. Th(?y went alon^j:: a wide street, which, liowever, was unpaviMl, and lined on eacli side with houses of un})retending appearance. Most of them were built of wood, some of logs, one or two of stone. All were of small size, with small doors and win- dows, and huge, stumin' chimneys. The sti'eet w^as straight, and led to the citadel, in which was the gov- ernf)r's residence. Other sti'eets crossed at right an- gles with much regularity, "^rhere were a few shops, but not many. Most of these were lower down, near the water, and were of that class to which the soldiers and sailors resorted. Outside the citadel Avas a largo church, built of undressed stone, and without any j)re- tensions to architectnral beauty. Jieyond this was the entrance to the citadel. '^I'his })lace was on the crest of the hill, and was surrounded l)y a dry ditch and a Avail. A drawbridge led across the ditch to the gate. On reaching this place tlie party had to stop, and the priest sent in his name to the gov'ernor or conmiaiid- ant. After waiting some time, a message came to admit them. 'rhereui)()n they all passed thi'ongh, and found themselves inside the citadel. They found this to be an irregular space, altout two hundred fact in length and width, sui-i'ounded by walls, under which were arched cells, that were used for storage or magazines, and nn'ght also serve as casemates in time of siege. There were bari-ac^ks at one end. and at the other tlu^ governor's residence, built of stone. Upon the parade tro()))s were exercis- ing, and in front of the barracks a band was playing. 176 THE LILY AXD THE CROSS. 1:1 ; : ) fi i it Tlie whole acciic was thus one oi iiiiich iuiiiiijitioii ; in- deed, it seemed very iiiueh so to tlie eyes of tliese wanderers, so long aecustonied to tlie solitude of the sea, or of the primeval forest. However, they diefore evem'ng he found iiimself in comfortable ([uarters in the houso of tlie naval storekeeper, who received him witli tiio utmost cordiality as the friend ol" the connnandant. The next dav Claude saw Pere Miciiel. lie seemed ti'onbled in mind, and, after some ([uestions, inlbrmed him tliat he had come all the way to Louisl)onrg for the express purpose of getting some letters which ho had been expecting from France. Tliey should liavo been here by this time, but had not come, and lie was afraid that they had been sent out in the Are- thuse. If so, there might be endless trouble and con- fusion, since it would take too long altogether to write again and receive answers. It was a business ol' inli- nite importance to himself ajid to others ; and Pere Michel, who had never before, since Claude had known him, lost his serenity, now appeared quite broken down by (lisapi)()intment. His present purpose was to go back and see about the burial of Cazeneau ; but he would wait for another week, partly for the sake of rest, and partly to wait until Cazeneau's Indians had l)een heard from. He had sent out two of the Indians who had come with him to make in(pn"i"ies; and when they returned, he would go. He was also waiting in the hope tliat another ship might ai'rive. There was some talk ol' a frigate wdiicli was to bring out some sajopers and engi- 12 ^^ IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-S) h A :/. :/, 1.0 ^^t^ I.I 11.25 m IS £ lii 2,2 20 M il.6 V] W /. ^^ y « iV v- N> ;\ a^ ■^/^ ^1^ <^ ¥ ■x % IS il I'!! ! i = 1 ii: • Ml Mi III 1 178 THE LILY AND THE CROSS. %-^ ncci's for tlic works. It was tlio Graiid Moiiarqno. She luid not come as yet, nor liad she left l>y last ad- vices ; but still she was lial)le to leave at any moment. " Still/' said the priest, " it is useless to expect any- thing or to hope for anytliing. The king is weak. lie is notliing. TTow many years lias he been a vol fahuiud? Fleury was 51 fit minister for sucli a king. Weak, bigoted, conceited, Fleury had only one policy, and that was, to keej) things quiet, and not suffer any change. ]f wrongs had ]>een done, ho refused to right tbein. Fleury has l»ecn a curse to France. But since his death his successors may be even worse. The state of France is ]io])eless. The country is over- whelmed with debt, and is in the iiands of unprincipled vagabonds. The king has said that he would govern without ministers : but that only means tliat he will allow himself to be swayed by fivorites. Fleury lias gone, and in his place there comes— who ? ^V hy, the Duchesse de Chateauroux. She is now the minister of France." The priest spoke with indescribable bitterness ; so much so, indeed, that Claude was amazed. " The latest news," continued Pore Michel, '^ is, that England is going to send an army to assist Austria. The ([ueen, Maria Theresa, will now be al)le to turn the scales against France, "^fhis means war, and tht^ declaration nuist follow soon. Well, poor old Fleury kept out of war witli England till Ik' di(Ml. But that was Walpole's doing, perhaps, "^rhey were wonderl'ul friends; and perhaps it was just as well. Ibit this new ministry — tliis woman and her friends — they will make a change for France : and 1 only hope, wliile they are reversing Fleury's policy in some things, they'll do it in others. A TALI-: OF ACADIA. 179 so tliiit ria. uru tlio my hat rial this hoy hilo " Franco," contiiuuMl P/re Mic^hcl, in a f;-lt)niny tone, "France? is rotten l(» tlu; cm-i all France, hoth at linmo and ahi'oad. Whv, even onl here the fatal system reig-ns. Tiiis ('onnnandant," he went en, dnip- l)ini;' his voice, '' is as deeply iiiii)licated as any of them. lie was a|)|)ointed by a cme out as a people, and settle in tlie fon-st : lait we come ont as ollicials, to make money out of our countiy. Already the Fn.i;iisli ai-(^ millions, and we ai"e thou- Hancauty was ex- quisite, and the distress was undcniahly great. The coniniandant and his lady liad appropriatiMl Minii from tlie first, and Minii congratulate) '^ What of him? Wliy, he is dead! ''Dead? No; he is alive. Worse — lie is hero — here — -in Louisl)onr}j,*. 1 liave just seen him ! " " What ! ' cried Claude, starting' hack. " M. de (^i/e- neau alive, and here in Louishourg ! IJow is that pos- sible?" " I don't know," said tlie priest. " 1 only know this, tliat [ have just seen him ! " " Hecn him ? " a es. )> " Where? You must be mistaken." " No, no," said the priest, luirriedly. " 1 know him — only too well. 1 saw him at the Ordnance. He has just ariived. He was brought here by Indians on a litter. Tlie connnandant is even now with him. I saw him go in. I hurried here, for I knew that 3'ou were here, to tell you to fly. Fly then, at once, and li>r your life. I can get you away now, if you fly at once." "Fly?" repeated Claude, casting a glance at ]\Iimi. "Yes, fly!" cried the priest, in earnest tones. "Don't think of her, — or, rather, do you, ^limi, if you value his life, urge him, entreat him, pray him to fly. He is lost if he stays. One moment more may destroy him." i 188 THE LILY AM) THE CROSS. M H' ^ ij' ■ 1' i 1 ) , '||i^ \ 1 5 ,i-, ■ )' 'f ■ H' 1 HI IL u ■I ,; I: i Miiiii fiiriKMl as palo as (lentil. TTcr li|>s partcMl. Sho wouM liavo s|)(»k('n, l»ut cdiild s;iy nolliiii;^'. *' CoriK^,'' cried the nriest, *' come, Iiasteii, (1 y ! Tt may l)e (Hily for a lew weeks — a lew W(M'ks only — tliiiik of tliat. 'riiei'e is more Jit stake tiriii you im- ai^-iiie. IJov, von know not wliat \'ou are riskinji- — not your own life, l)Ut the lives of others ; the honor of your family: the ho})e of the final redemption of your race. Haste — fly, fly ! " 'I'he ])riest sj)oke in tones of feverish impetuosity. At these words Claude stood thunder-struck. It eeemed as thou,i;h Ihis ])riest knew somethinjj,- ahout his familv. What did he know? How could he allude ft' to the honor of that I'aniily, and the hope of its redcm[)- tion ? " 0, fly ! O, fly ! Haste ! " cried ^[imi, who had at last found her voice. "■ Don't think of me. Fly — save yourself, before it's too late." " What ! and leave you at his mercy?" said Claude. "0, don't think of me," cried Mimi; ''save your- self." " Haste — come," cried tlie priest; " it is already too late. You have wasted ])recious moments." " I cannot," cried Claude, as he looked at Mimi, who stood in an attitude of despair. " Then you are lost," groaned the priest, m a voice of bitterest grief. Sho v\ Tt lily — )U ini- ni|i;- liolinr :ion nf \y ^ K* '■> , "" nositv. y. » c k. It c • iiltollt K y r alliido ►< rt idcinp- r. c »w« H liad at C r — save > tr K 'laiido. ; your- H lidy too liii, wlio I voice r. a pi, n; '} \ i ;r '1- 1 ' i In 1 i ' ' t i A TALE OF ACADIA. 189 CHAPTER XIX. THE CAPTIVE AND THE CAPTORS. 17URTHER conversation was n(nv prevented by tlio A approach of a company of soldiers, headed h\ the commandant. Mimi stood as if rooted to the spot, and then suddenly cauglit Claude hy tlie arm, as thougli by her weak strength she could save liim IVom the fate which was impending over him : but the priest inter- posed, and gently drew her away. The soldiers lialted at the entrance to the garden, and the commandant came forward. His face was clouded and somewhat stern, and every particle of his old friendliness seemed to have departed. '' I regret, monsieur," said he, " the unpleasant ne- cessity which forces me to arrest you; but, had I known anything about your crime, you would liave ])een ])ut under arrest before you had enjoyed my hos- pitality." " O, monsieur ! " interrupted Mimi. The commandant turned, and said, severely, " T trust that the Countess de Laborde will see the im[)roprietv of her presence here, ^[onsieur L'Abb(', will you give the countess your arm into the house?" Pere Michel, at tliis, led .Mimi away. One parting look she threw upon Claude, full of utter despair, and then, leaning upon the arm of the priest, walked slow- ly in. ,M lil I I : i:! 1 1 m 190 TNE LILY AND THE CROSS. Claude said not a word in reply to the address of the commandant. He knew too well that under present circumstances words would be utterly useless. It* Cazeneau was indeed alive, and now in Louisl)ourf^, then tlicre could be no hope for himself. If tlie former cliarges wliicli led to his arrest should be insuflicicnt to condemn liim, liis attack upon Cazeneau would af- ford sufficient cause to his enemy to glut his ven- geance. The soldiers took him in charge, and he was marclied away across the parade to the prison. This was a stone building, one story in heiglit, with small grated windows, and stout oaken door studded with iron nails. Inside there were two rooms, one on each side of the entrance. These rooms were low, and tlie floor, wliich was laid on the earth, was composed of boards, wliicli were decayed and moulded with damp. The ceiling was low, and the light but scanty. A stout table and stool formed the o^ly furniture, while a bundle of mouldy straw in one corner was evidently intended to be his bed. Into this place Claude entered ; the door was fastened, and he was left alone. On finding himself alone in this place, he sat upon the stool, and for some time his thoughts were scarcely of a coherent kind. It was not easv for him to under- stand or realize his position, such a short interval had elapsed since he was enjoying the sweets of an inter- view with Mimi. The transition had been sudden and terrible. It had cast him down from the highest hap- piness to the lowest misery. A few moments ago, and all was bright hope ; now all was black despair. In- deed, his present situation had an additional gloom from the very happiness which he had recently enjoyed, A TALE OF ACADIA. 101 In- om ed, and in direct proportion to it. Had it not boon for that last interview, lie would not have known what he had lost. Hope for himself there was uone. Even under ordinary circumstances, there could iiurdly have \k^q\\ any chance of his escape ; hut now, after Ca/eneau had so nearly lost his lilb, tiiore could ho notliiiiL;" in store for him hut sure and s})eedy deatli. He saw that he woukl most untodly ho tried, condemned, and executed hero in Louisbourg, and that there was not the slightest hope that he would be sent to Franco for his trial. Not long after Claude had boon thrust into his i)rison, a party entered the citadel, l)eariugwith them a litter, upon which reclined the form of a feeble and sull'ering man. It was Ca/onoau. The wound which Claude had given him had not boon fatal, after nil: and ho had recovered sufficiently to ondui'o a loii<:- ioui'nev in this way; yet it had been a severe one, and iiadmado groat ravages in him. He a{)poarod many years older. For- merly, he had not looked over forty ; now he looked at least as old as Pero Michel. His face was wan ; his complexion a grayish pallor; his frame was emaciated and weak. As he was brought into the citadi'l, lh(^ commandant came out from his residence to meet Iiini, accompanied by some servants, and by those the suf- fering man was borne into the house. " All is ready, my dear count," said the commandant. " You will feel nuich better after vou have some rest of the proper kind." '^ But have you arrested him?" asked Cazeneau, earnestly. " I have ; he is safe now in prison." ^^T^^ 192 T//E LILY AXD THE CROSS. h u Very good. And now, Monsieur Lo Commandiint, if you will have the kindness to send me to my room — " " Monsieur Lo Commandant, you reign here now," said the other. '• Mv autliority is over since you have come, and you have only to give your orders." " At any rate, mon cuni, you must remain in power till J get some rest and sleep," said Cazeneau. Rest, food, and, al>ove all, a good night's sleep, liad a very I'avoi'ahle eiler't ui)on Cazeneau, and on the fol- lowing morning, Avhen the eonnnandant waited on him, he congratulated him on the im})rovement in his ap- pearance. Ca/eneau acknowledged tliat he irlt better, and made very pointed inipiiries about Minn*, whidi led to tlie recital of the circinnstancesof Claude's arrest in ^limi's presence. AVhatever impression tliis may have made u})on the hearer, he did not show it, but preserved an unchanged demeanor. A conversation of a general nature now followed, turning chiefly upon allairs in France. " You had a long voyage," remarked the com- mandant. " Yes ; and an unpleasant one. We left in j\rarch, but it seems longer than tliat ; for it was in February that I left Versailles, only a little while after the death of his eminence." ^^ I fancy there will be a great change now in the policy of the govermuent." " 0, of course. The peace policy is over. AVar with England must be. The king professes now to do like his predecessor, and govern without a minister ; but we all know what that means. To do without a minister is one thing for Louis Quatorze, but another A TALE OF ACADIA. 193 com- , but tliat .f his II tlie Wiir to do ster ; out a other thing altogether for Louis Quinzo. The Duchesso de Chateauroux will he minister — tor tlie present. Then we have D'Aguesseau, D'Ai'genson, and ^hiure})as. 0, there'll be war at once. 1 dare say it lias already been declared. At any rate, it's best to act on tliat l)riiieiple." " Well, as to that, monsieur, we generally do act on that princii)le out here. But Fleury was a wondeilul old man." " Yes ; but he died too soon." " Tv;o soon ! What, at the age of ninety ?" "0, well, 1 meant too soon lor me. Had he died len years ago, or had he lived two years longer, 1 should not have come out here." " 1 did not know that it was a matter of regret to monsieur." '' Regret ? " said Cazeneau, in a querulous tone — ''regret? Monsieur, one docs not leave a place like Versailles lor a place like Louisbourg without regrets." " True," said the other, who saw that it was a sore subject. " With Fleury I had influence ; ])ut with the present company at Versailles, it is — well, different ; and I am better here. Out of sight, out of mniw\ if lie lias any, lio wrm't want to do- Btroy them till the list inoiiieiit. Perhaps he won't oven think of it." " Do you suppose that this Motier has lived among the Knolish all iiislii'e?" '*' 1 believe so." " Impossible !" " Wliy so?" " Ilis manner, his accent, and his look are all as French as they can possibly be." " IIow he has dune it 1 am unable to conjecture. This Motier, p're, nmst have been a man of superior culture, to have brought up such a very gentlemanly young fellow as tliis." " Well, there is a dillieulty about that. ^My opinion of the New Englanders is such that I do not thii.k they would allow a man to live among them who looked so like a Frenchman." '' Bah ! his looks are notliing; and they d(m't know v/liat his French accent may be." " Do you think, after all, that his own story is true about living in New England ? May he not be some adventurer, who has drifted awav from France of late vcars, and has come in contact with ]Motier ? Or, better yet, may he not have Ijeen prepared for his part, and sent out by some parties in France, wdio are familiar with the whole Montresor business, and are playing a deep game ? " Cazeneau, at tliis, sat for a time in deep thought. " Your suggestion," said he, at length, " is certainly a good one, and worth consideration. Yet I don't see how it can be so. No — for this reason : the captain of the schooner was certainly a New Ei^glander, and A TALE OF ACAP/.L 107 he spoke in my lieariii--, on sov(M'mI occasions, as tlion^Hi this Ah)tier wjis, like hinisolt; a native of New V.n^. land, and as one, too, whom lie had known for y(>iirs. Once he spoke as thong'h lie liad known him Iron^i hoy- hood. I know cnoug-h Enieioii that she could he in any way iui|tlicate(l with liis enemy. But Minii did not meet liim hall' wav. She was cold and repellent; or, rathci', pei'liaps it may witli more truth be said, she was i'rightened and emljar- rassed. In spite of Cazcneau's determination to toucli on iiotliin^- unpleasant, he could not hel[) noticing Mimi's reserve, and remarking on it. '■'' You do not congratulate me," said he. " Perhaps you have not heard the reason why 1 left your party in the woods. It was not because J grew tii'e(l of }'our company. It was because 1 was attacked by an assassin, and narrowly escaped with my life. It has only been by a miracle that I liave come here; and, though I still have sometliing of my strengtii, yet I am very far from being the man tliat 1 was wiieii you saw me last." At these words jMimi took another look at Caze- neau, and surveyed him somewliat more ch)sely. She felt a slight shock at noticing now the cliange which had taken place in him. lie looked so haggard, and so old ! She murmured a few words, which Cazeneau ac- cepted as expressions of good will, and thanked her accordiniilv. Tlie conversation did not last much longer. Cazeneau himself found it rather too tedious Aviiere he had to do all the talking, and Avhere the other was only a girl too sad or too sullen to answer. One final remark was made, which seemed to Mimi to express the whole purpose of liis visit. " You need not fear, mademoiselle," said he, " that A TALE OF ACADIA. 201 this asRassin will ('S(*;»|k>. Tlud is inijMissiMc, siii.'c lio is uikUt strict coiiliiiuiucnt, aiid in u few davs iiiust l>u tried for his criinos." What tliat meant Mimi kii(>\v only too well; and iil'tcr Cazeneaii left, tlicso woiwls raii^' in licr lirart. After his call on Minii, Ca/cneau was waitcfl on hv the ex-connnandant. who ac(|uainte(l In'ni with the re- sult of certain inipiii-ics which lie had ix'cn ir.akinj^. These inquiries had hci'U made hy means of a prisoner, who had been put in with Claude in older to win the young man's confidence, and tims get at his secret; for Cazeneau had heen t»f the opinion that there were accomplices or allies of Claude in France, of whom it would be well to know the names. Tiie ex-command- ant was still more eager to know. lie had heen very much struck hy the claim of Claude to he a De Mon- trcsor, and by Cazeneau's own confession that the present rcijltne was unfavorable to him; and under these circumstances tlu^ worthy I'unelionai-v, wlio always looked out for numl»er one, was busy weighing the advantages of the party of Chiude as against the party of Cazeneau. On the evening of the day when he liad called on IMimi, Cazeneau was waited on by Pere jNlicliel. Ho himself had sent for the })riest, Aviiom he had sum- moned somewhat al)ruptly. The j)i'iest entered the apartment, and, with a bow, announced liimself. As Cazeneau looked up, he a}>])eared for a moment stiMick with involuntary respect by tlie venerable appearance of this man, or tliere may have been ^ometliing else at work in liim; but, whatever the cause, he regarded the priest attentively for a few moments, without say- ing a word. (■ B^^ h' !i 202 THE LILY AND IIIR CROSS. M i ! , ( ^' Pt-rc Micliel," siiirl ho, at loim'tli, " I have called vou before me in Drivato. to coinc to an nndorstandinc; witli yon. Had I rollowcd my own ini})nl<('s, I would liave ordered yonr arrest, on my entrance into Lonis- bonrg, as an accomplice of that younj^ villain. I thought it sniTiciciit, liowcver, to spare yon ior the present, and keep yon nnder snrveillance. I am, on the whole, glad tliat I did not yield to my first im- pulse of anger, for I can now, in perfect calmness, go with you over your acts during the journey here, and ask you for an explanation.*' The priest bowed. " Understand me, Pcre Michel," said Cazeneau; "I have now no hnrd feelins" left. I mav sav, I have almost no suspicion. I wisli to lie assured of your in- nocence. I will take anything that seems like a phiu- sible excuse. I respect your character, and would rather have you as mv iVicnd than — than not." The priest again bowed, without appearing at all af- fected by these C( nciliatory ^vords. " After I was assassinated in the woods," said Caze- neau, " I was saved from deatli by the skill and fidelity of my Indians. It seems to me still, Pcre ^[icliel, as it seemed then, that something might have been done by you. Had you been in league with my enemy, you could not have done worse. Yon hastened forward with all speed, leaving me to my fate. As a friend, you should have turned back ^o save a friend ; as a priest, you should have turned back to give me Chris- tian burial. What answer have }ou to make to this ? " " Simply this," said the priest, with perfect calm- ness : '' that when you left us you gave orders that we should go on, and that you would find your way to us. A TALE OF ACADIA. 203 I had no tlionglit of tiiniiiig back, or waitiii^Li;. T knew the Indians well, and knew that lliev ran find their way through the woods as easily as you can througli the streets of Paris. I went forward, then, without any tliought of waiting for you, tliinking tliat of course you would join us, as you said.'' " Wlien did Metier come up with you?" asked Caze- neau. " On tlie following day," answered the i)riest. " Did lu inform you what had taken place ? " " He did." "Why, then, did you not turn back to help me?" " Because Metier infonaed me that you wei-e dead." "Very good. He believed so, [ doul»t not; hut, at any rate, you might have turned back, if only to give Christian burial." " I intended to do that at some future time," said Pere Michel; "but at that time T felt my chief duty to be to the living. IIow could 1 have left the Count- ess Laborde ? jNIotier would not have l)een a proper guardian to convey her to Louisbourg, and to take her back with me was impossible. 1 therefore decided to go on, as you said, and take her first to Louisbourg, and afterwards to return." " You showed no haste about It," said Cazeneau. " I had to wait here," stiid the priest. " May I ask what could have been tlie urgent busi- ness whicli kept you from the sacred duty of the burial of the dead?"' "A ship is expected every day, and T waited to get the letters of my superiors, with reference to further movements on my nn'ssion." " You say that Motier informed you about my death. Did he tell you how it had happened ? " i fl <^ l''- I ■ I'm !i ! i ■ I ' i- ' 1^ m 1 m JHUi fc ' 1 204 THE LILY AND THE CROSS. " He said that you and lie had fought, and that you had been killed." " Why, then, did you not denounce him to the au- thorities on your ari'ival liere ? " " On wliat charge ? " "On tlie charge ol' murder." " I did not know that when one gentleman is un- fortunate en(mgli to kill anotliei-, in fair iiglit, that it can be considered murder. The duel is as lawl'ul in Amej'ica as in France.'* " This was not a duel!" cried Cazeneau. " It was an act of assassination, ^fotier is no better. than a murderer." '■'■ I only knew his own account," said tlie priest. "Besides," contin.aed Cazeneau, " a duel can only take place betwecMi two equals; and this Motier is one of the canaiUe^ one not worthy of my sword." " Yet, monsieur," said the priest, " when you ar- rested him first, it was not as one of the canalUe, but as the son of the outlawed Count de Alontresor." " True," said Cazeneau ; •' but I have reason to be- lieve that he is merely some impostor. lie is now under a diiTerent accusation. But one more point. How did jMotier manage to escape?" " As to that, monsieur, I always supposed that his escape was easy enough, and that he could have ef- fected it at once. The form-houses of the Acadians are not adapted to be very secure prisons. There were no bolts and bars, and no adequate watch." "True; but the most significant part of his escape is, that he had external assistance. Who were those Indians who led him on my trail? How did he, a stranger, win them over?" ii A TALE OF ACADIA. 205 icr IS one " You for<:^et, monsieur, tliat tliis j'oung man has lived all his life in America. 1 know that he has been much in the woods in New England, and has had mucli intercourse with the Indians there. It was, no doubt, very easy for liini to enter into connnunica- tion witli Indians liere. They are all alike." "But how could he liave found them? He must have had them at the house, or else friends outside must iiave sent them." " He might have bribed the people of the house." " Impossible ! " " Monsieur does not mean to say that anytliing is impossil)le to one who has gold. ]Men of this age do anything for gold." Cazeneau was silent. To him this was so profound- ly true tliat he had nothing to say. He sat in silence for a little while, and then contiimed : — " 1 understand that at tlie time of tlie arrest of ^lo- tier, he was in tlie garden of the residence, with the Countess de Laborde, and tliat you were witli them. How is this? Did this interview take place with your sancticui or connivance ? " " I knew not! ling about it. It was by the merest accident, as far as I know." " You did no help them in this way?" " I did not." " Monsieur L'Abbe," said Cazeneau, " T am glad that you have answered my questions s(^ Cully and so frankly. I confess that, in my first anger, I con- sidered that in some way you had taken part against me. To think so gave me great pain, as T liave had too high an esteem for you to be willing to think of you as an enemy. But your explanations are in every 206 THE LILY AND THE CROSS. :, ! way satisfactory. T hope, monsieur, that whatever letters you receive from France, they will not tnke you away from tliis part of the world. I feel confi- dent that you, with your influence over tlie Indians here, will be an invalual)Ic ally to one in my position, in the endeavors which I sliall make to further in these parts the interests of France and of the church." i N lit A TALE OF ACADIA. 207 CIUrTER XXI. A RAY OF LIGHT. AFTER leaving Cazeneaii, Pere Michel went to tlie prison where Claude was confined. The younfjj man looked pale and dejected, tor tlie confinement liad told upon his health and spirits; and worse than the confinement was the utter despair whicli had settled down upon his soul. At the si^lit of the priest, he gave a cry of joy, and hurried forward. " I thought you had forgotten all about me," said Claude, as he embraced the good priest, while tears of joy started to his eyes. " I have never forgotten you, my son," said tlie priest, as he returned liis embrace ; *' that is impossi- ble. I have thouglit of you both niglit and day, and have been trying to do something for you." " For me," said Claude, gloomily, " nothing can be done. But tell me about her. How does she bear this ? " " Badly," said the priest, " as you may suppose." Claude sighed. " My son," said tlie priest, ^^ I have come to you now on important business ; and, first of all, I wish to speak to you about a subject tliat you will consider most important. I mean that secret which you wish to discover, and which drew you away from your home." Mi ' l!':!i 208 THE LILY AND THE CROSS. \\'\ i; ' I i '' Do yon know aiiytliing a])()iit it?" " Much. Remember I was witli Labordo in liis last liours, and received liis confession. I am, therefore, able to tell you all tliat you wisli to know; and after that you must decide for yourself another question, Avliicli will grow out of this. " About twenty years ago there was a beautiful heiress, who was presented at court. ITer name was the Countess de Besangon. She was a Huguenot, and therefore not one whom you would expect to see amid the vicious circles at Versailles. But her guar- dians were Catliolic, and lioped tliat tlio attractions of the court miglit weaken her faith. Slie became tlie admired of all, and great was the rivalry for lier favor. Two, in particular, devoted themselves to her — the Count de Montresor and the Count de Lal^orde. She preferred the former, and they were married. After this, the count and countess left the court, and retired to the Chateau de Montresor. " Laborde and Montresor had always been firm friends until this ; but now Laborde, stung by jeal- ousy and hate, sought to effect the ruin of Montresor. At first his feeling was only one of jealousy, wliich was not unnatural, under the circumstances. Lel't to liim- self, I doubt not tliat it would have died a natural death ; but, unfortunately, Laborde was under the in- fluence of a crafty adventurei', wlio now, when Mon- tresor's friendship was removed, gained an ascendency over him. This man was this Cazeneau, who has treated you so shamefully. " I will not enlarge upon his character. You your- self know now well enough what that is. Tie was a man of low origin, who had grown up amid the vilest A TALE OF ACADIA. 209 his last crefore, id after ucstion, »eautif'ul imc was nut, and to sec 3r guar- 'tions of anie the er favor, or — the le. She [. After \ retired pen firm by jeal- ontresor. liicli was to liiin- natural the in- en Mon- endency who has on your- le was a ;he vilest court on the surface of tlio eartli. At tliat time tlie Duke of Orleans iind the Abl) ' Dubois liad control of everything, and the Avbole coui"t was an infanK)Us scene of corruption. Cazeneau soon Ibund means to turn tlie jealousy of La])orde into a deeper hate, and to gain his co-operation in a scheme which he had formed for his own profit. " Cazeneau's plan was iliis : Tlie laws against the Huguenots were very stringent, and were in ibrce, as, indeed, tliey are yet. The Countess do ^lontresor was a Huguenot, and nothing could make her swei've from her faith. The first blow was levelled at her, ibr in this way they knew that tliey could inflict a dec[)er wound up(Mi her husl)and. She was to l)e arrested, subjected to the mockery of French justice, and con- demned to tlie terrible punishment which the laws inflicted upon heretics. Had Montresor remained at court, he could easily have fought olf this pair of con- spirators; but, l)eing away, lie knew nothing abimt it till all was ready; and tlien he had nothing to do but to fly, in order to save his wife. " Upon this, fresh cliarges were made against him, and lettres de cachet were issued. 'l'hes(^ would have flung him into the Bastile, to rot and die forgotten. But ^lontresor had effectually concealed himself, together with his wife , and the emissaries of the government were baflled. It was by that time too late for him to defend himself in any way : and the end of it was, that he decided to fly from France. Tie did so, and suc- ceeded in reaching Quebec in safety. Here he hoped to remain t)nly ibr a time, and expected that before long a change in the ministry miglit take place, by means of which he might regain his rights. U I 210 THE LILY AND THE CROSS. i.i !i f I ! v; "But Flenry was {ill-poworful willi tlio king, and Cazeneau managed sonioliow to get into Fleury's good graces, so tliat Monli-esoi- liad no chance. The Mon- tresor estates, and all the i)()sscssions of his Avife, were confiscated, and Lalxtrde and (^i/eneaii secnred nnich of them. Bnt Moiiti-esor had other things to trouble liim. Ilis wii'e grew ill, and died n(jt long after his arrival, leaving an infant son. Montresor now had nothing wliieh seemed to him worlli living lor. Ho therefore left his cliild to the ca;e of the i'aitliful Mo- tier, and disappeared, as yon have told me, and has never been heard of since. " Of course Laborde knew nothing of this, and I only add tliis to the information wliieli he gave, in order to make it as phiin to you as it is to me. La- borde asserted that after the first blow lie recoiled, conscience-stricken, and refused further to pursue your father, though Cazeneau was intent upon Ids com[)leto destruction; and perliaps tin's is the reason wiiy ]\ron- tresor was not molested at Quebec. A better reason, however, is to be found in the merciful nature of Floury, whom I believe at bottom to have been a good man. " After this, years passed. To Laborde they were years of remorse. Hoping to get rid of his misery, he married. A daugliter was born to him. It was of no use. His wife died. His daughter was sent to a con- vent to be educated. He himself was a lonely, aimless man. What was worse, he was alwavs under the power of Cazeneau, wlio never would let go his hold. This Cazeneau S([uandered the plunder of the Mon- tresors upon his own vices, and soon became as poor as he was originally. After this he lived upon Laborde. 11 g, and y's good lie Mon- fc, were j(l mucli troiil)lo >i'tor liis low had or. Ho ifiil Mo- and has s, and I gave, in lie. La- recoiled, sue your ['omplete \\y ]\roii- reasoii, xture of been a |ey wore isery, lie t' no as o |o a con- aimless Id or the hold. M lis lie on- A TALE OF ACADIA. 211 as poor aborde. His knowledge of Laborde's remorse gave him a power over him which his niilni{)py victim could not resist. The false iuformatiou whicli Lal)ord(? had sworn to against the Count do ^lontresor was pcrjiiry ; and Cazeneau, the nk^xw man who liad suggested it, was always ready to tlireaten to denounce liim t<» Fleury. " So time went on. Laltorde grew older, and at last the one desire of liis life was to make amends before he died. At lengtli Fleury died. The new ministry were dilFerent. All oftlK'ni detested Cazeneau. One of them — ^laiirei)as — was a I'riend to Laborde. To this Maurepas, Lal)orde told his wliole story, and ^hiurepas promised that he would do all in his power to make amends. The greatest desire of Laborde was to discover some one of the family. lie had heard tliat the count and countess were both dead, but that they had left an infant son. It was tliis that brought l>im out here. He hoped to liiid that son, and perhaps tlie count himself, for the proof of his death was not very clear. He did, indeed, iiiid that son, most won- derfully, too, and witliout knowing it ; for, as you your- self see, there cannot be a doubt that you are that son. "Now, Laborde kept all tliis a profound secret from Cazeneau, and hoped, on leaving France, never to see him again. Wliat, liowover, was his amazement, on reaching the slii[), to learn that Cazeneau also was going! He h; d got tlie ai)pointment to Louisb(jiirg from Fleury Ijofore his death, and tlie a{)[)()intment iiad been confirmed by the new ministry, lor some reason or other. I believe that they will recall him at once, and use his absence to elfect his ruin. I believe Caze- neau expects this, and is trying to strengthen his resources by getting control of the Laborde estates. I 212 THE LILY AND THE CROSS, M I - I 'fill!'! I Ilin object in mnrryin^ Miiiii is simjilN' tliis. Tlii.s was tlio cliicjf dread of Ijahoi'dc; in dyin;:,*, and with his last words he entreated ni(^ to watch over his dan^-htcr. " Ca/eneau's enmity to you must be accounted for on tlie ground that he (hscovered, somehow, your parentage. Mimi tohl me afterwards, that he was near you one day, conceahMl, while you were telling her. lie was listening, beyond a doubt, and on the first opportunity determined to ])ut you out of the way. He dreads, above all things, your appearance in Franco as the son of the unfortunate Count de Montresor. For now all those who were once powerful are dead, and the present govermnent would be very glad to espouse the Montresor cause, and make amends, as far as possible, for his wrongs. They would like to use you as a means of dealing a destructive 1)1()W against Cazcneau himself. Cazeneau's first plan was to put you out of the way on some charge of treason; but now, of course, the charge against you will be at- tempt at murder.'' To all this Claude listened witli much less interest tlian he would have felt formerly. ]>ut the sentence of death seemed impending, and it is not surprising that the things of tliis life seemed of small moment. "Well," said he, with a sigh, "I'm nuich obliged to you for telling me all this ; but it makes very little difference to me now." " Wait till you have heard all," said the priest. " I have come here for something more ; but it was neces- sary to tell you all this at the first. I have now to tell you that — your position is full of hope; in fact — " Here the priest put his head close to Claude's ear, and whispered, " I have come to save you." liis was his liist :lili'r. iIlmI lor ^v, your vas nccir iii^' her. the first ho way. 1 Franco )iitrosor. ,ro (load, gUul to Is, as far to uso V against Ls to put son ; but 1 bo at- intorost sontonco iirprising Duiont. obligod ery littl a I liost. las noccs- l.)W to toll fact—" ear, and A TALE OF ACADIA. 213 " What ! " cried Claude. The priest })laco(l his iiand on (Maude's moutli. ''No one is listening; l)ut it is best to be on our guard," ho whis[)erod. " Yes, I can save yon, and will. This very night you siiall bo [wv, on youi* way to join your friend, the ca})tain. To-day I received a message from him by an Indian. Ho had reached Canso. I liad warned him to go thcic. The Indians went on board, and brouglit his message. Via will wait there for us." At this intelligence, whicli to Claude was unex- pected and amazing, ho could not say one word, l)ut sat witli (das[)ed hands and a face of rapture. But suddenly a thouglit came to his mind, which disturbed his joy. ^ " Mimi — wliat of lier ? " '' You must go alone," said tlie priest. Claude's face grew dark. lie shook his head. '• Then E will not go at all." ''Not go! Wlio is she — do you know? Slio is the daughter of Laborde, tlio man wlio ruined your ftither." Claude compressed his lii)s, and loc^ked witli fixed determination at the priest. " iShe is not to blame," said lie, "for iier iiitlier's faults. She has never known tliem, and never sliall know them. Besides, for all that ho did, her father sufTerod, and died while seeking to mak(; atonement. My father himself, were he alive, would surely forgive that man for all ho did : and I surolv will not cherish hate against his memory V) ^limi shall be mine. She is mine ; wo have exchanged vows. I will stay here and die, rather than tro and leave her." 214 THE LILY AXD THE CA'OSS. '' Ppokcn liko a youiiu; fool, .is yon are!" naid tho priest. " Well, if you will not go witliont lier, you nliall go with her; l>nt go yon iiuist, and to-night." " What ? ran she go too, ai'ter all ? ( ), my best Pero Michel, what can I say?" " Say nothing as yet, i'or there is one I'ondition." 'MVliat is that ? 1 will agree to anything. Never mind conditions." " You must be married before you go." '' Married ! " cried Claude, in amazement. " Yes." ''Married! How? Am T not here in a dungeon? How can slie and I be mai'ried ?" " I will tell yini liow presently. But first, let me tell you why. First of all, we may all get scattered in the woods. It will be very desirable that she should liave you for her hnvful loi'd and master, so that you can have a right to stand by her to the last. You can do far more for her than 1 can, and I do not wish to have all the responsibility. This is one reason. " But there is anotlicr reason, which, to me, is of greater importance. It is this, my son : You may bo captured. The worst may come to tho worst. You may — which may Heaven forbid — yet you may be put to deatli. I do not think so. I hope not. I liope, indeed, that Cazeneau may eventually fall a prey to liis own machinations. But it is necessary to take this into account. And then, my son, if such a sad fate sliould indeed be yours, we must both of us think wliat will be the fate of Mimi. If you are not married, her fate will be swift and certain. She will be forced to marry this infamous miscreant, who does not even pre- tend to love her, but merely wants her money. He A TALE OF ACADIA. 215 ai senti- lis tbe gbt so. a time, lie kept bis im- \^ wbat nd tbe ^v wbat lie fear liat tbe pUiyed tb bim reveal uid lay it, was tbese. 1 bini- 3 worse to fall L brief Sucb were tlie tbougbts tliat finally took possession of Claude, and, witb every passing moment, deepened into conviction. Midnigbt liad passed ; tlie sentry bad come, and tbere be paced meclianically, witb no tbougbt of bim. Eitber tbe ex-commandant or tbe sentinel bad betrayed tbem. Too many bad been in tbe secret. Better never to bave beard of tbis })lan tban, liaving beard of it, to find it tbus dashed away on tbe very eve of its accomplisbment. Time [)assed, and every momer\t only added to Claude's bitterness; time passed, and every moment only served to sbow bim tbat all was over. A vague tbougbt came of speaking to tbe sentinel; but that was dismissed. Tben anotber tbouglit came, of trying to tear away tbe iron gratiiig: but tbe im|)ossihility of tbat soon sliowed itself. He sank down upon liis litter of straw in one corner, and bade adieu to bope. Tben be started up, and paced up and down wildly, unable to yield so calmly to despair. Tben once more be sank down upon tbe straw. Tbus be was lying, croucbed down, bis bead in bis liands, overwbelmed utterly, when suddenly a deep sound came to bis ears, wbicb in an instant made bim start to bis feet, and drove away every desj)airing tbougbt, bringing in pbieo of tliese a new wave of bope, and joy, and an)a/ement. It was tlie single toll of tbe great bell, wliicb, as be knew^ always soinided at midnigbt. Midnigbt! Was it i)ossibl(^ ? Midnight bad not passed, tben. Tlie change of sentry bad been at nines o'clock, wbicb be, deceived by the slow })i-ogress of <\\ ' t'' 1 tbe bours, bad )sed to be midnigbt. lie bad been suppo^ mistaken. Tbere was yet bope. He rusbed to tbe IM -i20 THE LIl.Y AND THE CROSS. :;i f ! grating, and listoiuMl. Tliore woro footsteps approach- ing — the tramp of the relieving guard. lie listened till the guard was relieved, and the departing foot- steps died away. Then began the pace of the new sentry. What now ? Was there to be a repetition of his former experience ? Was he agiiin to be dashed down from this fresli hope into a fresh despair? lie nerved himself for this new ordeal, and waited with a pain- fully throbbing heart. At the grating he stood, mo- tionless, listening, with all his soul wrapped and ab- sorbed in his single sense of hearing. There were an inner grating and an outer one, and between the two a sash with two panes of glass, lie could hear the sentry as he paced up and down ; he could also hear, ar away, the long, shrill note of innumerable frogs ; and the one seemed as monotonous, as unchangeable, and as interminable as the other. But at length the pacing of the sentry ceased. Claude listened ; the sentinel stopped ; there was no longer any sound. Claude listened still. This was the supreme hour of his fate. On this moment de- pended all his future. What did this mean? Would the sentry begin his tramp? He would ; he did. In despair Claude fled from the grating, and fell back upon the straw. For a time beseemed unconscious of everything; but at length lie was roused by a rattle at the door of his cell. In a moment he was on his feet, listening. It was the sound of a key as it sh)wly turned in the lock. Claude moved not, spoke not ; he waited. If this was his deliverer, all well; if not, he was resolved to have a struggle for freedom. Then ho stole cautiously to the door. A TALE OF ACADIA. 221 new It opened. Claude tlirnst his liand tlirongh, and seized a human arm. A man's voice whispered back, — " H-s-s-t I Suivez moi.^^ A thrill of rapture unuttera})lo passed throuj^li every nerve and fibre of Claude. At onco all tlie past was forgotten; forgotten, also, were all t\u) dangers that still lay before him. It was enough that this liope had not been frustrated, that the sentinel had come to de- liver him from the cell at the midniglit hour. Tiie cool breeze of night was wafted in through the open door, and fanned the fevered brow of the ])risoner, bearing on its v/ings a soothing influence, a healing balm, and life, and hope. His presence of mind all came back: he was self-poised, vigilant, cool: all this in one instant. All his powers would be needed to carry him through the remainder of the night ; and these all were summoned fortli, and came at his bid- ding. And so Claude followed his guide. The sentinel led the way, under the shadow of the wall, towards the Residency. At one end of this was the chapel. Towfirds this the sentinel guided Claude, and, on reaching it, opened tiie dooi*. A hand seized his arm, a voice whispered in his ear, — " Welcome, my son. Here is your bride." And then a soft hand was placed in his. Claude knew whose hand it was. He flung his arms around the slender figure of Mimi, and pressed her to his heart. " Come," said the priest. He drew them up towards the altar, present. Claude could not see tliem ; one he could see, was a female, whom he supposed to be Others were lowever. II if ■' i i _ 1 ti 222 THE LILY AND THE CROSS. Margot. The moonliglit sliono in through the great window over tlie altar. Hero the priest stood, and placed Claude and Minii before him. Then he went through the marriage service. It was a strange wedding there at midnight, in the moonlit chapel, with the forms of the spectators so faintly discerned, and the ghostly outline of priest, altar, and window before them as they knelt. But they were married ; and Claude once more, in a rap- ture of feeling, pressed his wife to his heart. They now left the chapel by another door in the rear. The priest led the way, together with the senti- nel. Here was the wall. A flight of steps led to the top. On reaching this they came to a place where there was a ladder. Down this they all descended in silence, and found themselves in the ditch. The lad- der was once more made use of to climb out of this, and then Claude saw a figure crouched on the ground and creeping towards them. It was an Indian, with whom the priest conversed in his own language for a moment. " All is well," he whispered to Claude. " The cap- tain is waiting for us many miles from this. And now, forward ! '' The Indian led the way ; then went the priest ; then Claude with Mimi ; then Margot ; last of all came the sentinel, who had deserted his post, and was now seeking safety in flight under the protection of Pere Michel. Such was the little party of fugitives that now sought to escape from Louisbourg into the wild forest around. After walking for about a mile, they reached a place where five horses were bound. Here they proceeded to mount. A TALE OF ACADIA. 223 cap- Aud "I sent these out after sundown/' said tlie priest to Claude. " There are not many liorses in Louisl)ourg. These will assist us to escape, and will bo lost to those who pursue. Here, my son, arm yourself, so as to de- fend your wife, in case of need." With these words the priest handed Clau(h) a sword, pointing also to pistols wln'ch wore in the holster. The Indian alone remained on foot. He held the bridle of the priest's horse, and led the way, sometimes on what is called an '^ Inditm trot," at other times on a walk. The others all followed at the same pace. The road was the same one whicli had been traversed by Claude and Mimi when they first came to Ijouisbourg — a wide trail, rougli, yet serviceable, over which many pack-liorses and droves of cattle had i)assed, but one which was not fitted for wdieels, and w^as rather a trail than a road. On each side the ti'ees arose, which threw a deep sliade, so that, in spite of the moon which shone overhead, it was too dark to go at any very rapid pace. " We must make all the haste wo can," said the priest. " In three hours they will probal)y discover all. Tlie alarm will be given, and we sliall be pur- sued. In these tln-ee hours, then, we must get so far ahead that they may not be able to come up witli us." At first the pathway w^as wide enough for tlicni ah to move at a rapid pace ; but soon it began to grow narrower. As tliey advanced, the trees grew taller, and the shadows which tliey tlu-ew were darker. The path became more winding, for, like all trails, it avoided the larger trees or stones, and wound around them, where a road would have led to their removal. I' I ifi !>•■, ;■ H It; % ■.( I-; Hi '■ii ili s i^'iid in ll|l M s ': i! ?:'■; 224 T//P: LILY AND THE CROSS. The pjitli also became ronj2;]ior, from stones wliicli pro- truded in many places, or from long roots stretching across, which in the darkness made tlie liorses stumble incessantly. These it was impossil)le to avoid. In addition to these, there were miry places, where the horses sank deep, and could only extricate themselves with difficulty. Thus their progress grew less and less, till at lengtli it dwindled to a walk, and a slow one at that. Notli- ing else couhl be done. They all saw the impossi- bility of xaox't. rapid progress, in the darkness, over such a path. Of them all, Claude was the most impa- tient, as was natural. His sense of danger was most keen. The terror of the night had not yet passed away. Already, more than once, he had gone from despair to hope, and back once more to despair ; and it seemed to him as though his soul must still vibrate between these two extremes. The hope which was born out of new-found freedom was now rapidly yield- ing to the fear of pursuit and re-capture. In the midst of these thoughts, he came forth sud- denly upon a broad, open plain, filled with stout under- brush. Through tliis tlie trail ran. Reaching this, the whole party urged their horses at full speed, and for at least three miles they were able to maintain this rapid progress. At the end of that distance, the trail once more entered the woods, and the pace dwindled to a walk. But that three-mile run cheered the spirits of all. " How many miles have we come, I wonder ? " asked Claude. " About six," said the priest. A TALE OF ACADTA. 225 3h pro- itching tumble id. In )re the [iselves Icn^-th Notli- npossi- ;s, over t inipa- is most passed le from ir ; and vibrate icli was y yield- 'th siid- : under- ng this, sed, and ain this ho trail vvindled e spirits " How many miles is it to the schooner ? " " About forty." Claude drew a long breath. " It must be iieai'ly three o'clock in the morning now," said he. " 1 dare say they are linding it out now >> " Well, we needn't stop to listen," said the priest. " No ; we'll hear them soon enougli." " At any rate, the dawn is coming," said the ])i'iest. " The day will soon be here, and then we can go on as fast as we wish." 15 ?> asked I t 1. 1,1 ■I;. -■ill i I! nil l!;i!ll^ ■ e . ^ 226 r//Z: Z/ZK /iAX> 7V/E C/iOSS. CHAPTER XXIII. PURSUIT. AS they hurried on, it grew gradually lighter, so that they were able to advance more rapidly. The patli remained about tlio same, winding as bo- fore, and with tlie same alternations of roots, stones, and swamp ; but the daylight made all the difference in the world, and they were now able to urge their horses at the top of their speed. Tlie Indian who was at their head was able to keep there witliout much apparent effort, never holding back or falling behind, though if the ground had been smoother he could scarcely have done so. With every step the dawn advanced, until at last the sun rose, and all the forest grew bright in the beams of day. A feeling of hope and joy succeeded to the late despondency which had been creeping over tliem ; but this only stimulated them to redoubled exertions, so that they miglit not, after all, find themselves at last cheated out of these bright hopes. That they were now pursued they all felt confident. At three o'clock the absence of the sentry must have been discovered, and, of course, the fliglit of Claude. Thereupon the alarm would at once be given. Caze- neau would probably be aroused, and would proceed to take action immediately. Even under what might A TALE OF ACADIA. I'll iter, so rapidly. iis bc- stoiios, Torenco ,-e tlicir v^lio was ,t iniicli behind, could e dawn D forest of hope ich had niilated ht not, l)f these iifident. ist have Claude. Caze- )roceed t might be the most favoral)le circumstanec^s to them, it was not likely that there would be a delay of more than an hour. Besides, the pursuer had an advantage over them. Tliey had a startof tlu'ee houi-s : but llios(? three hours were spent in darkness, whon they were al)ltj to go over but little ground. All tiiat they had toiled so long in order to traverse, tlieir pursuers could pass over in one quarter the time, and onocpiarter the lal)or. They were virtually not more than one hour in ad- vance of the enemy, who would liave fresher horses, with which to lessen even tliis small advantage. And by the most favoral)le calculation, there remained yet before them at least thirty miles, over a rough and toilsome comitry. C dd they hoi)e to escape? Such were the thoughts tliat came to Claude's mind, and such the question that came to him. Tliat ques- tion he did not care to discuss with himself. He could only resolve to keep up the Higlit till the last moment, and then resist to the bitter end. But now there arose a new danger, wliich brought fresh difficulties with it, and filled Claude with new despondency. This danger arose from a quarter in which he was most assailable to fear and anxiety — from Mimi. He had never ceased, since they first left, to watch over his bride with the most anxious solicitude, some- times riding by her side and holding her hand, when the path admitted it, at other times riding behind her, so as to keep her in view, and all the time never ceasing to address to her words of comfort and good cheer. To all his questions Mimi liad never failed to respond in a voice which was full of cheerfidness and 228 THE LI I A' AM) THE CROSS, ' ) ' H{)riglillincss, siiid no inisjjjiviiifjjs du lior account entered his mind until the \'\\*:}\\ gnnv hri^-|it enough for him to wee her face. Then Ijo was struck hy her appearance. She seemed so f'eehle, so worn, so fatigued, that a great fear came over him. *' 0, Minii, darling ! " he cried, " tiiis is too much for you." " 0, no," she rep^ed, in the same tone ; " I can keep up as long as you wish me to.'' " 13ut you look so completely worn out ! " " 0, tliat's because I've heen fretting ahout you — you bad boy ; it's not this I'ide at all." " Are you sure that you can keep up ? " " Wliy, of course I am; and I must, for there's nothing elstj to be done." '^ 0, Mimi, I'm afraid — I'm very much afraid that you will break down." At tliis Mimi gave a little laugh, l»ut said nothing, and Claude found himself compelled to trust to hope. Thus they went on for some time longer. ]>ut at length Claude was no longer al>le to conceal the truth from himself, r " was Mimi able nny longer to uiaintain her lovip- .ption. She was exceed- ingly weak ; she w .crly worn out ; and in pain Claude saw her foi..i swa>' to and fro and tremble. He asked iier imploringly to stop and rest. But at the sound of his voice, Mimi roused herself once more, by a great elFort. " 0, no," she said, with a strong attempt to speak unconcernedly ; '^ 0, no. I acknowledge I am a little tired ; and if we come to any place where we may rest, I think I shall do so ; but not here, not here ; let us r^ farther." \ // TALE OF ACAD/ A. entered • him to iiiranco. a great lUC h for jan keep it you — ' there's raid that nothing, to hope. conceal ny longer s exceed- 1 in pain tremble. 3ut at the 1 more, by t to speak am a little may rest, re ; let us Claude drew a long breath. Peep aiixioly over- whelmed him. Mimi was, in trutli, right. Ilow could they dare to pause just here ? TIm' jiuisuci' was on tlieir track! No; tlicy nuist kccj) on; and if Mimi did sink, what then? I>ut ho would not lliiiik of it; he would hope that Mimi would be able, alter all, to hold out. But at length what Claude had feared came to pass. He had been riding behind Mimi for sc^me time, so as to watch her better, when suddenly he saw her slender frame reel to one side. A low crv came from hei-. in an instant Claude was at her side, and caught her in his arms in time to save hei' from a fall. Mimi had not fainted, but was simply |)rostrated from sheer fatigue. No strength was lel't, and it was impossible for her to sit up any longer. She had struggled to bear upas long as possible, and (inally had given way alt(>gether. " 1 cannot help it," she murmured. " 0, my darling ! " cried Claude, in a voice of an- guish. " Forgive me, dear Claude. I cannot help it ! " '' 0, don't talk so," said Claude. '' 1 ought to have seen your weakness ])efore, and given you assistance. But come now ; 1 will hold you in my arms, and we will still be able to go on." " I wish you would leave me ; only leave me, and then you can be saved. There is no danger for me ; but if you are captured, your life will be taken. (), Claude, dearest Claude, leave me and fly." " You distress me, Mimi, darling, by all this. I can- not leave you ; I would rather die than do so. And so, if you love me, don't talk so." !*.■ '( 230 THE LILY AND THE CROSS. 'iiit ' f: . t i- .'I 'II ! ll! At this, witli a little sob, Mimi relapsed into silence. '^ Courage, darling," said Claude, in soothing tones. " Who knows but that they are still in Louisbourg, and have not yet left ? We may get away, after all ; orwc may find some place of hiding." The additional burden which he had been forced to assume overweighted very serio^'sly Claude's horse, and signs of tliis began to appear before long. No sooner, however, had Claude perceived that it was dif- ficult to keep with the rest of the party, than he con- cluded to shift himself, with Mimi, to the horse which Mimi had left. This was one of the best and freshest of the whole party, and but a slight delay was occa- sioned by the cliange. After tliis they kept up a good rate of speed for more than two hours, when Claude once more changed to another horse. This time it was to Margot's horse, which had done less thus far tlian any of the others. Margot then took tlie horse which Claude had at first, and thus they went on. It was a good contrivance, for thus by changing about from one to another, and by allowing one horse to be led, the endurance of the whole was maintained longer than would otherwise have been possible. But at length tlie long and fatiguing journey began to tell most seriously on all the liorses, and all began to see that further progress would not be nmch longer possible. For many hours they had kept on tlieir path ; and, though the distance which they had gone was not more than twenty-five miles, yet, so rougli had been the road that tlie labor had been excessive, and all the horses needed rest. By this time it was mid- day, and they all found themselves face to face with a (ill A TALE OF ACADIA. 231 silence. g tones, isbourg, fter all ; orccd to s horse, ng. No was dif- lic con- ^e which freshest ^as occa- peed for changed t's horse, le others, d at first, itrivance, )ther, and ice of the otherwise ley began all l)cgan ich longer oil tlieir had gone rough had sssive, and t was mid- ice with a question of fearful import, wliicli none of them knew how to answer. Tlie question was, what to do. Could \\\Qy stop? Dare they? Yet they must. For the present they continued on a little longer. Tliey now come to another open space, overgroAvn with slirubbery, similar to that whicli they had trav- ersed in the night. It was about two miles in extent, and at the otlier end arose a bare, rocky hill, beyond which was the forest. " We must halt at tlie top of tliat liill," said Claude. '' It's the best place. We can guard against a surprise, at any rate. Some of the horses will drop if we go on much farther." '' I suppose we'll liave to," said tlie priest. ^' We must rest for lialf an liour, at least," said Claude. *^ If tliey come up, we'll have to scatter, and take to the woods." With these words they rode on, and at leiigtli reached the hill. The path w^ound up it, and in due time tliey reached the top. But scarcely had they done so, than a loud cry sounded out, which thrilled through all hearts. Im- mediately after, a figure came bounding towards them. ^' Hooray ! Hip, hip, hooray ! " shouted the new comer. '' Heavens ! Zac ! " cried Claude ; " you here ? " " Nobody else," I'eplied Zac, wringing his hand. '^ But what are you going to do ? " *' Our horses are blown ; we are pursued, but have to halt for a half hour or so. If they come up, we'll have to scatter, and take to the woods, and start the horses ahead on the path. This is a good lookout place." . I I liT '!'f \4 nil 232 7V/E LILY AND THE CROSS. Witli tliesc words Claude began to dismount, bearing his beloved burden. The priest assisted him. Zac, after his first hurried greeting, liad moved towards Margot, around whom he threw his arms, with an en- ergetic clasp, and lifted her from the saddle to the ground. Then he shook hands v/itli he^. " I'm ver mooch glad to see you," said Margot. "Ees your sheep far off? '"' " So, they're ^f or you — air they ? " said he. '^ Wal, little one, when they come, you stick to me — mind that ; an' I engage to get you off free. Stick to me, though. Be handy, an' I'll take you clar of them." Claude was now engaged in finding a comfortable place upon which Minii might recline. The Indian stood as lookout ; the deserter busied himself with the horses ; the priest stood near, watching Claude and Mimi, while Zac devoted himself to Margot. In the midst of this, the Indian came and said something to the priest. Claude noticed this, and started. "What is it?" he asked. "He hears tliem," said the priest, significantly. " So soon ! " exclaimed Claude. " Then we must scatter. The horses will be of no use. Our last chance is the woods." In a moment the alarm was made ; hasty directions were given for eacli one to take care of liimself, and if he eluded tlie pursuers, to follow the path to the place where the schooner lay. Meanwliile the horses were to be driven ahead by tlie Indian as far as possible. The Indian at once went off, together witli the de- serter, and these two drove the horses before them into the woods, along the path. Then Zac followed. Lifting Margot in his arms, he bore her lightly along, and soon disappeared in the woods. '■!"*■ "1*811 A TALE OF ACADIA. 233 iaring Zac, wards 111 cn- to the ^argot. " Wal, - mind to me, jrtable Indian ith tlie de and la the ling to ly. e must , chance rections f, and if lie place ics were lossibk^ the de- re them ■yllowed. ly along, Then Claude took IMinii in liis arms, and liastened as fast as he could towards the shelter of the woods. But Claude had not Zac's strength, and liesides, Mimi was more of a dead weight than ^hirgot, so that he could not go nearly so fast. Zac was in the woods, and out of sight, long before Claude liad readied the place ; and by that time the rest of tlie party, botli Iku-scs and men, had all disappeared, with the exception of Pere Michel. The good priest kejjt ck)se by the young man, as though resolved to share his fate, wliether in life or death. If it was difficult wliile carrying Minn' over the path, Claude found it far more so on reacliing tlio woods. Here he dared not keep io the path, for tlie very object of going to tlie woods was to elude obser- vation by plunging into its darkest and deepest re- cesses. Zac had gone there at a headlong rate, like a fox to his covert. Such a speed Claude could not rival, and no sooner did he take one stc}) in the woods, than he perceived the full difficulty of his task. The woods were of the wildest kind, lilled with rocks and fallen trees, the surface of the ground being most irregular. At every other step it was necessary to clamber over some obstacle, or crawl under it. " We cannot hope to go far," said the priest. " Our only course now will be to lind some convenient hiding- place. Perhaps they will pass on ahead, and then we can go farther on." At this very moment the noise of horses and nuui sounded close behind. One hurried look showed theni all. Their pursuers had reached their late halting- place, and were hurrying forward. The place bore traces of their halt, which did not escape the keen eyes of their enemies. At the sight, Claude threw himself ii ' >l i iM 234 TNE LILY AND THE CROSS, clown in fi liollow beliind a tree, witli ^limi beside him, while the priest did the smne. The suspicions of the pursuers seemed to li.ivo been awakened by tlie signs whicli they liad seen at tlie last halting-place. They rode on more slowly. At lengtli tliey divided, liall' of them riding rapidly ahead, and the otlier half moving forward at a walk, and scanning every foot of ground in the open and in tlie woods. At last a cry escaped one of them. Claude heard it. Tlie next moment he heard footsteps. The enemy were upon him ; their cries rang in his ears. In all the fury of despiiir, he started to liis feet with only one thought, and that was, to sell his life as dearly as pos- sible. But iMiini flung herself in his arms, and the priest held his hands. " Yield," said the priest. " You can do nothing. There is yet hope." The next moment Claude was disarmed, and in the hands of his enemies. A TALE OF ACADIA. 235 CHAPTER XXiy. ZAC AND MARGOT. QEIZTXG Margot in liis arms at tlio first alarm, Zac ^ had fled to the woods. I^oino- stronger than Ckude, he was fortunate in liaving a less unwieldy burden; for Margot did no. lie like a heavy weiglit in his arms, but was able to dispose herself in a way which rendered lier more easy to be carried. On reaching the woods, Zac did not at once plunge in among the trees, l)ut continued along tlie trail for some distance, asking Margot to tell him tlie moment she saw one of tlie pursuing party. As Margot's face was turned back, she was in a position to watch. It was Zac's intention to find some better place for flight than the stony and swampy ground at tha outer edge of the forest; and as he hurried idong, he watclied narrowly for a good opportunity to leave the path. At lengtli he reached a place where the ground descended on the other side of the hill, and here lie came to some pme trees. There was ])ut little underbrush, the sur- face of the ground was comparatively smooth, and good progress could be made here without nnndi difficulty. Here, then, Zac turned in. As he hur- ried onward, he found the pine forest contiiun'ng along the whole slope, and but few obstacles in his way. Occasionally a fallen tree lay before him, and m fc I '"t^ i ! ill U4 ». 236 THE LILY AND THE CROSS. this he could easily avoid. TTurryiiip^ on, then, under these favorable circumstances, Zac was soon lost in the vast forest, and out of siglit as well as out of hearing of all his purposes. Here lie might liave rested; but still he kej)t on. He was not one to do things by halves, and chose rather to make assurance doubly sure ; and althougli even Mai-got begged him to put her down, yet he would not. " Wal," said lie, at last, " 'tain't often I liave you; an' now I got you, I ain't goin' to lot you go I'or a good bit yet. Besides, you can't ever tell wlien you're safe. Nothin' like makin' things sure, I say." With these words Zac kept on his way, though at a slower pace. It was not necessary for him to fly so rapidly, nor was he quite so iVesh as when he started. Margot also noticed this, and began to insist so vehe- mently on getting down, that he was com])elled to grant her request. He still held her hand, however, and thus the two went on f )r some distance firther. At last they reached a point where there was an abrupt and ahnost precii)it()us descent. Fi'om this crest of the precipice the eye could wander over a boundless prospect of green forest, terminated in the distance by wooded hills. " Wal," said Zac, '' I think we may as well rest our- selves here." " Dat is ver nice,"' said Margot. Zac now arranged a seat for her l)y gathering some moss at the foot of a tree. She seated herself here, and Zac placed himself l>y her side. lie then opened a bag which he carried slung about liis slioulders, and brought forth some biscuit and ham, which proved a most grateful repast to his companion. A TALE OF ACADIA. 237 " Do you tink (ley chase iis liere? " asked ^largot. " Wal, we're safer here, ef tliey do," said Zac. "We can't be taken by surprise in tlie rear, lor tliey can't climb up very easy without our seein' 'eui ; an' as for a front attack, why, 111 kee}) my eye open: an' I'd like to see the Injin or the Moosoo that can come un- awars on me. I don't mind two or three of 'em, any way," continued Zac, " for I've got a couple of bull- dogs." "Boul-dogs?" said Margot, inquiringly. " Yes, these here," said Zac, opening liis frock, and displaying a belt arouxul his waist, wliich held a brace of pistols. " But I don't expect Til have to use 'em, except when I heave in sight of the skewner, an' want to hail 'em." " But we are loss," said Margot, " in dis great woos. How sail we ever get anywhar out of him? " " 0, that's easy enough," said Zac. " I know all about the woods, and can find my way anywliars. My idee is, to go back towards tlie trail, strike into it, an' move along slowly an' cautiously, till w^e git nigh the place whar I left the skewner." Zac waited in tliis place till towards evening, and then started once more. He ])egan to retrace his steps in a direction wliich he judged would ultimately strike the trail, along which he liad resolved to go. He had weighed the cliances, and concluded that this would be his best course. He would have tlie night to do it in ; and if he should come unawares upon any of his enemies, he tliouglit it would l)e easy to dasli into the woods, and escape under tlie cover of the darkness. Vigilance only was necessary, together with coolness and nerve, and all these qualities he believed himself to have. m },i , ii V !- i i; h ill it; 8^ n Ih 238 Ty/TT L/LV AND TIIi: CROSS. The knowledge of tlie woocIh wliicli Zae claimed stood him in good stead on the present occasion ; he was able to guide his course in a very satisfactory manner ; and about sundown, or a little after, he struck the trail. Here lie waited for a short time, watching and listening; and then, having lieard noth- ing whatever tliat indicated danger, he went boldly forward, with Margot close behind. As they ad- vanced, it grew gradually darker, and at lengtli the night came doAvn. Overhead the moon shone, disclos- ing a strip of sky where tlie trees opened above the path. For hours tliey walked along. No enemy ap- peared ; and at length Zac concluded that they had all dispersed through the woods, at tlie point where they had first come upon them, and ha liglit limestone rock of the headland near which siic lay. To escape was not to be thouglit of. The boat was coming towards them, filled with armed men. Zac stood quite overwhelmed \\A\\\ dejection; and thus he stood as the Parson was boarded and seized Ity the lieuten- ft.' ant of his French majesty's Vengeur, wlio took posses- sion of her in the name of ]u"s king. No sooner had Zac found himself in tlie power of the enemy, than a remarkable change took place in the respective positions of liimself and Margot with regard to one another. Thus far he had been her protector; but now slie became his. The first words that she spoke to the lieutenant served to conciliate his favor, and secure very respectful treatment for Zac, and seemed to convey such important hitelli- gence that he concluded at once to transfer Margot to the Vengeur, where she could tell her story to the captain. " Adieu," said she. " We sail soon see again. Do not fear. I make zem let you go." " Wal, little un, I'll try an' hope. But, mind, unless I get you, 1 don't much mind what becomes o' me." A TALK OF At A J)/ A. 243 ;ato. Tt quart or ,'iirt just n, wlicni id been 'C])iu}ji; ii » of the niestoiio I) escape coniin^' ic stood lie stood lieuten- X pOSSOB- 3ower of place iu got with joen her :st words conciliate ment ft)r it hitelli- r Margot )ry to the i-am. Do ut, mind, becomes Margot, on l)eing taken on ])oard the Vengour, was at once examined hy tlu^ (•nj)tiiin — the Vicomte do Brissae, who found her statement must important. She contented hers(df witli tellini^ everNthiiin- that was essential, and did not tliink it at all iie'cessajv for her to state that Zae had ali'eady hccn in the hands of French captors, and had elfected an escj^x'. She announced herself as the maid of the Countess Lahorde, who hasc([U('iit ari'est of Claude. She Uicntioned the (h^dh of Lahoi-de, and the journey to Jjouishourg hy land, with the escape and pursuit of Claude, the fight with Cazeneaii, and liis sul)se([uent arrival. She tiieii dcscrihed their es- cape, their pursuit and separation, down to the time of speaking. She aflirmed that Zac had come here from Minas Basin to save his iVieiid, and was awaitinjj: his arrival wlien the Vengeur appeared. The captain listened with the most anxious attention to every word; questioned her most minutely about the reasons why Cazeneau had arrested Claude, and also about his designs on Loiiishourg. Margot an- swered everything most frankly, and was able to tell him the truth, inasnnich as she had enjoyed very much of the confidence of Mimi, and had learned from iier about Cazeneau's plans. Captain de Brissac showed no emotion of any kind, whether of sympathy or in- dignation ; but Margot fc -uied a very favorable esti- mate of his character from his face, and could not help believing that she had won him over as an ally. She ?ould see that her story had produced a most pro- found impression. M I ■ '[ 244 THE LILY AND THE CROSS, 'if w ' [ , I'l ' ^"l^ Captain dc Brissac was anxious to know what had been tlie fate of the otlier fugitives, especially of Claude and Minii ; but of this Margot could, of course, give no information. When she had last seen tlieni ihey were flying to the woods, and she could only hope that they had been sufficiently fortunate to get under cover before the arrival of the enemy. Captain de Brissac then sent a crew aboard the Parson, and ordered them to follow tlie Vengeur to ijouisbourg. Upon this new crew Terry looked with careful scrutiny. " Whisper, captain dear," said he, as he drew up to tlie meditative Zac. *' Here's another lot o' Frinch- men. Is it afther thrying agin that ye are, to g'vc 'em the slip?" Zac drew a long breath, and looked with a mel- ancholy face at the Vengeur, which was shaking out her sails, and heading east for Louisbourg. On the stern he could see a female figure. He could not recognize the face, but he felt sure that it was Margot. " Wal," said he, " I guess we'd better wait a while fust, and see how things turn out. The little un's oncommou spry, an' may give us a lift somehow." - T>*'" " '^ ■" f ■ A TALE OF ACADIA. 245 hat had ;ially of f course, en them uhl only to to get oard the ngeur to ked with drew up y Frinch- e, to g've til a mel- , shaking )urg. On He could lat it was lit a while little un's how." CHAPTER XXV. THE COURT MARTIAL. (CLAUDE was treated ronglily, bound, and sent for- J ward on foot; but the representations of Pere Michel secured better treatment for ^W\\\\. A litter was made for her, and on tliis she was carried. As for Pere Michel himself, lie, too, was conducted back as a prisoner ; but the respect of the commander (jf the soldiers for the venerable priest caused him to leave his hands unbound. After a weary tramp they readied Louisbourg. Cazeneau was at the gate, and greeted them with a sinister smile. Mimi, utterly worn out, both by fatigue and grief, took no notice of him, nor did she hear what he said. " Take the Countess de Laborde to tlie Residency." " Pardon," said the priest ; " tliat lady is now the Countess de Montresor." At this Cazeneau turned upon him in fury. " Traitor ! " he hissed ; '^ what do you mean ? " " I mean that I married her to the Count de Mon- tresor last night." " It's a lie ! It's a lie ! " "There are witnesses," said Pr Michel," who can prove it." " It's a lie," said Cazeneau ; '' but even if it is true, it won't help her. She'll be a widow before two days. i It ' i\B t : !! ^I''i r i( 1 ; ' ' ' -'111 mil ~~ '" lil 1 1 1 246 T//E LILY AND THE CROSS. And as for yon, yon villain and traitor, yon shall bit- terly repent yonr part in last night's work." Pere Micliel slirnggod his slionlders, and tnrned away. This act seemed to madden Cazeneaii still more. "Why did yon not hind this fellow?" he cried, turning to tlie commander of tlie detachment. '■' Yonr excellency, I had his parole.'' '' A curse on his parole ! Take him to the prison with Metier, and bind him like the otlier." Upon this, Mimi was taken to tlie Residency, and Claude and Pere Michel were conducted to prison, where both of them were confined. Cazeneau himself then returned to the Residency. Tlie ex-connnandant, Florian, was at the door. He saw tlie whole proceed- ing, but showed no particular emotion. Cazeneau regarded him coldly, and Florian returned his gaze with haughty indifference. " Your plans have not succeeded very well, you see, monsieur," said Cazeneau. " It is not time enough yet to decide," said Florian. "To-morrow will decide." " 1 think not. You will find, Monsieur le Com- mandant, that there is public opinion, even in Louis- bourg, which cannot be despised." " Public opinion wdiich favors traitors may safely be despised." "True," said Florian; and with these words the two parted. The following day came. A court martial had been called to sit at two in the afternoon. At that hour the session was opened by Cazeneau. The chief officers of the garrison -were present. With them came Florian. '•T 'W^ A TALE OF ACADIA. 247 lall bit- turned liiu still 3 cried, ) prison ncv, and prison, I liiniself nandant, proceed- rcturned you see, Florian. le Com- in Louis- salely be I'ords tlio had been ,t hour the ef officers em came "I am sorry, monsieur," said Cazeneau, "that I cannot invite you to a seat in this court." " By virtue of my military rank," said Florian, " I claim a seat here, if not as judge, at least as spectator. I have come to see that the Count de Montresor has justice." "There is no such person. We are to try one Metier." " It can be proved," said Florian, " that he is tlie Count de Montresor. You yourself arrested him first as such." " I was mistaken," said Cazeneau. " As a peer of France, he can appeal to the king ; and this court has no final jurisdiction. I call all present to witness this. If my warning is neglected here, it will be felt in a higher (piarter. Recollect, monsieur, that I shall soon be able to report to his majesty himself. I flatter myself tliat my influence at court just now is not inferior to that of the Count de Cazeneau." " Perhaps, monsieur," said Cazeneau, with a sneer, " you would wisli to be commandant a little longer." "All present," said Florian, " have heard my words. Let tliem remember that tlie prisoner is undoubtedly the Count de Montresor, a peer of France. Witnesses can be produced; among others, the Countess do Montresor." " There is no such person," said Cazeneau, angrily. " That lady is the Countess de Laborde." " She was married two nights since. All present may take warning by what I have announced. I will say no more." The words of Florian had made a profound impres- 248 THE LILY AXD THE CROSS. % , I i '|!i r ]'■' l. sion. Tt WHS no liglit tiling for a colonial court martial to deal with a peer oi" France. Besides, Florian him- self would soon be at court, and could tell his own story. Cazeneau saw that a limit would be placed to his jKJwer if he did not manage carefully. He de(uded to act less harshly, and with more cunning. He there- fore assumed a milder tone, assured the court that Florian was mistaken, disclaimed any personal feeling, and finally invited Florian to sit among the judges. Upon this Florian took his seat. The prisoner was now brought forward, and the witnesses prepared. The charges were then read. These were to the effect that he had been captured while coming to Louisbourg under a suspicious character, calling him- self Metier, but pretending to be the son of the out- lawed De Montresor ; that afterwards he had escaped from confinement, and followed Cazeneau, upon whom he had made a murderous attack. Claude was then questioned. He told his story fully and frankly as has already been stated. After a severe questioning, he was allowed to sit down, and Pere Michel was then summoned. Pore Michel was first asked what he knew about the prisoner. The priest answered, simply, — " Everything." '' What do you mean ? Go on and tell what you know about him." Pore Michel hesitated for a moment, and then, look- ing at Claude, with a face expressive of the deepest emotion, he said in a low voice, — " He is my son." At this declaration amazement filled all present. Claude was affected most of all. He started to his martial m hira- lis own icerl to [lecided e tlicre- irt that feeling, judges. )ner was ircd. 3 to tlie ining to ing liim- tlio out- escaped on whom lis story After a own, and ew about what you ihen, look- e deepest 1 present, ted to his r ■'. W ! !<: i (': h ! i :■ l' • • •••.*■ JW^IM iwr- A TALE OF ACADIA. 249 feet, and stood gazing at P^re Michel with wonder and incredulity. " I don't understand/' said Cazeneau ; '^ at any rate, this shows that he is a low-born adventurer." At this Pere Michel turned to Cazeneau, and said, — " He is my son, yet neither low-born nor an adv^en- turer. Do you not know — you — who 1 am? 0['ten have we seen one another face to face within tlio last few weeks ; and yet you have not recognized me ! What ! have I so changed tliat not a trace of my former self is visible ? Yet what I Avas once you see now in my son, whom you best know to be wliat he claims. Yes, gentlemen, I am Eugene, Count do Montresor, and this is my son Claude. — Come, Claude," he con- tinued, " come, my son, to him who has so oi'ten yearned to take you to a fatlier's embrace. I hoped to defer this declaration until my name should be freed from dishonor ; but in such an hour as this I can keep silent no longer. Yet you know, my son, tliat the dis- honor is not real, and that in the eyes of Heaven your father's name is pure and unsullied." As he said these words, lie moved towards Claude. The young man stood, as pale as death, and trembling from head to foot with excessive agitation. He ihmg himself, with a low cry, into his lather's arms, and leaned his head upon his breast, and wept. The whole court was overcome by this spectacle. There seemed something sacred in tliis strange meeting of those so near, wlio for a lifi^timc had boon separated, and had at lengtli been brouglit together so wonder- fully. The silence was oppressive to Cazeneau, who now felt as though all his power was slipping away. It was broken at last by his harsh voice. v» ;! i ( . I' ' ) i. M ; ,! Kli u 250 T///i LILY AXD THE CROSS. "It's false," lie s}iiut as a peer of France, I claim to be sent to France, where I can be tried by my peers, since this court is one that can have no jurisdiction over one of my rank." Here the Count de Montresor ceased, and turning to his son, stood conversing with him in alow whis[)cr. " Every word is true," said Florian. " 1 asseit that Pere Michel is the Count de Montresor. I had noticed the likeness formerly; but, as 1 believed tlie count to be dead, I thought it only accidental, until a few days ago, when he revealed the truth to me. 1 recognized him by facts and statements which he made, lie has changed greatly since the old days, yet not beyond recognition by a friend. This being the case, then, we have nothing to do, except to send him to France by the next ship. As to the young count, his son, I cannot see that we have any charge against him whatever." All present, with one exception, had been profoundly moved by the meeting between father and son, nor had they been much less deeply moved by the words of the old count, which, though somewhat incoherent, had been spoken with impressiveness and dignity. The announcement of his lofty rank ; the remembrance of his misfortunes, of which most present had heard, and which were universally believed to be unmerited ; the assertion that Cazeneau had been the arch villain and plotter, — all combined to increase the common feeling of sympatliy for the two before them. This feeling was deepened by Florian's words. His influ- ence, but recently so strong, had not yet passed away. v'c: I I I, i I ill :i i (I- ' , V ■: '■■,y ? ; .j| \ t '^ iJ 111 i A '. i 252 T//E LILY AND THE CROSS. The new commandant, even under ordinary circum- stances, would have been unpopular; but on the present occasion he was detested. The feehng, there- fore, was general that nothing ought to be done ; and Cazeneau, his heart full of vengeance, found himself well nigh powerless. But he was not a man wlio could readily give up the purpose of his heart ; and therefore he quickly seized the only resource left him. " Gentlemen," said he, " we must not allow ourselves to be influenced by purely sentimental considerations. I believe that this priest speaks falsely, and tliat he has imposed upon the sympathies of M. de Florian. Besides, he is an outlaw and a criminal in the eyes of French justice. As to the young man, whom he calls his son, there is the charge of a murderous assault upon me, the commandant of Louisbourg. This must be investigated. But in the present state of mind of those present, I despair of conducting any important trial, and I therefore declare this court adjourned until further notice. Guards, remove these two pris- oners, and this time place them in separate cells, where they can no longer have communication with each other." To this no one raised any objection. As command- ant, Cazeneau had the right to adjourn ; and, of course, until some actual decision had been reached, he could dispose of them as he saw fit. They could only bring a moral pressure to bear, at least for the present. Father and son were therefore taken back to their prison, and Cazeneau quitted the court, to take coun- sel with himself as to his future course. He hoped yet to have the game in his own hands. He saw that until Florian was gone it would be difficult, but after A TALE OF ACADIA. 253 that ho might manage to control tlio opinions of tlio majority of the officers. Fiorian, however, could not go until the r.ext ship should arrive, and he now awaited its coming with curiosity and eagerness. He did not have to wait very long. The court broke up, and the ollicers talked ov(M- the matter among themselves. Fiorian was now (piite com- municative, and told them all ahout the early career of Montresor, and his misfortunes. Cazeneau was the evil cause of all; and Fiorian was bitter and uns[)aring in his denunciations of this man's villany. lie took care to remind them that Mimi, thougii the wife of Claude, was still held by him under the pretence that she was his ward, and tliat Cazeneau, being tlie crea- ture of the defunct ministry of the late Fleury, could not bo kept long in his present office by the iiostilo ministry which had succeeded. He also assured them that the Montresors had J"riends among those now in power, and that the old count was anxiously awaiting the arrival of the next ship, in the confident hope that justice would at last be done to him. By these words, and by this information about things unknown to Cazeneau, Fiorian deepened tlie impression which had been made by the events of the trial. All were desirous that the Montres(jrs should at last escape from the macliinations of Caze- neau. All looked for the speedy recall and disgrace of Cazeneau himself, and therefore no one was in- clined to sacrifice his feelings or convictions for the purpose of gaining favor with one wliose stay was to be merely temporary. While they were yet gathered together discussing these things, they were disturbed by the report of a 254 THE LIT A' AX I) THE CROSS. gun. Another followed, Jiiid yc3t another. All of theni • hurried to the signal station, from which a view of the harbor was connnanded. There a noble siglit appeared before their eyes. With all sail set, a frigate came into the liarbor, and then, rounding to, swept grandly up towards tlie town. Guii after gun sounded, as the salute was given and returned. After her came a schooner. "It's the Vengeur," said Florian. "I wonder whether Montresor will get his despatches. Gentle- men, I must go aboard." With these words Florian hurried away from the citadel to the shore. : ! I' J;! 1 I ^■%h ^ \ i^'^:' 1 1. 1 1 I ^ A TALK OF AC AD/ A. 255 CHAPTFA XXVI. NEWS FROM HOME. CAZENEAU had lieanl the guns, iind liad Iciirnod that tho loiig-oxpectud IVigatc had arrived, to- gether with a sehooiier that looked like a prizt.'. To him tlie matter aiVorded miieh gratilicatioii, since it ollered a quick and easy way of getting rid of Florian, and of making the way easier towards the acet)mplish- ment of his own purposes. He did not know tiiat Florian had hurried aboard, nor, had he known, would lie have cared. For his own part he remained where he was, awaiting the visit which the captain of the Vengeur would make, to report his arrival. Alter more than two hours of waiting, it ])egan to strike him that tlie said captain was somewhat dilatory, and he began to meditate a reprimand for such a neglect of his dignity. All this time had been spent by Florian on b >ard, .vhere he had much to say to De Brisset, and nmch to ask of him and also of Margot. At length a boat came ashore. In the l)oat were Florian, De Brisset, and Margot. On lanibng, these three went up to the citadel : and on their way De Brisset was stopped by several of the officers, who were old acquaintances, and were anxious to learn the latest news. Florian also had nmch to tell them rwff Ml ! i 256 THE LILY AND THE CROSS. 1 1^ % (.' ' ti I \ ' i; 1 I, f! 11 ' ■ ■ 11 I ' which ho had just learned. While tliey were talk- ing, Margot hurried to the ilesidency, where she found Minii, to wliom she gave information of a startling kind ; so startling, indeed, was it, that it acted like a powerful remedy, and roused Mimi from a deep stupor of inconsolahlo grief up to lil'e, and liope, and joy, and strength. The information which Do Brisset gave the officers was of the same startling kind, and Florian Avas able to corroborate it by a despatch wliich lie had re- ceived. The despatch was to the elfect that he — the Count de Floriaii — was hereby reinstated in his office as commandant of Louisbourg, and conveyed to him the flattering intej^'gence that his Ibrmer admin- istration was favorably regarded by the government, who would reward him witli some higlier command. With this despatch there came also to Florian, as commandant, a warrant to arrest Cazeneau, tlie late commandant, on certain charges of fraud, peculation, and malversation in office, under tlio late ministry. De Brisset also had orders to bring Cazeneau back to France in the Vengeur. These documents wero shown to the officers, who were very earnest in their congratubitions to Florian. There Avore also despatclies to the Count de Mon- tresor, the ct)nteyts of which were kno\vn to De Bris- set, will) also knew that he was now laboring in the colonies as the missionary priest Perc Michel. Flori- an at once took these to the prison where he was con- fined, acquainted him witii the cliangc that had taken place, and set both him and Claude free with his own hands. Then he presented the despatches. Pore Michel, as we may still call him, tore open the A TALE OF ACADIA. 257 3 talk- re she I of a Dliat it li from 1 liope, offtcers as able lad re- b he — in his 3vcd to admiu- •iiiiient, uiiiaiid. "ian, as he late Illation, inistiy. ,u back ;s were in their le Mon- )e Bris- in the Flori- ^as con- :l taken his own pen the despatch with a trembling liand, and there read tliat, at last, after so many years, tlie wrong done him liad been remedied, as far as possible ; that all liis dignities were restored, togetlier with his estates. Tl)cse last had passed to other hands, but tlie str(tng arm of tlie government was even now being })iit fortli to reclaim them, so that tliey miglit be rendered l)ack to the deeply injured man to wlioni they rightly belonged. " There, my boy," said Pere Micliel, as lie showed it to his son, " all is riglit at last ; and now you can wear your name and dignity in the face of the world, and not be ashamed." " 0, mv father!" said Claude, in a voice wliich was broken with emotion, '' Heaven knows 1 never was asliamed. I believed your innocence, and wept over your wrongs. I am glad now, not for myself, but for you." "Where is the Countess de Montresor?" said Pcre Micliel. •' She should not be kept in restraint any longer." Cazeneau all this time sat in his apartment, await- ing the arrival of the captain of the Vengeur and the despatches. The captain at length appeared ; but with him were others, the sight of wliom awakened strange sensations in his breast. For tliere was Florian, and with liim was Pere Micliel; Clauile was tliere also, and bevond he saw some soldiers. Tl,e sight was to hiii' most appalling, and something in the face and bearing of De Brisset and Florian was more appalling still. '^ Monsieur le Comte de Cazeneau," said Florian, "I have the honor to preser you with this comniission, by which you will see i it I am reappointed com- mandant of Louisbourg. I also have the honor to 17 rr^ 258 77 /E IJLY AND THE CROSS. 1 1 1 ■1 '' It state tliat T liold a warrant for your arrci=5t, on certain charges specified therein, and for sending yoxi back to France for trial in the Vengenr, on her return voyage," (^azeneaii listened to tin's witli a pallid face. " lnipossi])le ! " he i'altered. "Jt's (piite true/' said De Brisset ; "I also liave orders to the same (dfect, which ! have aire uly shown to Monsieur le Coun landant Florian. There is no pos- sibility of any niistake,(»r of any resistance. You will therefore do well to submit.'' Cazeneau had remained seated in the attitude which he had taken nj), when lie L'X])e(;tcd to I'eceive the respectful greeting of his subordinate. The news was so sudden, and so appalling, that he remained motionless. IJe sat staring, like one siuldenly petri- fied, lie turned his eyes from one to another, ])ut in all those IHces he saw nothing to reassure him. All were hostile except Pere Michel, who alone looked at him without hate. 'J'he [)i'iest showed the same mild serenity which had always distinguished him. lie seemed like one who had overcome the world, who had conquered worldly ambition and worldly passion, and had pass(!d beyond the reach of revenge. Cazeneau saw this. PTe rose from his seat, and fell at the feet of Fere Michel. '' Pardon," he faltered ; *' Comte de Montresor, do not pursue a fallen man with your vengeance." At this unexpected exhibition, all present looked with scorn. They had known Cazeneau to be cruel and unscrupulous ; they had not suspected that he was cowardly as well. Pere Michel also preserved an un- changed demeanor. A TALE OF ACADIA. 259 crtain ])iick roturii 1) luivo show 11 no [)()ri- ou will J wliicli ivc tlic news 3nuiincd .y potri- her, l)ut im. All uokod at me mild im. He )rld, wlio passion, ■) and fell or, do not it looked be cruel lat lie was ed an un- " You are mistaken, Cazeneau," ho said. " I feel no desire for vengeance. I seek none. Moreover, 1 have no influence or authority. You must direct your prayers elsewhere." Upon tliis tlie wretched man turned to Florian. " Come, come," said Florian, impatiently. " This Avill never do. Rise, moiisiuur. Remember that you are a Frenchman. Bear \\\) like a man. For my part, I can do nothing for you, and have to obey orders." Cazcneau's break down was utter, and eirectually de- stroyed all sympathy. His present weakness was com- pared with his late vindictiveness, and he who had just refused mercy to others could hardly gain pity on him- self. He only succeeded in utterly disgracing himself, without inspiring a particle of commiseration. Still Florian was not cruel, and contented himself with keeping his prisoner in a room in the Residency, satis- fied that there was no possibility of escape. Some of the officers, however, were loud in their condemnation of Florian's mildness, and asserted that the dungeon and the chains, which had been inflicted by him on the Montresors, should be his doom also. But Florian thought otherwise, and held him thus a prisoner until the Vengeur returned. Then Cazeneau was sent back to be tried and convicted. His life was spared ; but he was cast down to hopeless degradation and want, in wliicli state his existence ultimately terminated. Before the scene with Cazeneau was over, Claude had gone away and found his wife. Already Mimi's strength had begun to return, and her new-born hope, and the rush of her great happiness, coming, as it did, after so much misery and despair, served to restore her rapidly. ill H''l r t I i ' .1 ! r '! I ) . r ' if ij- !: (i 260 TT/^* L/LV AND THE CROSS. " I should have died if this had lasted one day more," said she. '^ But now it is all over, Mimi, dearest," said Claude, '• and you must live for me. This moment repays me for all my sufferings." *^ And for mine," sighed Mimi. Margot saw that her mistress had for the present an attendant wlio was more serviceable tlian herself, and now all her tliouglits turned to that faithful friend whom she liad been compelled for the time to leave, but whom slie had not for one moment forgotten. She waited patiently till she could get a chance to speak to Claude, and tlicn told him what he did not know yet — that Zac was still a prisoner. At that intelligence, his own happiness did not allow him to delay to serve his friend. He at once hurried forth to see De Brisset. To him he explained Zac's position in such forcible language, that De Brisset at once issued an order for tlie release of himself and his schooner, with- out any conditions, and the recall of his seamen. To make the act more complete, the order was committed to Margot, who was sent in the ship's boat to the schooner. On the arrival of this boat, Zac seemed quite in- different to tlie safety of the scliooner, and only aware of the presence of Margot. lie held her hand, and stood looking at hci* with moistened eyes, until after the seamen of tlie Yengeur had gone. Terry looked away ; Jericho vanished below, with vague plans about a great supper. Biler gazed upon Louisbourg with a pensive eye and a half-eaten turnip. " I knowed you'd be back, little un," said Zac ; " I felt it ; an', now you've come, don't go away agin." •Ill A TALE OF ACADIA. 261 e day 'laiide, lys nic ?ent an elf, and friend 3 leave, '^rotten, ance to did not At that T him to forth to sition in ssned an cr, with- len. To immitted i to the finite in- ily aware land, and ntil after ry looked ans about rg with a Za-; ^'I agni. " 0, but I haf to go to ze comtesse," said Margot ; " zat ees — to-day — " " Go back to the countess ! Wliy, you ain't goin' to give me up — air you?" said Zac, dolefully. " 0, no, not eef you don't want me to," said Margot. " But to-day I moos go to ze comtesse, an' afterward you sail ask her, eef you want me." At this, which was spoken in a timid, hesitating way, Zac took lier in liis arms, and gave lier a tre- mendous smack, wliich Terry tried liard not to he.ir. ^^ Wal," said he, '' tliar's Pere Michel, that's a Moo- soo an' a Roman Catholic ; but he'll do." " 0, but you moos not talk of Pere Michel till you see ze comtesse," said Margot ; " an' now I sail tank you to take me back to her, or send me back by one of de men." Zac did not send her back, but took her back to the shore himself. Then tlie fortifications of Louisl)ourg — the dread and bugbear of all New England — closed him in ; but Zac noticed nothing of these. It was only Margot whom he saw ; and he took her to the citadel, to the Ilesidency. On bis arrival, Claude came forth to greet him, with beaming eyes and open arms. Pere Michel greeted him, also, with affectionate cordiality. For the simple Yankee had won tlie priest's heart, as well on account of bis own virtues as for his son's sake. lie also took enough interest in him to note his deal- ings with ^largot, and to suggest to liim, in a sly way, that, under the circumstances, although Zac was a bigoted Protestant, a Roman Catholic priest could do just as well as a Protestant parson. Whereupon Zac went off with a broad grin, that lasted for weeks. The postponement of Florian's departure caused ' I I'l •M III ' I * ^i \ i 262 7V//i LILY AXD THE CROSS. some disappointment to that wortliy gentleman, wliich, however, was alleviated l>y the tiiought tliat he liad been ahle to l)enefit his injured iriend, and ]>ring a villain to punishment; and also l»y the thought that his departure to France would not l)e long delayed. To those I'riends he devoted liinisell", and sought hy every means in his power to make their recollections of Louisbourg more })leasant than tliey had thus i'ar been. Chiude, and his bride, and his fatlier were honored guests at tlie Residency, where tliey were urged to remain as long as tliey could content them- selves, and until they could decide al>out tlieir future movements. For now, though the name of Montresor had been redeemed, and justice had at last been done, it was not easy for them to decide about their future move- ments. Pcre Michel, after some tliouglit,had at length made up his mind, and had given Claude the benefit of his opinion and his advice. ^' 1 liave made up ni-y mind," said he. " I will never go back to France. What can I do in France ? As a French noble, I should be powerless ; as a priest, use- less. France is corrupt to tlie heart's core. The government is corrupt. The wdiole head is sick, the whole lieart faint. Ministry succeeds to ministry, not by means of ability, not from patriotism or a public spirit, l)ut simply througli corrupt favoritism. There are no statesmen in France. Tliey are all courtiers. In that court every man is ready to sell himself for monev. There is no sense of honor. At the head of all is the worst of all, the king himself, who sets an example of sin and iniquity, which is iollowed by all the nation. The peasantry arc slaves, trodden in the A TALE OF ACADIA. 268 n, whicli, b lie liad l)riiig 51 I gilt tluit dolaycd. ouglit l.y olio ct ions I thus tiir her were hey were cut tliem- eir future had been me, it was lire move- \ at length the benefit ; will never ;ice ? Art a priest, use- core. The is sick, the linistry, not or a public sui. Tliere U courtiers, himself for the head of kvho sets an [owed by all odden in the dust, without hope and without spirit. The nobles are obsequious time-sL?wers and place-hunters. The old sentiment of chivalry is lead. 1 will never go to such a country. Here, in this land, wliore I have lived the best part of my life, I intend to remain, lo labor among these simple Acadians,aiid these children of the forest, and to die among them. ''As for you, my son, France is no place for you. The proper place for you, if you wish to lead a viiiu- ous and honorable life, is among the people who looiv upon you as one of themselves, with whom you have been brought up. Your religion, my son, is diHerent from mine; but we worsliij) tlie same God, believe in the same Bible, put our trust in the same Saviour, and hope for the same heaven. What can France give you that can be equal to what you liavc^ in New England? She can give you simply honors, but with thes«) the deadly poison of her own corruption, and a future liill of awful peril. But in New England you have a virgin countrv. There all men are Iree. There you have no nobility. There are no down-trodden peasants, but free farmers. Eveiy man has his own rights, and knows how to maintain them. You have been brought up to be the free citizen of a free country. Enough. Why wish to be a noble in a nation of slaves? Take your name of Montresor, if yon wish. It is yours now, and free from stain. Remember, also, if you wisii, the glory of your ancestors, and let that memory iiis[)ire you to noble actions. But remain in New Eiiglaii^ )rner." 16mo. Cloth. Illustrated. $1.25. -•o*- " Kellogg writes with care, and knows Just what he is writing about. He never mistakes the 'poop deck' for the 'spanker boom,' nor do(!S he order Ills sailors to lower tlic hatcli over the stern, or to coil tlie keelson in the forward cal)iii. Young readers will be glad to hnd in it a shij) anil its nii(hiiglit lamp, :ind as a matter of course, the line captain and his jolly crew, who always accompany every vessel setting sail in literature." — Church and Republic, THE CRUISE of the CASCO. -*o^ 16mo. Cloth. Illustrated. $1.25. -•o*- "Like its predecessors, it is a capital stoiy, capitally told, and the boys will find new pleasure in following the va-ying fortunes and exciting adventures of their old friends in their life upon the ocean. There is a thrilling interest in the story, and the attack, repulse, and capture of the pirates, the unexpected recognition of old acquaintances, and the extraordinary good fortunes of the Cascoites. are told in the best possibles manner." — Tvawmice Amer. IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) 1.0 I.I 1.25 1^ 1 2.8 2.5 1^ 12.2 12.0 1.8 1.4 i.6 VQ <^ /a ^/,. V /A w- ELIJAH KELLOGG'^ BOCKS, THE MISSION OF BLACK RIFLE. -•o»^ — 16mo. Cloth. Illustrated. $1.25. -•o«- "The hero, * Black Rifle,' is a noted Indian hunter, who devoted < -S. Timt*. •*..-!- ELIJAH KELLOGG'S BOOKS, CON- III ARTHUR BROW THE YOUNG CAPTAIN. -*o^ IGmo. Cloth. Illustrated. $1.25. It is tha e of New ■plus vital- 'he recital ens of the IS that he 1 manage- 5 " of pri- ,s, wrecks, It has no sed. *• This narrative illustrates the virtue of gratitude, by represent- ing t]ie liero, Arthur Brown, liished to a raft, ix,ri.sliing with cold and hunger, when lie is rescued by Capt, Kliines of I-^lin Isl.ind, wlio had been instructcul wlicn a boy and afterwards started in business by Artliur's father. Tlie captain receives him with open arms, freely l)estowing botli time and money ujion Artiun-, and tlius repays an old debt. The book is full of exciting adven- tures." — Indianapolis News. >R A THE YOUNG DELIVERERS OF PLEASANT COVE. 16mo. Cloth. Illustrated. $1.25. [n to quote of reality, in Maine, sustenance iristian re- fcrave wi th- ing by the Is that ire ." --» S, " Receives its title from the fact that its most prominent char- ncters, returning from a voyage when they had run the blockade under Lord Nelson, and })assed through a vari«;ty of incidents, .and hearing the fate of a colored cook, a sliipmate of former years, who had suddenly and mysteriously disappeared one; night, set out for Martinique, where they found the man and look into a nlrcrs-nest, is borne by the breaking of a limb to the water, and is linally lodgcnl in the hollow trunk of an old Cree, uprooted l)y t!)o wind. From this i)lace he is rescued by a i)as.siiig vessel, bound for Baltinioro, which was then ' in his Maje-»ty"s province of Mary- land,' anil the lesson taught by his perseverance and < onstant effort, till at the end he is left with a snug little home of his own, — and dearly prized for the severe struggles it cost him, — is very entertainingly given." — Northampton Journal, BROUGHT TO THE FRONT; OR, THE YOUNG DEFENDERS. -•o*- IGmo. Cloth. Illustrated. $1.25. -.o.- "The scene is laid among the backwoods of Pennsylvania, on the borders of a small stream, and hemmed in on all sides by mountains and forest. Heavy burdens are laid upon the young heroes of the story — lighting the Indians, aiding the toils and sharing the perils of their parents, always accomplishing what they undertook, and showing at all times an untlinching courage and endurance. A story of the woods and Indians never fails to have a strong charm for young readers, and this one, like all of Mr. Kellogg's stories, will be no exception to the general rule." — Hartford Times. h i3 .Hi:, OLIVER OPTICAS BOOK\ IHE ONWARD AND UPWARD SERIES. COMpIete in six volumes. Illastrated. In n«:at boa Per volume, ■^ l.«5. I- FIELD AND FOREST; Or, The Fortanes of a Farmer. «. PLANE AND PLANK; Or, The Mishaps of a JHecbaato. 3. DESK AND DEI3IT; Or, The Catastrophes of a Clerk. *. CRINGLE AND CROSS-TREE; Or, The Sea Swashes of a Sailor 5. BIVOUAC AND BATTLE; Or, The Struggles of a Soldier 6. SEA AND SHORE; Or, The Tramps of a Traveller Paul Farringford, the hero of these tales, is, like most of :tiis author's heroes, a young man of high spirit, and of liio* aims and correct principles, appearing in the different vo Mmes as a farmer, a captain, a bookkeeper, a soldier, a sailor and a traveller. In all of them the hero meets with ver| exciting adventures, told la the graphic style for which tW author is famous, — Native. ^f, OLIVER OPTICAS BOOKS. .ij i FAMOUS "BOAT-CLUB" SEEIES Atlbrary for ¥ouuk People. Six volumes, liandsomeljr lllu«traie<' Per volume, $l.)d5. i ! 1. THE BOAT CLUB; Or, The Bankers of Rippleton. 2. ALL ABOARD; Or, Life on the Lake- 8. NOW OR NEVER; Or, The Adventures of Bobby Bright 4. TRY AGAIN ; Or. The Trials an4 Triumphs of Harnr ^99k 5. POOR AND PROUD; Or, The Fortunes of Katy Redbont 6. LITTLE BY LITTLE; Or, The Cruise of the Flyaway. riiis is the first series of books written for the young Iw • Oliver Optic." It laid the foundation for his fame as the tirst of authors in which the young deliglit, and gained for him the title of the Prince of Story-Tellers. The six bool<9 are varied in incident and plot, but all are entertaixking and ori0nal. L -i 9! mm M:\ [ES itraie'' OLIVER orric s books. Ig Iw IS the id for books gand THE BOAT-BUILDER SERIES P«r V«L, $1.26. t. ALL ADRIFT; Or, Tb« Ooldwlnc OI«b. 1. SNUG HARBOR; Or, The Ckam plain M J. SQUARE AND COMPASS; Or. Knilflinir »he novae. 4. STEM TO STERN; Or Balldinr the 5. ALL TAUT; Or, Rirgrinir the «. READY ABOUT; Or, SaIUbc the The series includes in six successive vnlnm^ ♦!.- w 1 tica hints to make the ownership of a boat nav k irl. =sted at once in " Dory," the hero of "All AHrif^ '*."""• .;. the characters to b^^etain'ed [„° 1 ftLeto^nK^-o' the' .n. " '."/irX^fr-'^ 'veo, boy who make, hi, acquaint iM 'r: I OLIVER OPTICS liOOKS. YACHT CLUB SERIES. f vlfoiiA Willi the ever popular ' Iluat t'lulV l^erins, C^vrnpiev^* bi Mix vols. lUiuo. lllutitrated. Per vol., $1.2«j. 1. LITTLE BOBTAIL; Or, The Wreck of tlie Peaotosoot 2. THE YACHT CLUB; Or, The Young Boat-Boilden 8^ MONEY-MAKER; Or, The Victory of the Basilisk. i THE COMING WAVE; Or, The Treasure of High Rock. 6. THE DORCAS CLUB; Or, Our Uirls Afloat 6. OCEAN BORN; Or, The Cruise of the Clnbs^ The series has this peculiarity, that all of its constituent rolumes are independent of one another, and therefore each fttory is complete in itself. "Oliver Optic** is perhaps tlie favorite autlior of the boys and girls of this country, and he seems destined to enjoy an endless popularity. He deserves his success, for he makes verj- interestini^ stories, and incul atee none but the best sentiments ; and the " Yacht Club* no excention to tiiis rule. — New Haven Jour, and OfMr^en. Cnmpntii* mdbMiat. dem asilisk. h Rock. uHn^ s constituent tierefore each ; perhaps the untry, and he He deserves es, and incul* ■Yacht Club" and Oour^ti* .