{"collection":"scripture-revelation","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_69060/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_69060","id":"gutenberg_69060","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/69060","summary":null,"tags":["Category: American Literature","Category: Novels","Category: Religion/Spirituality","Christian fiction"],"text":"THE ANGEL OF HIS PRESENCE\n\n                                   BY\n\n                         GRACE LIVINGSTON HILL\n\n                               AUTHOR OF\n     \u201c_In the Way_,\u201d \u201c_Lone Point_,\u201d \u201c_An Unwilling Guest_,\u201d _etc._\n\n\n                 *        *        *        *        *\n\n\n                          GABRIEL THE ACADIAN\n\n                                   BY\n\n                        EDITH M. NICHOLL BOWYER\n\n\n                              PHILADELPHIA\n                  AMERICAN BAPTIST PUBLICATION SOCIETY\n                          1420 Chestnut Street\n\n\n\n\n                         Copyright 1902 by the\n                  AMERICAN BAPTIST PUBLICATION SOCIETY\n                 *        *        *        *        *\n                       Published September, 1902\n\n\n                      From the Society\u2019s own Press\n\n\n\n\n                                Contents\n\n\n                     The Angel of His Presence\n\n                     Gabriel the Acadian\n\n\n\n\n                       THE ANGEL OF HIS PRESENCE\n\n                                   BY\n\n                         GRACE LIVINGSTON HILL\n\n\n\n\n                       THE ANGEL OF HIS PRESENCE\n\n                        =LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS=\n\n              \u201c\u2018_I have just discovered who you are\n                and felt as if I would like to shake\n                hands with you_\u2019\u201d                      11\n\n              \u201c_She lingered as if transfixed before\n                the picture_\u201d                          23\n\n              \u201c_He dropped it and it shivered into\n                fragments at his feet_\u201d                38\n\n              \u201c_\u2018Who is it?\u2019 he asked sharply and\n                suspiciously_\u201d                         45\n\n              \u201c_She stood behind his big leather\n                chair, her hands clasped together\n                against one cheek_\u201d                    55\n\n              \u201c_He threw away his cigar and\n                disappeared behind the shrubbery_\u201d     67\n\n              \u201c_The \u2018ladye of high degree\u2019 . . . saw\n                them standing also_\u201d                   79\n\n\n\n\n          _The Angel of his presence saved them._\n          _In his love and in his pity he redeemed them._\n                                    \u2014_Old Testament_\n\n\n\n\n                       THE ANGEL OF HIS PRESENCE\n\n\n                               CHAPTER I\n\nJohn Wentworth Stanley stood on the deck of an Atlantic Liner looking\noff to sea and meditating. The line of smoke that floated away from his\ncostly cigar followed the line of smoke from the steamer as if it were\ndoing honest work to help get Mr. Stanley to New York. The sea in the\ndistance was sparkling and monotonous and the horizon line empty and\nbright, but Mr. Stanley seemed to see before him the hazy outlines of\nNew York as they would appear in about twenty-four hours more, if all\nwent well. And of course all would go well. He had no doubt of that.\nEverything had always gone well for him.\n\nEspecially well had been these last two years of travel and study\nabroad. He reflected with satisfaction upon the knowledge and experience\nhe had gained in his own special lines, upon the polish he had acquired,\nand he glanced over himself, metaphorically speaking, and found no fault\nin John Wentworth Stanley. He was not too Parisian in his deferential\nmanner, he was not too English in his deliberation, neither was he, that\nworst of all traits in his eyes, too American in his bluntness. He had\nacquired something from each nation, and considered that the combined\nresult was good. It is a comfortable feeling to be satisfied with one\u2019s\nself.\n\nNor had he been shut entirely out of the higher circles of foreign\nsociety. There were pleasant memories of delightful evenings within the\nnoble walls of exclusive homes, of dinners and other enjoyable occasions\nwith great personages where he had been an honored guest. When he\nthought of this, he raised his chest an inch higher and stood just a\nlittle straighter.\n\nThere was also a memory picture of one, perhaps more, but notably of one\n\u201cladye of high degree,\u201d who had not shown indifference to his various\ncharms. It was pleasant to feel that one could if one would. In due time\nhe would consider this question more carefully. In the near future this\nlady was to visit America. He had promised himself and her the pleasure\nof showing her a few of his own country\u2019s attractions. And,\u2014well, he\nmight go abroad again after that on business.\n\nHis attention was not entirely distracted by his vision of the \u201cladye of\nhigh degree\u201d from looking upon his old homeland and anticipating the\nscenes and the probable experiences that would be his in a few hours.\nTwo years seemed a long time when he looked back upon it, though it had\nbeen brief in the passing. He would doubtless find changes, but there\nhad been changes in him also. He was older, his tastes were\u2014what should\nhe say\u2014developed? He would not take pleasure in the same way that he\nhad taken it when he left, perhaps. He had learned that there were other\nthings\u2014things if not better, at least more cultured and less\nold-fashioned than his former diversions. Of course he did not despise\nhis up-bringing, nor his homeland, but he had other interests now as\nwell, which would take much of his time. He had been from home long\nenough for the place he left to have closed behind him, and he would\nhave no difficulty in staying \u201cdropped out.\u201d He expected to spend much\nof his time in New York. Of course he would make his headquarters at\nhome, where his father and mother were living, in a small city within a\nshort distance of America\u2019s metropolis.\n\nHis man\u2014he had picked up an excellent one while traveling through\nScotland\u2014had gone on ahead to unpack and put in place the various\nobjects of art, etc., that he had gathered on his travels. He had not as\nyet become so accustomed to the man that he could not do without him\nfrom day to day, and had found it convenient to send him home on the\nship ahead of his own.\n\nHe wondered what his home-coming would be like. His father and mother\nwould of course be glad to see him and give him their own welcome. But\neven with them he could not feel that he was coming home to a place\nwhere he was indispensable. They had other children, his brothers and\nsisters, married and living not far from home. Of course they would be\nglad to have him back, all of them, but they had been happy enough\nwithout him, knowing he was happy. But in town, while he had friends,\nthere were none whom he eagerly looked forward to meeting. He had\nattended school there of course, and in later years, after his return\nfrom college, had gone into the society of the place, the literary clubs\nand tennis clubs and, to a degree, into church work. He had indeed been\nquite enthusiastic in church work at one time, had helped to start a\nmission Sunday-school in a quarter where it was much needed, and acted\nas superintendent up to the time when he had gone abroad. He smiled to\nhimself as he thought of his \u201cboyish enthusiasm\u201d as he termed it, and\nturned his thoughts to his more intelligent manhood. Of course he would\nnow have no time for such things. His work in the world was to be of a\ngraver sort, to deal with science and art and literature. He was done\nwith childish things.\n\nHe was interrupted just here by one of the passengers. \u201cI beg your\npardon, I have just discovered who you are and felt as if I would like\nto shake hands with you.\u201d\n\nThe speaker was a plain, elderly man with fine features and an earnest\nface. Mr. Stanley had noticed him casually several times and remarked to\nhimself that that man would be quite fine looking if he would only pay a\nlittle more attention to his personal appearance. Not that he was not\nneatly dressed, nor that his handsome, wavy, iron gray hair was not\ncarefully brushed; but somehow John Wentworth Stanley had acquired\nduring his stay abroad a nice discrimination in toilet matters, and\nliked to see a man with his trousers creased or not creased, as the\nheight of the mode might demand, and classed him, involuntarily,\naccordingly.\n\nBut he turned in surprise as the stranger addressed him. What possible\nbusiness could this man have with him, and what had he done that should\nmake the man want to shake hands with him?\n\n[Illustration: \u201c\u2018I HAVE JUST DISCOVERED WHO YOU ARE AND FELT AS IF I\nWOULD LIKE TO SHAKE HANDS WITH YOU.\u2019\u201d]\n\nMr. Stanley was courteous always, and he at once threw away the end of\nhis finished cigar and accepted the proffered hand graciously, with just\na tinge of his foreign-acquired nonchalance.\n\n\u201cMy name is Manning. You don\u2019t know me. I came to live at Cliveden\nshortly after you went abroad, but I assure you, I have heard much of\nyou and your good work. I wonder I did not know you, Mr. Stanley, from\nyour resemblance to your mother,\u201d the stranger added, looking into the\nyoung man\u2019s eyes with his own keen, gray ones. He did not add that one\nthing which had kept him from recognizing his identity had been that he\ndid not in the least resemble the Mr. Stanley he had been led to expect.\n\nMr. Manning owned to himself in the privacy of his stateroom afterward\nthat he was just a little disappointed in the man, though he was\nhandsome, and had a good face, but he did seem to be more of a man of\nthe world than he had expected to find him. However, no trace of this\nwas written in his kindly, interested face, as John Stanley endeavored\nto master the situation and discover what all this meant.\n\n\u201cOh, I know all about your work in Cliveden, Mr. Stanley. I have been\ninterested in the Forest Hill Mission from my first residence there, and\nwhat I did not learn for myself my little girl told me. She is a great\nworker, and as she has no mother, she makes me her confidant, so I hear\nall the stories of the trials and conflicts of her Sunday-school class,\nand among other things I constantly hear of this one and that one who\nowe their Christian experience to the efforts of the founder of the\nmission and its first superintendent. Your crown will be rich in jewels.\nI shall never forget Joe Andrews\u2019 face when he told me the story of how\nyou came to him Sunday after Sunday, and said \u2018Joe, aren\u2019t you ready to\nbe a Christian yet?\u2019 and how time after time he would shake his head,\nand he says your face would grow so sad.\u201d The elder gentleman looked\nclosely at the clean-shaven, cultured face before him to trace those\nlines which proved him to be the same man he was speaking of, and could\nnot quite understand their absence, but went on, \u201cand you would say,\n\u2018Joe, I shall not give you up. I am praying for you every day. Don\u2019t\nforget that.\u2019 And then when he finally could not hold out any longer and\ncame to Christ, he says you were so glad, and he cannot forget how good\nit was of you to care for him and to stick to him that way. He said your\nface looked just as if the sun were shining on it the day he united with\nthe church. That was a wonderful work you did there. It is marvelous how\nit has grown. Those boys of yours will repay the work you put upon them\nsome day. Nearly all of the original members of your own class are now\nearnest Christians, and they cannot get done telling about what you were\nto them. My little girl writes me every mail more about it.\u201d\n\nJohn Stanley suddenly felt like a person who is lifted out of his\npresent life and set down in a former existence. All his tastes, his\nfriends, his pursuits, his surroundings, during the past two years had\nbeen utterly foreign to the work about which the stranger had been\nspeaking. He had become so engrossed in his new life that he had\nactually forgotten the old. Not forgotten it in the sense that he was\nnot aware of its facts, but rather forgotten his joy in it. And he stood\nastonished and bewildered, hardly knowing how to enter into the\nconversation, so utterly out of harmony with its spirit did he find\nhimself. As the stranger told the story of Joe Andrews there rushed over\nhim the memory of it all: the boy\u2019s dogged face; his own interest\nawakened one day during his teaching of the lesson when he caught an\nanswering gleam of interest in the boy\u2019s eye, and was seized with a\ndesire to make Jesus Christ a real, living person to that boy\u2019s heart;\nhis watching of the kindling spark in that sluggish soul, and how little\nby little it grew, till one night the boy came to his home when there\nwere guests present, and called for him, and he had gone out with him\ninto the dewy night under the stars and sat down with him on the front\npiazza shaded by the vines, hoping and praying that this might be his\nopportunity to say the word that should lead the boy to Christ, when\nbehold, he found that Joe had come to tell him, solemnly as though he\nwere taking the oath of his life, that he now made the decision for\nChrist and hereafter would serve him, no matter what he wanted him to\ndo. A strange thrill came with the memory of his own joy over that\nredeemed soul, and how it had lingered with him as he went back among\nhis mother\u2019s guests, and how it would break out in a joyous smile now\nand then till one of the guests remarked, \u201cJohn, you seem to be\nunusually happy to-night for some reason.\u201d How vividly it all came back\nnow when the vein of memory was once opened. Incident after incident\ncame to mind, and again he felt or remembered that thrill of joy when a\nsoul says, \u201cYou have helped me to find Christ.\u201d\n\nMr. Manning was talking of his daughter. John had a dim idea that she\nwas a little girl, but he did not stop to question. He was remembering.\nAnd there was a strange mingling of feelings. His new character had so\nthoroughly impressed its importance upon him that he felt embarrassed in\nthe face of what he used to be. Strangely enough the first thing that\ncame to mind was, What would the \u201cladye of high degree\u201d think if she\nknew all this? She would laugh. Ah! That would hurt worse than anything\nshe could do. He winced almost visibly under her fancied merriment. It\nwas worse than if she had looked grave, or sneered, or argued, or\nanything else. He could not bear to be laughed at, especially in his new\nr\u00f4le. And somehow his old self and his new did not seem to fit rightly\ntogether. But then the new love of the world and his new tastes came in\nwith all the power of a new affection and asserted themselves, and he\nstraightened up haughtily and told himself that of course he need not be\nashamed of his boyhood. He had not done anything but good. He should be\nproud of that, and especially so as he would probably not come in\ncontact with such work and such people again. He had more important\nthings to attend to.\n\nNot that he said all this, or thought it in so many words; it passed\nthrough his mind like phantoms chasing one another. Outwardly he was the\npolished, courteous gentleman, listening attentively to what this father\nwas saying about his daughter, though really he cared little about her.\nDid Mr. Stanley know that she had taken his former Sabbath-school class\nand that there were many new members, among them some young men from the\nfoundries? No, he did not. He searched in his memory and found a\nfloating sentence from one of his mother\u2019s letters about a young woman\nwho had consented to take his class till his return and who was doing\ngood work. It had been written, perhaps, a year ago, and it had not\nconcerned him much at the time as he was so engrossed in his study of\nthe architecture of the south of France. He recalled it now just in time\nto tell the father how his mother had written him about the class, and\nso save his reputation as a Sunday-school teacher. It transpired that\nthe daughter who had taken the class and the little girl the stranger so\nconstantly referred to as writing him letters about things were one and\nthe same. He wondered vaguely what kind of a little girl was able to\nteach a class of young men, but his mind was more concerned with\nsomething else now.\n\nIt appeared that the former mission where he had been superintendent had\ngrown into a live Sunday-school, and that they were looking for his\nhome-coming with great joy and expectation. How could such a thing be\nother than disconcerting to the man he had become? He had no time to be\nbothered with his former life. He had his life-work to attend to, which\nwas not\u2014and now he began to feel irritated\u2014mission Sunday-schools.\nThat was all well enough for his boyhood, but now\u2014and besides there was\nthe \u201cladye of high degree.\u201d\n\nPerhaps the man of experience saw the stiffening of the shoulders and\nthe upper lip and divined the thoughts of the other. His heart sank for\nhis daughter and her boys, and the mission, and their plans for his\nhome-coming, and he made up his mind that secret or no secret, this man\nmust be told a little of the joy of sacrifice that had been going on for\nhim, for surely he could not have been the man that he had been, and not\nhave enough of goodness left in his heart to respond to that story, no\nmatter what he had become. And so he told him as much of the story his\ndaughter had written him as he thought necessary, and John Wentworth\nStanley thanked him and tried to show that he was properly appreciative\nof the honor that was to be shown him, and tried not to show his\nannoyance about it all to the stranger, and got away as soon as\npossible, after a few polite exchanges of farewells for the evening, and\nwent to his stateroom. Arrived there he seated himself on the side of\nhis berth, his elbows on his knees, his chin in his hands, and sat\nscowling out of the porthole with anything but a cultured manner.\n\n\u201cConfound it all!\u201d he muttered to himself. \u201cI suppose it\u2019s got to be\ngone through with some way for mother\u2019s sake and after they\u2019ve made so\nmuch fuss about it all. I can see it\u2019s all that girl\u2019s getting up; some\nsilly girl that thinks she\u2019s going to become prominent by this sort of\nthing. Going to give me a present! And I\u2019ve got to go up there and be\nbored to death by a speech probably, and then get up and be made a fool\nof while they present me with a pickle dish or a pair of slippers or\nsomething of the sort. It\u2019s awfully trying. And they needn\u2019t think I\u2019m\ngoing back to that kind of thing, for I\u2019m not. I\u2019ll move to New York\nfirst. I wish I had stayed in France! I wish I had never worked in\nForest Hill Mission!\u201d\n\nOh, John Stanley! Sorry you ever labored and prayed for those immortal\nsouls, and wrought into your crown imperishable jewels that shall shine\nfor you through all eternity!\n\n\n                               CHAPTER II\n\nThey stood in the gallery of one of New York\u2019s most famous art stores;\nseven stalwart boys\u2014young men, perhaps, you would call them\u2014all with\nan attempt at \u201cdress up,\u201d and with them Margaret Manning, slender and\ngrave and sweet. They were chaperoned by Mrs. Ketchum, a charming little\nwoman who knew a great deal about social laws and customs, and always\nspoke of things by their latest names, if possible, and who took the\nlead in most of the talk by virtue of her position in society and her\nsupposed knowledge of art. There were also Mrs. Brown, a plain woman who\nfelt deeply the responsibility of the occasion, and Mr. Talcut, a little\nman who was shrewd in business and who came along to see that they did\nnot get cheated. These constituted the committee to select a present for\nthe home-returning superintendent of the Forest Hill Mission\nSunday-school. It was a large committee and rather too heterogeneous to\ncome to a quick decision, but its size had seemed necessary. Margaret\nManning was on it, of course. That had been a settled thing from the\nbeginning. There would not have been any such present, probably, if\nMargaret had not suggested it and helped to raise the money till their\nfund went away up above their highest hopes.\n\nThe seven boys were in her Sunday-school class, and no one of them could\nget the consent of himself to make so momentous a decision for the rest\nof the class without the other six to help. Not that these seven were\nher entire class by any means, but the class had elected to send seven\nfrom their own number, so seven had come. Strictly speaking, only one\nwas on the committee, but he depended upon the advice of the other six\nto aid him.\n\n\u201cNow, Mr. Thorpe,\u201d said Mrs. Ketchum in her easy, familiar manner, \u201cwe\nwant something fine, you know. It\u2019s to hang in his \u2018den.\u2019 His mother has\njust been refitting his den, and we thought it would be quite\nappropriate for us to get him a fine picture for the wall.\u201d\n\nThe preliminaries had been gone through with. Mr. Thorpe knew the\nStanley family slightly, and was therefore somewhat fitted to help in\nthe selection of a picture that would suit the taste of one of its\nmembers. He had led them to the end of the large, well-lighted room,\nplaced before them an easel, and motioned them to sit down.\n\nThe seven boys, however, were not accustomed to such things, and they\nremained standing, listening and looking with all their ears and eyes.\nSomehow, as Mrs. Ketchum stated matters, they did not feel quite as much\nto belong to this committee as before. What, for instance, could Mrs.\nKetchum mean by Mr. Stanley\u2019s \u201cden\u201d? They had dim visions of Daniel and\nthe lions, and the man who fell among thieves, but they had not time to\nreflect over this, for Mr. Thorpe was bringing forward pictures.\n\n\u201cAs it\u2019s a Sunday-school superintendent, perhaps something religious\nwould be appropriate. You might look at these first, anyway,\u201d and he put\nbefore them a large etching whose wonder and beauty held them silent as\nthey gazed. It was a new picture of the Lord\u2019s Supper by a great artist,\nand the influence of the picture was so great that for a few moments\nthey looked and forgot their own affairs. The faces were so marvelously\nportrayed that they could but know each disciple, and felt that the hand\nwhich had drawn the Master\u2019s face must have been inspired.\n\n\u201cIt is more expensive than you wanted to buy, but still it is a fine\nthing and worth the money, and perhaps as it is for a church, I might\nmake a reduction, that is, somewhat, if you like it better than anything\nelse.\u201d\n\nMrs. Ketchum lowered her lorgnette with a dissatisfied expression,\nthough her face and voice were duly appreciative. She really knew a fine\nthing when she saw it.\n\n\u201cIt is wonderful, and you are very kind, Mr. Thorpe; but do you not\nthink that perhaps it is a little, just a little, well\u2014gloomy\u2014that is,\nsolemn\u2014well\u2014for a den, you know?\u201d and she laughed uneasily.\n\nMr. Thorpe was accustomed to being all things to all men. With an easy\nmanner he laughed understandingly.\n\n\u201cYes? Well, I thought so myself, but then I didn\u2019t know how you would\nfeel about it. It would seem hardly appropriate, now you think of it,\nfor a room where men go to smoke and talk. Well, just all of you step\naround this side of the room, please, and I\u2019ll show you another style of\npicture.\u201d\n\nThey followed obediently, Mrs. Ketchum murmuring something more about\nthe inappropriateness of the picture for a den, and the seven boys\nmaking the best of their way among the easels and over Mrs. Ketchum\u2019s\ntrain. All but Margaret Manning. She lingered as if transfixed before\nthe picture. Perhaps she had not even heard what Mrs. Ketchum had said.\nTwo of the boys hoped so in whispers to one another.\n\n\u201cSay, Joe,\u201d he whispered in a low grumble, \u201cI forgot all about Mr.\nStanley\u2019s smoking. She\u2014\u2014\u201d with a nod toward the silent, pre-occupied\nwoman still standing in front of the picture, \u201cshe won\u2019t like that.\nMaybe he don\u2019t do it any more. I don\u2019t reckon \u2019twould be hard fer him to\nquit.\u201d\n\nEvery one of those seven boys had given up the use of tobacco to please\ntheir teacher, Miss Manning.\n\nOther pictures were forthcoming. There were landscapes and seascapes,\nflowers and animals, children and wood nymphs, dancing in extraordinary\nattitudes. The boys wondered that so many pictures could be made. They\nwondered and looked and grew weary with the unusual sight, and wished to\ngo home and get rested, and did not in the least know which they liked.\nThey were bewildered. Where was Miss Manning? She would tell them which\nto choose, for their part of the choice was a very important part to\nthem, and in their own minds they were the principal part of the\ncommittee.\n\n[Illustration: \u201c\u2018I HAVE JUST DISCOVERED WHO YOU ARE AND FELT AS IF I\nWOULD LIKE TO SHAKE HANDS WITH YOU.\u2019\u201d]\n\nMiss Manning left the great picture by and by and came over to where the\nothers sat, looking with them at picture after picture, hearing prices\nand painters discussed, and the merits of this and that work of art by\nMrs. Ketchum and Mr. Talcut, whose sole idea of art was expressed in the\nprice thereof, and who knew no more about the true worth of pictures\nthan he knew about the moon. Then she left the others and wandered back\nto the quiet end of the room where stood that wonderful picture. There\nthe boys one by one drifted back to her and sat or stood about her\nquietly, feeling the spell of the picture themselves, understanding in\npart at least her mood and why she did not feel like talking. They\nwaited respectfully with uncovered heads, half bowed, looking, feeling\ninstinctively the sacredness of the theme of the picture. Four of them\nwere professed Christians, and the other three were just beginning to\nunderstand what a privilege it was to follow Christ.\n\nUntaught and uncouth as they were, they took the faces for likenesses,\nand Christ\u2019s life and work on earth became at once to them a living\nthing that they could see and understand. They looked at John and longed\nto be like him, so near to the Master and to receive that look of love.\nThey knew Peter and thought they recognized several other disciples, for\nthe Sunday-school lessons had been of late as vivid for them as mere\nwords can paint the life of Christ. They seemed themselves to stand\nwithin the heavy arch of stone over that table, so long ago, and to be\nsitting at the table, his disciples, some of them unworthy, but still\nthere. They had been helped to this by what Miss Manning had said the\nfirst Sunday she took the class, when the lesson had been of Jesus and\nof some talks he had had with his disciples. She had told them that as\nthere were just twelve of them in the class she could not help sometimes\nthinking of them as if they were the twelve disciples, especially as one\nof them was named John and another Andrew, and she wanted them to try to\nfeel that these lessons were for them; that Jesus was sitting there in\ntheir class each Sabbath speaking these words to them and calling them\nto him.\n\nThe rest of the committee were coming toward them, calling to Miss\nManning in merry, appealing voices. She looked up to answer, and the\nboys who stood near her saw that her eyes were full of tears, and more\nthan one of them turned to hide and brush away an answering tear that\nseemed to come from somewhere in his throat and choke him.\n\n\u201cCome, Margaret,\u201d called Mrs. Ketchum, \u201ccome and tell us which you\nchoose. We\u2019ve narrowed it down to three, and are pretty well decided\nwhich one of the three we like best.\u201d\n\nMargaret Manning arose reluctantly and followed them, the boys looking\non and wondering. She looked at each of the three. One was the\naforementioned nymph\u2019s dance, another was a beautiful woman\u2019s head, and\nthe third was a flock of children romping with a cart and a dog and some\nroses. Margaret turned from them disappointed, and looked back toward\nthe other picture.\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t like any of them, Mrs. Ketchum, but the first one. Oh, I do\nthink that is the one. Please come and look at it again.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy, my dear,\u201d fluttered Mrs. Ketchum disturbedly, \u201cI thought we\nsettled it that that picture was too, too\u2014not quite appropriate for a\nden, you know.\u201d\n\nBut her words were lost, for the others had gone forward under the\nskylight to where the grand picture stood, and were once more under the\nspell of those wonderful eyes of the pictured Master.\n\n\u201cIt is a real nice picture,\u201d spoke up Mrs. Brown. She was fond of\nMargaret Manning, though she did not know much about art. She had been\nelected from the woman\u2019s Bible class, and had been rather overpowered by\nMrs. Ketchum, but she felt that now she ought to stand up for her friend\nMargaret. If _she_ wanted that picture, that picture it should be.\n\n\u201cHow much did you say you would give us that for, Mr. Thorpe?\u201d said the\nsharp little voice of Mr. Talcut.\n\nMr. Thorpe courteously mentioned the figures.\n\n\u201cThat\u2019s only ten dollars more\u2019n we\u2019ve got,\u201d spoke up the hoarse voice of\none of the seven unexpectedly. It was Joe, who felt that he owed his\nsalvation to the young superintendent\u2019s earnest efforts in his behalf.\n\n\u201cI say we\u2019d better get it. Ten dollars ain\u2019t much. We boys can go that\nmuch. I\u2019ll go it myself somehow if the others don\u2019t.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, really, ladies, I suppose it\u2019s a very good bargain,\u201d said Mr.\nTalcut rubbing his hands and smiling.\n\n\u201cThen we\u2019ll take it,\u201d said Joe, nodding decidedly to Mr. Thorpe; \u201cI\u2019ll\ngo the other ten dollars, and the boys can help, if they like.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut really Margaret, my dear,\u201d said Mrs. Ketchum quite distressed, \u201ca\n_den_, don\u2019t you know, is not a place for\u2014\u2014\u201d\n\nBut the others were all saying it was just the picture, and she was not\nheard. Mr. Talcut was giving the address and orders about the sending.\nNone of them seemed to realize that Mrs. Ketchum had not given her\nconsent, and she, poor lady, had to gracefully accept the situation.\n\n\u201cWell, it\u2019s really a very fine thing, I suppose,\u201d she said at last,\nsomewhat hesitatingly, and putting up her lorgnette to take a critical\nlook. \u201cI don\u2019t admire that style of architecture, and that table-cloth\nisn\u2019t put on very gracefully; it would have been more artistic draped a\nlittle; but it\u2019s really very fine, and quite new, you say, and of course\nthe artist is irreproachable. I think Mr. Stanley will appreciate it.\u201d\n\nBut she sighed a little disappointedly, and wished she had been able to\ncoax them to take the nymphs. She would take pains to let Mr. Stanley\nknow that this had not been her choice. The idea of having to give in to\nthose great boors of boys! But then it had all been Margaret Manning\u2019s\nfault. She was such a little fanatic. She might have known that it would\nnot do to let her see a religious picture first.\n\n\n                              CHAPTER III\n\nIt was Margaret Manning\u2019s suggestion that it should be presented\nquietly. Some of the others were disappointed. Mrs. Ketchum was one of\nthe most irate about it.\n\n\u201cThe idea! After the school had raked and scraped together the money,\nthat they should not have the pleasure of seeing it presented! It\u2019s a\nshame! Margaret Manning has some of the most backwoods\u2019 notions I ever\nheard of. It isn\u2019t doing things up right at all. There ought to be a\nspeech from some one who knows how to say the right thing; my husband\ncould have done it, and would if he\u2019d been asked. But no, Margaret\nManning says it must be hung on his wall, and so there it hangs, and\nnone of us to get the benefit. I declare it is a shame! I wish I had\nrefused to serve on that committee. I hate to have my name mixed up in\nit the way things have gone.\u201d So said Mrs. Ketchum as she sat back in\nher dim and fashionable parlor and sighed.\n\nBut the seven boys ruled things, and they ruled them in the way Miss\nManning suggested; and moreover, Mrs. Brown and Mr. Talcut had gone over\nto the enemy completely since the purchase, the enemy being Miss\nManning. Mr. Talcut rubbed his hands admiringly, and said Miss Manning\nwas an exceedingly shrewd young woman, that she had an eye for business.\nThat picture was the best bargain in that whole store.\n\nBut Margaret went on her way serenely, not knowing her power nor\nenjoying her triumph. Albeit she was pleased in her heart with the\npicture, and she thought that her seven boys had been the true selectors\nof it. She wrote in her fine, even hand, that was like her in its lovely\ndaintiness, the words the committee told her to write\u2014which she had\nsuggested\u2014on a white card to accompany the picture. It read, \u201cTo our\nbeloved superintendent, with a joyous welcome home, from the entire\nschool of the Forest Hill Mission.\u201d\n\nThe Stanley home stood in fine, large grounds, with turf smooth as\nvelvet and grand old forest trees all about. The house was large,\nold-fashioned, and ugly, but the rooms were magnificent in size, and\nfilled with all the comforts money could buy. On one side, just off the\nlarge library and connected with the hall, had been built an addition, a\nbeautiful modern room filled with nooks and corners and unexpected\nbay-windows, which afforded views in at least three directions because\nof the peculiar angles at which they were set. In one corner was a\ncarved oak spiral staircase by which one could ascend to the airy\nsleeping room over-head if he did not choose to go through the hall and\nascend the common stair. One side of the room and various other\nunexpected bits of wall were turned into bookcases sunk in the masonry\nand covered by glazed doors. The bay-window seats were heavily\nupholstered in leather, and so were all the chairs and the luxurious\ncouch. Nearly one entire end of the room was filled by the great\nfireplace, the tiling of which had been especially designed for it. In a\nniche built for it with a fine arrangement for light, both by day or\nnight, stood a large desk. It was a model working room for a gentleman.\nAnd this addition had been built by the senior Mr. Stanley for his son\nwhen he should return to take up the practical work of architecture, for\nwhich he had been preparing himself for some years.\n\nIt was here that the great picture was brought and hung over the\nfireplace, where it could look down upon the entire room. It was hung\njust the day before John Wentworth Stanley\u2019s man arrived with his\nmaster\u2019s goods and chattels and began to unpack and dispose things\naccording to his best judgment.\n\nJohn Stanley\u2019s mother had come in to superintend the hanging of the\npicture and had looked at it a long time when she was left alone, and\nfinally had knelt shyly beside the great new leather chair and offered a\nsilent little prayer for the home-coming son. She was an undemonstrative\nwoman, and this act seemed rather theatrical when she thought of it\nafterward. What if a servant had opened the door and seen her!\nNevertheless she felt glad she had dedicated the room, and she was glad\nthat the picture was what it was. With that Ketchum woman on the\ncommittee she had feared what the result might be when she had had the\nscheme whispered to her. Somebody must have fine taste. Perhaps it was\nthat dainty, lily-faced young girl who seemed to be so interested in\nJohn\u2019s Sunday-school class. The mother was busy in her home world and\ndid not go into church work much. She was getting old and her children\nand grandchildren were all about her, absorbing her time and thought.\n\nThe man came in from the piazza that surrounded the bay window and\nreached around to the long French window at the side, where he had been\nunpacking a box. He placed a silver-mounted smoking set on a small\nmahogany table. Then he stood back to survey the effect. Presently he\ncame in with some fine cut glass, a small decanter heavily mounted in\nsilver and glasses to match. He went out and came back with their tray.\nHaving dusted them off carefully and arranged them on the tray, he\nplaced it first on the handsome broad mantel, and as before stood back\nto take a survey. He knew the set was a choice example of artistic work\nalong this line. It was presented to his master while he was visiting in\nthe home of a nobleman in token of his friendship and to commemorate\nsomething or other, the man did not exactly know what. But he did not\nlike the effect on the mantel. He glanced uneasily up at the picture. In\na dim way he felt the incongruity. He scowled at the picture and\nwondered why they put it there. It should have been hung in the hall or\nsome out-of-the-way place. It was more suited for a church than anywhere\nelse, he told himself. He placed the decanter tray on the little table\nat the other side of the fireplace from the smoking set, and stood back\nagain. It looked well there. He raised his eyes defiantly to the\npicture, and met the full, strong, sweet gaze of the pictured eyes of\nthe Master. The man lowered his eyes and turned away, disturbed, he knew\nnot why. He was not a man who cared about such things, neither was he\none accustomed to reason. He went out to the piazza again to his\nunpacking, trying to think of something else. It wasn\u2019t his picture nor\nhis decanter anyway, and he whistled a home tune and wondered why he had\ncome to this country. He didn\u2019t seem to feel quite his usual pride this\nmorning in the fact that he knew his business. When he finally unpacked\nthe wicker-covered demijohn of real old Scotch whisky that had\naccompanied the decanter, he carried it through the room and deposited\nit in the little corner cupboard behind the chimney, shut the door and\nlocked it with a click, and went out again without so much as raising\nhis eyes. All that day he avoided looking at that picture over the\nmantelpiece, and he grew quite happy in his work again and quite\nself-satisfied, and felt with a sort of superstitious fear that if he\nlooked at it his happiness would depart.\n\nThere were other rare articles that he had to unpack and dispose of, and\nonce he came to a large, handsome picture, a sporting scene in water\ncolors by a celebrated artist. That now, would be the very thing to hang\nover the mantel in place of the picture already there. He even went so\nfar as to suggest to Mrs. Stanley that he make the change, but she\ncoldly told him to leave the picture where it was, as it was a gift, and\nshowed him the envelope to place on the mantel directly under the\npicture, which contained the card from the donors.\n\nSo the man left the room at last, somewhat dissatisfied, but feeling\nthat he had done the best he could. The night passed, the day came, and\nwith it the new master of the new room.\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s really a magnificent thing, mother,\u201d he said, as he stood in front\nof the great picture after, having admired the room and shown his\ndelight in all they had done for him. \u201cI\u2019m delighted to have it. I saw\nthe original on the other side. And it was good taste of them to give it\nquietly in this way too. But there is a sense in which this is quite\nembarrassing. They will expect so much, you know, and of course I\nhaven\u2019t time for this sort of thing now.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, I thought something ought to be done, my son,\u201d responded the\nmother, \u201cso I sent out invitations for the whole school for a reception\nhere next week. That is, I have them ready. They are not sent out, but\nare waiting your approval. Tuesday will be a free evening. What do you\nthink?\u201d\n\nJohn Stanley scowled and sighed.\n\n\u201cOh, I suppose that\u2019s the easiest way to get out of it now they\u2019ve sent\nme this. It will be an awful bore, but then it\u2019ll be over. I shall\nscarcely know how to carry myself among them, I fear, I\u2019ve been out of\nthis line so long, and they fancy me so virtuous,\u201d and he smiled and\nshrugged his handsome shoulders.\n\n\u201cBut John dear, you mustn\u2019t feel in that way. They really think a great\ndeal of you,\u201d said his mother, smiling indulgently upon him.\n\n\u201cOh, it\u2019s all right; go ahead, mother. Make it something fine while\nyou\u2019re about it. Give them quite a spread you know. Some of them don\u2019t\nget many treats, I suppose,\u201d and he sank down in one of the luxurious\nchairs and looked about him with pleasure.\n\n\u201cThis is nice, mother,\u201d he said; \u201cso good of you and father to think of\nit. I can do great things here. The room is an inspiration in itself. It\nis a poem in architecture.\u201d\n\nThen the mother left him awhile to his thoughts and he began to piece\ntogether his life, that portion he had left behind him across the water,\nand this new piece, a part of the old, that he had come to take up\nagain. There hovered on the margin of his mind the image of the \u201cladye\nof high degree,\u201d and he looked out about on his domain with satisfaction\nat thought of her. At least she would see that people in this country\ncould do things as well as in hers.\n\nThen by some strange line of thought he remembered his worriment of\nyesterday about that present, and how he had thought of her laugh if she\nshould know of it. A slight feeling of pleasure passed over him; even in\nthis she could find no fault. It was fine and costly and a work of\ngenius. He need not be ashamed even if some one should say to her that\nthe picture was presented to him by a mission class grateful for what he\nhad done for it. He began to swell with a sense of importance at the\nthought. It was rather a nice thing, this present, after all. He changed\nhis position that he might examine the picture more carefully at his\nleisure.\n\nThe fire that his mother had caused to be lighted to take off the chill\nof the summer evening and complete the welcome of the room, sent out a\nruddy glow and threw into high relief the rich, dark gloss of the frame\nand the wonderful picture. It was as if the sombre, stone-arched room\nopened directly from his own, and he saw the living forms of the Twelve\ngathered around that table with the Master in the midst. But the Master\nwas looking straight at him\u2014at him, John Wentworth Stanley,\nself-satisfied gentleman of the world that he was, looking at him and\naway from the other disciples. Down through all the ages those grave,\nkind, sad, sweet eyes looked him through and through, and seemed to sift\nhis life, his every action, till things that he had done now and\nyesterday, and last year, that he had forgotten, and even when he was a\nlittle boy, seemed to start out and look him in the face behind the\nshadows of those solid stones of that upper chamber. The more he looked\nthe more he wondered at the power the picture seemed to have. He looked\naway to prove it, and he knew the eyes were following his.\n\nThe rosy glow of the firelight seemed to be caught and crystallized in a\nthousand sparkles on one side of the fire. He looked in passing and knew\nwhat the sparkles were, the fine crystal points of that cut glass\ndecanter. He had forgotten its existence until now, since the day he had\nhad it packed. He knew it was a beautiful thing in its way, but he had\nnot intended that it should be thus displayed. He hoped his mother had\nnot seen it. He would look at it and then put it away, that is, pretty\nsoon. Now his eyes were held by the eyes of his Master. Yes, his Master,\nfor he had owned his name and called himself a Christian, and no matter\nwhat other things had come in to fill his mind, he had no wish to give\nup the \u201cname to live.\u201d And yet he was conscious, strangely, abnormally\nconscious of that decanter. His Master seemed to be looking at it too,\nand to be inquiring of him how he came to have it in his possession. For\nthe first time he was conscious, painfully so, that he had never given\nits donor any cause to think that such a gift would be less acceptable\nto him than something else. His Master had understood that too, he felt\nsure. He was annoyed that he could frame no excuse for himself, as he\nhad so easily done when the gift first reached him. He had even been\nconfident that he would be able to explain it to his mother so that she\nwould be rather pleased with the gift than otherwise, strong temperance\nwoman though he knew her to be. Now all his reasons had fled. The eyes\nof his Master, his kind, loving, sorrowing Master were upon him. He\nbegan to be irritated at the picture. He arose and seized the decanter\nhastily, to put it somewhere out of sight, just where he had not\nthought.\n\nNow the officious Thomas, who knew his place and his work so well, had\nplaced in the new, freshly washed decanter a small quantity of the rare\nold Scotch whisky that had come with it. Thomas knew good whisky when he\nsaw\u2014that is, tasted\u2014it, and he was proud of a master to whom such a\ngift had been given. John Stanley did not expect to find anything in his\ndecanter until he put it there himself, or gave orders to that effect.\nHe was new to the ways of a \u201cman\u201d who so well understood his business.\nAs he jerked the offending article toward him some of this whisky\nspilled out of the top that had perhaps not been firmly closed after\nThomas had fully tested the whisky. Its fumes so astonished its owner\nthat, he knew not how, he dropped it and it shivered into fragments at\nhis feet on the dull red tiles of the hearth.\n\nAnnoyed beyond measure, and wondering why his hand had been so unsteady,\nhe rang the bell for Thomas and ordered him to take away the fragments\nand wipe the whisky from the hearth. Then he seated himself once more\ntill it was done. And all the time those eyes, so sad and reproachful\nnow, were looking through and through him.\n\n\u201cThomas!\u201d he spoke sharply, and the man came about face suddenly with\nthe broom and dustpan in hand on which glittered the crystals of\ndelicate cutting. \u201cWhere is the rest of that\u2014that stuff?\u201d\n\nThomas understood. He swung open the little door at the side of the\nchimney. \u201cRight here at hand, sir! Shall I pour you out some, sir?\u201d he\nsaid, as he lifted the demijohn.\n\n[Illustration: \u201cHE DROPPED IT AND IT SHIVERED INTO FRAGMENTS AT HIS\n  FEET.\u201d]\n\nJohn Stanley\u2019s entire face flushed with shame. His impulse was severely\nto rebuke the impertinence, nay the insult, of the servant to one who\nhad always been known as a temperance man. But he reflected that the\nservant was a stranger to his ways, and that he himself had perhaps\ngiven the man reason to think that it would be acceptable by the very\nfact that he had these things among his personal effects. Then too, his\neyes had caught the look of the Master as he raised them to answer, and\nhe could not speak that harsh word quite in that tone with Jesus looking\nat him.\n\nHe waited to clear his throat, and answered in a quieter tone, though\nstill severely: \u201cNo; you may take it out and throw it away. I never use\nit.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, sir,\u201d answered Thomas impassively; but he marveled. Nevertheless\nhe forgave his master, and took the demijohn to his own room. He was\nwilling to be humble enough to have it thrown away on him. But as he\npassed the servant\u2019s piazza, the cook who sat resting from her day\u2019s\nlabors there and planning for the morrow\u2019s _menu_, heard him mutter:\n\n\u201cAs shure as I live, it\u2019s the picter. It\u2019s got some kind o\u2019 a spell.\u201d\n\n\n                               CHAPTER IV\n\nAfter Thomas had left the room with the demijohn, his master seemed\nrelieved. He began to walk up and down his room and hum an air from the\nGerman opera. He wanted to forget the unpleasant occurrence. After all,\nhe was glad the hateful, beautiful thing was broken. It was no one\u2019s\nfault particularly, and now it was out of the way and would not need to\nbe explained. He walked about, still humming and looking at his room,\nand still that picture seemed to follow and be a part of his\nconsciousness wherever he went. It certainly was well hung, and gave the\nstrong impression of being a part of the room itself. He looked at it\ncritically from a new point of view, and as he faced it once more he was\nin the upper chamber and seemed to hear his Master saying, \u201cYet a little\nwhile, and the world seeth me no more\u201d; and he realized that he was in\nthe presence of the scene of the end of his Master\u2019s mission. He walked\nback to the fireplace seeking for something to turn his thoughts away,\nand passing the table where stood his elegantly mounted smoking set, he\ndecided to smoke. It was about his usual hour for his bedtime smoke,\nanyway. He selected a cigar from those Thomas had set out and lighted it\nwith one of the matches in the silver match safe, and for an instant\nturned with a feeling of lazy, delicious luxury in the use of his new\nroom and all its appliances. Unconsciously he seated himself again\nbefore the fire in the great leather chair, and began to puff the smoke\ninto dreamy shapes and let his thoughts wander as he closed his eyes.\n\nSuppose, ah, suppose that some one, say the \u201cladye of high degree,\u201d\nshould be there, should belong there, and should come and stand behind\nhis chair. He could see the graceful pose of her fine figure. She might\nreach over and touch his hair and laugh lightly. He tried to imagine it,\nbut in spite of him the laugh rang out in his thoughts scornfully like a\nsharp, silver bell that belonged to some one else. He glanced over his\nshoulder at the imagined face, but it looked cold above the smoke. She\ndid not mind smoke. He had seen her face behind a wreath of smoke\nseveral times. It seemed a natural setting. But the dream seemed an\nempty one. He raised his head and settled it back at a new angle. How\nrosy the light was as it played on the hearth and how glad he was to be\nat home again. That was enough for to-night. The \u201cladye of high degree\u201d\nmight stay in her home across the sea for this time. He was content.\nThen he raised his eyes to the picture above without knowing it, and\nthere he was smoking at the supper table of the Lord. At least so he\nfelt it to be. He had always been scrupulously careful never to smoke in\nor about a church. He used to give long, earnest lectures on the subject\nto some of the boys of the mission who would smoke cigarettes and pipes\non the steps of the church before service. He remembered them now with\nsatisfaction, and he also remembered a murmured, jeering sound that had\narisen from the corner where the very worst boys sat, which had been\nsuppressed by his friends, but which had cut at the time, and which he\nhad always wondered over a little. He had seen no inconsistency in\nspeaking so to the boys in view of his own actions. But now, as he\nlooked at that picture he felt as though he were smoking in church with\nthe service going on. The smoke actually hid his Master\u2019s face. He took\ndown his cigar and looked up with a feeling of apology, but this was\ninvoluntary. His irritation was rising again. The idea of a picture\nupsetting him so! He must be tired or his nerves unsettled. There was no\nmore harm in smoking in front of that picture than before any other.\n\u201cConfound that picture!\u201d he said, as he rose and walked over to the bay\nwindow, \u201cI\u2019ll have it hung somewhere else to-morrow. I won\u2019t have the\nthing around. No, it\u2019ll have to be left here till after that reception,\nI suppose; but after that it shall go. Such a consummate nuisance!\u201d\n\nHe stood looking out of the open window with a scowl. He reflected that\nit was a strange thing for him to be so affected by a picture, a mere\nimagination of the brain. He would not let it be so. He would overcome\nit. Then he turned and tramped deliberately up and down that room,\nsmoking away as hard as he could, and when he thought his equilibrium\nwas restored, he raised his eyes to the picture as he passed, just\ncasually as any one might who had never thought of it before. His eyes\nfell and he went on, back and forth, looking every time at the picture,\nand every time the eyes of that central figure watched him with that\nsame sad, loving look. At last he went to the window again and angrily\nthrew up the screen, threw his half-smoked cigar far out into the\nshrubbery of the garden, saying as he did so, \u201cConfound it all!\u201d\n\n                 *        *        *        *        *\n\nIt was the evening before the reception. It was growing toward nine\no\u2019clock, and John Stanley had retired to his wing to watch the fire and\nconsider what a fool he was becoming. He had not smoked in that room\nsince the first night of his return. He had not yielded to such weakness\nall at once nor with the consent of himself. He had thought at first\nthat he really chose to walk in the garden or smoke on the side piazza,\nbut as the days went by he began to see that he was avoiding his own new\nroom. And it was all because of that picture. He glanced revengefully in\nthe direction where it hung. He did not look at it willingly now if he\ncould help it. His elegant smoking set was reposing in the chimney\ncupboard, locked there with a vicious click of the key by the hand of\nthe young owner himself. And it was not only smoking, but other things\nthat the picture affected. There for instance was the pack of cards he\nhad placed upon the table in their unique case of dainty mosaic design.\nHe had been obliged to put them elsewhere. They seemed out of place. Not\nthat he felt ashamed of the cards. On the contrary he had expected to be\nquite proud of the accomplishment of playing well which he had acquired\nabroad, having never been particularly led in that direction by his\nsurroundings before he had left home. Was this room becoming a church\nthat he could not do as he pleased? Then there had been a sketch or two\nand a bit of statuary, which he had brought in his trunk because they\nhad been overlooked in the packing of the other things. That morning he\nbrought them down to his room, but the large picture refused to have\nthem there. There was no harm in the sketches, only they did not fit\ninto the same wall with the great picture, there was no harmony in their\nthemes. The statuary was associated with heathenism and wickedness, \u2019tis\ntrue, but it was beautiful and would have looked wonderfully well on the\nmantel against the rich, dark red of the dull tiles, but not under that\npicture. It was becoming a bondage, that picture, and after to-morrow\nnight he would banish it to\u2014where? Not his bedroom, for it would work\nits spell there as well.\n\nJust here there came a tap on the window-sill, followed by a hoarse,\nhalf-shy whisper:\n\n\u201cMr. Stanley, ken we come in?\u201d\n\nHe looked up startled. The voice had a familiar note in it, but he did\nnot recognize the two tall, lank figures outside in the darkness, clad\nin cheap best clothes and with an air of mingled self-depreciation and\nself-respect.\n\n\u201cWho is it?\u201d he asked sharply and suspiciously.\n\n[Illustration: \u201c\u2018WHO IS IT?\u2019 HE ASKED, SHARPLY AND SUSPICIOUSLY.\u201d]\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s me, Mr. Stanley; Joe Andrews. You ain\u2019t forgot me yet, I know. And\nthis one\u2019s my friend, Bert; you know him all right too. May we come in\nhere? We don\u2019t want to go to the front door and make trouble with the\ndoor bell and see folks; we thought maybe you\u2019d just let us come in\nwhere you was. We hung around till we found your room. We knowed the new\npart was yours, \u2018cause your father told the committee, you know, when\nthey went to tell about the picture.\u201d\n\nLight began to dawn on the young man. Certainly he remembered Joe\nAndrews, and had meant to hunt him up some day and tell him he was glad\nto hear he was doing well and living right, but he was in no mood to see\nhim to-night. Why could he not have waited until to-morrow night when\nthe others were to come? Was not that enough? But of course he wanted to\nget a word of thanks all his own. It had been on his tongue to tell Joe\nhe was unusually busy to-night, and would he come another time, or wait\ntill to-morrow, but the remembrance of the picture made that seem\nungracious. He would let them in a few minutes. They probably wished to\nreport that they had seen the picture in the room before the general\nview should be given, so he unfastened the heavy French plate window and\nlet the two in, turning up as he did so the lights in the room, so that\nthe picture might be seen.\n\nThey came in, lank and awkward, as though their best clothes someway\nhurt them, and they did not know what to do with their feet and the\nchairs. They did not sit down at first, but stood awkwardly in single\nfile, looking as if they wished they were out now they were in. Their\neyes went immediately to the picture. It was the way of that picture to\ndraw all eyes that entered the room, and John Stanley noted this with\nthe same growing irritation he had felt all day. But over their faces\nthere grew that softened look of wonder and awe and amaze, and to John\nStanley\u2019s surprise, of deep-seated, answering love to the love in the\neyes of the picture. He looked at the picture himself now, and his fancy\nmade it seem that the Master was looking at these two well pleased.\nCould it be that he was better pleased with these two ignorant boys than\nwith him, John Stanley, polished gentleman and cultured Christian that\nhe trusted he was?\n\nHe looked at Joe again and was reminded of the softened look of deep\npurpose the night Joe had told him beneath the vines of his intention to\nserve Christ, and now standing in the presence of the boy again and\nremembering it all vividly, as he had not done before, there swept over\nhim the thrill of delight again that a soul had been saved. His heart,\nlong unused to such emotions, felt weak, and he sat down and motioned\nthe boys to do the same. It would seem that the sight of the picture had\nbraced up the two to whatever mission theirs had been, for their faces\nwere set in steady purpose, though it was evident that this mission was\nembarrassing. They looked at one another helplessly as if each hoped the\nother would begin, and at last Joe plunged in.\n\n\u201cMr. Stanley, you ben so good to us we thought \u2019twas only fair to you we\nshould tell you. That is, we thought you\u2019d like it, and anyway, maybe\nyou wouldn\u2019t take it amiss.\u201d\n\nJohn Stanley\u2019s heart was kind, and he had been deeply interested in this\nboy once. It all came back to him now, and he felt a strong desire to\nhelp him on, though he wondered what could be the nature of his errand.\n\nJoe caught his breath and went on. \u201cYou see she don\u2019t know about it.\nShe\u2019s heard so much of you, and she never heard that, not even when they\nwas talking about the den and all at the store, she was just lookin\u2019 at\nthe picture and Him,\u201d raising his eyes reverently to the picture on the\nwall, \u201cand we never thought to tell her afore, and her so set against\nit. And we thought anyway afterward maybe you\u2019d quit. Some do. We all\ndid, but that was her doin\u2019s. But we thought you\u2019d like to know, and if\nyou had quit she needn\u2019t never be told at all, and if you hadn\u2019t, why we\nthought maybe \u2018twouldn\u2019t be nothin\u2019 for you to quit now, \u2018fore she ever\nknew about it.\u201d\n\nThe slow red was stealing up into the face of John Stanley. He was\nutterly at a loss to understand what this meant, and yet he felt that he\nwas being arraigned. And in such a way! So humbly and by such almost\nadoring arraigners that he felt it would be foolish and wrong to give\nway to any feeling of irritation, or indignation, or even offended\ndignity on his part.\n\n\u201cI do not understand, Joe,\u201d he said at last, looking from one to another\nof the two boys who seemed too wretched to care to live longer. \u201cWho is\nshe? And what is it that she does not know, and that you want me to\n\u2018quit\u2019? And why should it be anything to her, whoever she is, what I\ndo?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy it\u2019s her, Miss Manning\u2014Margaret Manning\u2014our teacher.\u201d Joe spoke\nthe name slowly, as if he loved it and revered it; \u201cand it\u2019s that we\nwant you to\u2014that is, we want her to\u2014to like you, you know. And it\u2019s\nthe\u2014the\u2014I can\u2019t most bear to say it, \u2018cause maybe you don\u2019t do it any\nmore,\u201d and Joe looked up with eyes like a beseeching dog.\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s the smokin\u2019,\u201d broke in Bert huskily, rising. \u201cCome on, Joe, we\u2019ve\ndone what we \u2018greed to do; now \u2018tain\u2019t no more of our business. I say,\ncome on!\u201d and he bolted through the window shamefacedly.\n\nJoe rose and going up to Mr. Stanley laid hold of his unwilling hand and\nchoked out: \u201cYou won\u2019t take it hard of me, will you? You\u2019ve done so much\nfer me, an\u2019 I kind of thought I ought to tell you, but now since I seen\nyer face I think maybe I had no business. Good-night,\u201d and with a face\nthat looked as if he had been caught in the act of stealing, Joe\nfollowed his friend through the window and was lost in the deep shadows\noutside.\n\nJohn Stanley stood still where the two had left him. If two robbers had\nsuddenly come in upon him and quietly stolen his watch and diamond stud\nand ring and left him standing thus, he could not have looked more\nastonished. Where had been his usual ready anger that it did not rise\nand overpower these two impudent young puppies, ignorant as pigs, that\nthey should presume to dictate to him, a Christian gentleman, what\nhabits he should have? And all because some straitlaced old maid, or\nsilly chit of a girl, who loved power, did not like something. Where was\nhis manhood that he had stood and let himself be insulted, be it ever so\nhumbly, by boys who were not fit for him to wipe his feet upon? His\nkindling eyes lifted unexpectedly to the picture. The Master was\nwatching him from his quiet table under the arches of stone. He stood a\nminute under the gaze and then he turned the lights all out and sat down\nin the dark. The fire was out too, and only the deep red glow behind the\ncoals made a little lighting of the darkness. And there in the dark the\nboy Joe\u2019s face came back clearly and he felt sorry he had not spoken\nsome word of comfort to the wretched fellow who felt so keenly the\nmeaning of what he had done. There had been love for him in Joe\u2019s look\nand he could not be angry with him now he remembered that.\n\nBit by bit the winter of his work for Joe came back, little details that\nhe did not suppose he ever should recall, but which had seemed filled\nwith so much meaning then because he had been working for a soul\u2019s\nsalvation and with the divine love for souls in his heart. What joy he\nhad that winter! How sorry he had been to leave it all and go away. Now\nhe came to think of it, he had never been so truly happy since. Oh, for\nthat joy over again! Oh, to take pleasure in prayer as he had done in\nthose days! What was this that was sweeping over him? Whence came this\nsudden dissatisfaction with himself? He tried to be angry with the two\nboys for their part in the matter, and to laugh at himself for being\ninfluenced by them, but still he could not put it away.\n\nA stick in the fire fell apart and scattered a shower of sparks about,\nblazing up into a brief glow. The room was illuminated just for an\ninstant and the face of the Christ shone out clearly before the silent\nman sitting in front of the picture. Then the fire died out and the room\nwas dark and only the sound of the settling coals broke the stillness.\nHe seemed to be alone with Christ, face to face, with his heart open to\nhis Lord. He could not shrink back now nor put in other thoughts. The\ntime to face the change in himself had come and he was facing it alone\nwith his God.\n\n\n                               CHAPTER V\n\nIt was the next evening, and the Forest Hill Mission had assembled in\nfull force. They were there, from little Mrs. Brown in her black\npercale, even to Mrs. Ketchum, who had pocketed her pride, and in a\nlow-necked gown with a long train was making the most of her position on\nthe committee. She arranged herself to \u201creceive\u201d with John Stanley and\nhis mother, though she ignored the fact that Mrs. Brown and \u201cthose seven\nhobbledehoy boys\u201d were also on the committee. Occasionally she deplored\nthe fact that Miss Manning had not come, that she might also stand in a\nplace of honor, but in her heart she was glad that Miss Manning was not\npresent to divide the honors with herself. It appeared that Mr. Stanley\nwas delighted with the picture, had seen its original abroad, and knew\nits artist. Such being the case, Mrs. Ketchum was delighted to take all\nthe honor of having selected the picture, and had it not been for those\ntruthtelling, enlightening seven boys, John Stanley might never have\nknown to this day Margaret Manning\u2019s part in it.\n\nNone of the central group saw Margaret Manning slip silently in past the\nservant at the door, as they stood laughing and chatting among\nthemselves after having shaken hands perfunctorily with the awkward,\nembarrassed procession headed by Mr. Talcut and the young minister who\nhad recently come to the place.\n\nWhen Margaret came down stairs she paused a moment in the hall; but as\nshe saw they were all talking, she went quietly on into the new wing\nthat had been for the time deserted by the company, and placed herself\nin front of the picture. She had spoken to Mrs. Stanley, who had been\ncalled upstairs to the dressing room for a moment just as she came in,\nand so did not feel obliged to go and greet the group of receivers at\nonce. Besides, she wanted to have another good look at the picture\nbefore she should go among the people, and so lose this opportunity of\nseeing it alone.\n\nFrom the first view it had been a great delight to Margaret Manning. She\nhad never before seen a picture of her Master that quite came up to her\nidea of what a human representation of his face should express. This one\ndid. At least it satisfied her as well as she imagined any picture of\nhim, fashioned from the fancy of a man\u2019s brain, could do. And she was\nglad to find herself alone with it that she might study it more closely\nand throw her own soul into the past of the scene before her.\n\nShe had stood looking and thinking for some minutes thus when she heard\na quick step at the door, not a sound as of one who had been walking\ndown the broad highly-polished floor of the hallway, but the quick\nmovement of a foot after one has been standing. She looked up and saw\nJohn Stanley coming forward with an unmistakable look of interest and\nadmiration on his face.\n\nHe had made an errand to his library for a book to show to the minister\nin order to get a little alleviation from Mrs. Ketchum\u2019s persistent\nmonopolization. He had promised to loan the book to the minister, but\nthere had been no necessity for giving it to him that minute, nor even\nthat evening. As he walked down the hall he saw a figure standing in his\nlibrary, so absorbed in contemplating the picture that its owner did not\nturn nor seem to be aware of his coming. She was slender and graceful\nand young. He could see that from the distance, but as he came to the\ndoorway and paused unconsciously to look at the vision she made, he saw\nthat she was also beautiful. Not with the ordinary beauty of the\nordinary fashionable girl with whom he was acquainted, but with a clear,\npure, high-minded beauty whose loveliness was not merely of the outward\nform and coloring, but an expression of beauty of spirit.\n\nShe was dressed in white with a knot of black velvet ribbon here and\nthere. She stood behind his big leather chair, her hands clasped\ntogether against one cheek and her elbows resting on the wide leather\nback. There were golden lights in her brown hair. Her eyes were looking\nearnestly at the picture, her whole attitude reminded him of a famous\npicture he had seen in Paris. He could but pause and watch it before\neither of them became self-conscious.\n\n[Illustration: \u201cSHE STOOD BEHIND HIS BIG LEATHER CHAIR, HER HANDS CLASPED\nTOGETHER AGAINST ONE CHEEK.\u201d]\n\nThere was in her intent look of devotion a something akin to the look he\nhad seen the night before in the face of the boy Joe. He recognized it\nat once, and a feeling half of envy shot through him. Would that such a\nlook might belong to his own face. But the remembrance of Joe brought\nanother thought. Instantly he knew that this was Margaret Manning. With\nthe knowledge came also the consciousness that he stood staring at her\nand must do so no more. He moved then and took that quick step which\nstartled her and made her look toward him. As he came forward, he seemed\nto remember how he had sat in that chair smoking a few nights before,\nand how the vision of the \u201cladye of high degree\u201d had stood where this\nyoung girl now was standing, only he knew somehow at a glance the\nsuperiority of this living presence.\n\nA flush at the remembrance of his visitors of the night before and their\nerrand crossed his face, and he glanced instinctively toward the chimney\ncupboard to see if the door was safely locked.\n\n\u201cI beg your pardon.\u201d he said, coming forward. \u201cI hope I do not disturb\nyou. I came for a book. This must be Miss Manning, I think. How comes it\nthat I have not had the pleasure of an introduction? They told me you\nhad not come. Yes, I met your father on the steamer coming over. Is he\npresent this evening?\u201d\n\nIt was the easy, graceful tone and way he had, the same that had\nelicited the notice of the \u201cladye of high degree,\u201d only somehow now he\nhad an instinctive feeling that it would take more than a tone and a\nmanner to charm this young woman, and as she turned her clear eyes upon\nhim and smiled, the feeling grew that she was worth charming.\n\nHe began to understand the admiration of those awkward boys and the\nfeeling that had prompted their visit of the night before, and to\nconsider himself honored since he had a part in their admiration.\n\nMargaret Manning was prepared to receive him as a friend. Had she not\nheard great things of him? And she knew him at once. There was a fine\nphotogravure of him given by his mother at the request of the\nschool\u2014and unknown to himself\u2014hanging in the main room of the Forest\nHill Mission.\n\nTheir conversation turned almost immediately upon the picture. John\nStanley told how he had seen the original and its artist abroad, and how\nproud he was to be the owner of this copy. The disagreeable experiences\nhe had passed through on account of it seemed to have slipped from his\nmind for the time being.\n\nShe listened with interest, the fine, intelligent play of expression on\nher face which made it ever an inspiration to talk with her.\n\n\u201cHow you will enjoy reading over the whole account of the Last Supper\nright where you can look at that face,\u201d she said wistfully, looking up\nat the picture. \u201cIt seems to me I can almost hear him saying, \u2018Peace I\nleave with you, my peace I give unto you.\u2019\u201d\n\nHe looked at her wonderingly, and saw the mark of that peace which\npasseth understanding upon her forehead, and again there appeared to him\nin startling contrast his vision of the \u201cladye of high degree,\u201d and he\npondered it afterward in his heart.\n\n\u201c\u2018And this is life eternal, that they might know thee, the only true\nGod, and Jesus Christ, whom thou hast sent.\u2019 He said that in the upper\nroom,\u201d she mused, and after a moment, \u201cwas it then too, that he said,\n\u2018For I have given you an example that ye should do as I have done to\nyou\u2019? I can\u2019t quite remember,\u201d and her eyes roved instinctively about\nthe elegantly furnished room in apparent search for something.\n\nHe divined her wish at once, and courteously went in search of a Bible,\nbut in his haste and confusion could not lay his hand upon one\nimmediately. He murmured some apology about not having unpacked all his\nbooks yet, but felt ashamed as soon as the words were uttered, for he\nknew in his heart the young girl before him would have unpacked her\nBible among the very first articles.\n\nAt last he found a little, old-fashioned, fine-print Bible tucked in a\ncorner of a bookcase. It had been given him when he was a child by some\nSunday-school teacher and forgotten long ago. He brought it now, and\nwith her assistance found the place.\n\n\u201cHow I should enjoy studying this with the picture,\u201d said the girl, as\nshe waited for him to turn to the chapter.\n\n\u201cAnd why not?\u201d he asked. \u201cIt would be a great pleasure to have you feel\nfree to come and study this picture as often as you like. And if I might\nbe permitted to be present and share in the study it would be doubly\ndelightful.\u201d\n\nIt was with the small open Bible on the chairback between them that the\nfile of awkward boys discovered them as they came down the hall, hoping\nto find an empty and unembarrassing room where they might take refuge.\nThey paused as by common consent, and stood back in the shadow of the\nhall _porti\u00e8re_, as if the place were too sacred for them to more than\napproach its entrance. Their two earthly admirations were conversing\ntogether, the Bible between them, and the wonderful picture looking down\nupon them. They stole silent, worshipful glances into the room and were\nglad.\n\nThen came Mrs. Ketchum with rustling, perfumed robes and scattered\ndismay into their midst and broke up the brief and pleasant\n_t\u00eate-\u00e0-t\u00eate_ to her own satisfaction and the discomfiture of all\nconcerned.\n\n\n                               CHAPTER VI\n\nThey were all gone at last, and the house was settling to quiet. John\nStanley went to his room, shut his door, and sat down to think.\n\nIt had not been the unpleasant occasion to which he had looked forward.\nHe had not even been bored. He was astonished to find himself regarding\nthe evening not only with satisfaction, but also with an unusual degree\nof exhilaration. It did seem strange to him, now that he thought about\nit, but it was true.\n\nNew interests were stirring within him. Or were they old ones? He had\ngathered that group of boys about him with their teacher, after Mrs.\nKetchum had broken up his quiet talk with the teacher, and had talked\nwith them about the places he visited in the Holy Land, dwelling at some\nlength upon the small details of what he had seen in Jerusalem, and the\nprobable scene of events connected with the picture.\n\nHe had grown interested as he saw the interest of his audience. He\nrealized that he must have talked well. Was it the intent gaze of those\nbright, keen-eyed boys, listening and glancing now and again toward the\npicture with new interest, as they heard of the city and its streets\nwhere this scene was laid, that gave him inspiration? Or had his\ninspiration come from that other rapt, sweet face, with earnest eyes\nfixed on the picture, and yet showing by an occasional glance at the\nspeaker that she was listening and liked it?\n\nYes, it had been a happy evening, and all over too quickly. He would\nhave liked to escort Miss Manning to her home, but her pony phaeton,\ndriven by a faithful old servant, came for her, so he missed that\npleasure.\n\nHe found himself planning ways in which he might often meet this\ncharming young woman. And strange to say, the mission with its various\nservices stood out pleasantly in his mind as a means to this end. Had he\nforgotten his firm resolution of a few days agone, that he would have no\nmore to do with that mission in any capacity whatever?\n\nIf this question occurred to him he waived it without excuse. He was\npledged to attend the session of the school for the next Sabbath anyway,\nto give in more elaborate form the talk about the picture and the scenes\nin Jerusalem of which he had spoken to the boys. It had been Miss\nManning\u2019s work, this promise, of course. She had said how grand it would\nbe to have him to tell the whole school what he had told her class, and\nhad immediately interviewed the present superintendent, who had been\nonly too delighted to accept the suggestion.\n\nAnd now he sat by his fire, and with somewhat different feelings from\nthose he had experienced a few evenings before, thought over his old\nlife and his new. Strangely enough the \u201cladye of high degree\u201d came no\nlonger to his thoughts, but instead there stood in shadow behind the\nleather chair a slender, girlish figure with an earnest face and eyes,\nand by and by he gave himself up to contemplating that, and he wondered\nno longer that the boys had given up many things to please her. He would\nnot find it so very hard to do the same.\n\nHow earnest she had been! What a world of new meaning seemed to be\ninvested in the sacred scene of that picture after she had been talking\nabout it. He had followed up her desire to read the account with it in\nview, and begged her most eagerly to come and read it and let him be a\nhumble listener, offering also in a wistful tone, which showed plainly\nthat he hoped she would accept the former, to let her have the picture\nat her home for a time.\n\nIt would be very pleasant to read anything, even the Bible, with this\ninteresting young person and study the workings of her mind. He could\nsee that she was unusual. He must carefully study the subject so as not\nto be behind her in Bible lore, for it was likely she knew all about it,\nand he did not wish to be ashamed before her. He reached over to the\ntable where he had laid the little fine-print Bible they had been\nconsulting earlier in the evening. It had been so long since he had made\na regular business of reading his Bible that he scarcely knew where to\nturn to find the right passages again, but after fluttering the leaves a\nfew minutes he again came to the place and read: \u201cNow when the even was\ncome, he sat down with the twelve. And as they did eat, he said, Verily\nI say unto you, that one of you shall betray me.\u201d\n\nThe young man stopped reading, looking up at the picture involuntarily,\nand then dropped his eyes to the fire. What was it that brought that\nverse home to himself? Had he in any sense betrayed his Lord? Was it\nonly the natural inquiry of the truthful soul on hearing those words\nfrom the Master and on looking into his eyes to say sorrowfully \u201cLord,\nis it I?\u201d or was there some reason for it in his own life that made him\nsit there, hour after hour, while the bright coals faded, and the ashes\ndropped away and lay still and white upon the hearth?\n\nThomas, the man, looked silently in once or twice, and marveled to find\nhis master reading what seemed to be a Bible, and muttered \u201cThat\npictur,\u201d to himself as he went back to his vigil. At last he ventured to\nopen the door and say in a respectful tone, \u201cDid you call me, sir?\u201d\nwhich roused the master somewhat to the time of night, and moved him to\ntell his man to go to bed and he would put out the lights.\n\nThe days that followed were filled with things quite different from what\nJohn Stanley had planned on his return voyage. He made a good start in\nhis business, and settled into regular working hours, it is true; but in\nhis times of leisure he quite forgot that he had intended to have\nnothing to do with the mission people. He spent three evenings in\nhelping to cover Sunday-school library books and paste labels into\nsinging books. Prosaic work and much beneath him he would have\nconsidered it a short time ago, but he came home each time from it with\nan exhilaration of mind such as he had never experienced from any of the\nwhist parties he had attended. It is true there were some young men and\nyoung women also pasting labels whose society was uninteresting, but he\nlooked upon even those with leniency. Were they not all animated by one\ncommon object, the good work for the mission? And there was also present\nand pasting with the others, with deft fingers and quiet grace, that one\nyoung girl around whom all the others seemed to gather and center as\nnaturally as flowers turn to the sun. She seemed to be an inspiration to\nall the others. John Stanley had not yet confessed that she was an\ninspiration to himself. He only admitted that her society was helpful\nand enjoyable, and he really longed to have her come and read those\nchapters over with him. Just how to manage this had been a puzzle.\nWhenever he spoke of it the young lady thanked him demurely, and said\nshe would like to come and look at the picture some time; but he had a\nfeeling that she would not come soon, and would be sure he was not at\nhome then before she ventured. This was right, of course. It was not the\nthing, even in America, for a young woman to call upon a young man even\nto read the Bible with him. He must overcome this obstacle. Having\nreached this conclusion he called in his mother to assist.\n\n\u201cBy the way, mother,\u201d he said the next evening at dinner, \u201cI met a very\nagreeable gentleman on the voyage over, a Mr. Manning. He is the father\nof the Miss Manning who was here the other evening, I believe. Do you\nknow them? I wish you would have them to dinner some night. I would like\nto show him some courtesy.\u201d\n\nThe mother smiled and assented. It was easy for her to do nice little\nsocial kindnesses. And so it was arranged.\n\nAfter dinner it was an easy thing for John Stanley to slip away to the\nlibrary with Margaret Manning, where they two sat down together before\nthe picture, this time with a large, fine Oxford edition of the Bible to\nread from.\n\nThat was an evening which to John Stanley was memorable through the rest\nof his life. He had carefully studied the chapters himself, and thought\nhe had searched out from the best commentators all the bright new\nthoughts concerning the events that the imagination and wisdom of man\nhad set down in books, but he found that his companion had studied on\nher knees, and that while she was not lacking either book knowledge or\nappreciation of what he had to say, she yet was able to open to him a\ndeeper spiritual insight. When she was gone, and he sat alone in his\nroom once more, he felt that it had been glorified by her presence. He\nlingered long before that picture with searchings of heart that meant\nmuch for his future life, and before he left the room he knelt and\nconsecrated himself as never before.\n\nIn those days there were evening meetings in the mission and he went.\nThere was no question in his mind about going; he went gladly, and felt\nhonored when Mr. Manning was unable to escort his daughter and he was\nallowed to take his place. There was a nutting excursion for the school,\nand he and Miss Manning took care of the little ones together. When it\nwas over he reflected that he had never enjoyed a nutting party more,\nnot even when he was a care-free boy.\n\nIt came about gradually that he gave up smoking. Not that he had at any\ngiven time sat down and deliberately decided to do so, at least not\nuntil he found that he had almost done so. There was always some meeting\nor engagement at which he hoped to meet Miss Manning, and instinctively\nhe shrank from having her know that he smoked, mindful of what his\nevening visitors had told him. At first he fell into the habit of\nsmoking in the early morning as he walked in the garden, but once while\nthus engaged he saw the young woman coming down the street, and he threw\naway his cigar and disappeared behind the shrubbery, annoyed at himself\nthat he was doing something of which he seemed to be ashamed. He wanted\nto walk to the fence and speak to her as she passed by, but he was sure\nthe odor of smoke would cling to him. Little by little he left off\nsmoking lest she would detect the odor about him. Once they had a brief\nconversation on the subject, she taking it for granted that he agreed\nwith her, and some one came to interrupt them ere he had decided whether\nto speak out plainly and tell her he was one whom she was condemning by\nher words. His face flushed over it that night as he sat before his\nfire. She had been telling him what one of the boys had said when she\nhad asked him why he thought he could not be a Christian: \u201cWell, I can\u2019t\ngive up smokin\u2019, and we know He never would \u2018a\u2019 smoked.\u201d That had seemed\na conclusive argument to the boy.\n\n[Illustration: \u201cHE THREW AWAY HIS CIGAR AND DISAPPEARED BEHIND THE\nSHRUBBERY.\u201d]\n\nWas it true that he was sure his Master never would have done it? Then\nought he, a professed follower of Christ? He tried to say that Miss\nManning had peculiar views on this subject and that those boys were\nunduly influenced by her; and he recalled how many good followers of\nChrist were addicted to the habit. Nevertheless, he felt sure that no\none of them would advise a young man to begin to smoke and he also felt\nsure about what Jesus Christ would do.\n\nIt had been a long time since he had tried himself and his daily walking\nwith that sentence, \u201cWhat would Jesus do?\u201d He did not realize that he\nwas again falling into the way of it. If he had it might have made him\ntoo satisfied with himself.\n\nThere came to be many nights when he sat up late looking into the fire\nand comparing his life with the life of the Man whose pictured eyes\nlooked down so constantly into his own. It was like having a shadow of\nChrist\u2019s presence with him constantly. At first it had annoyed him and\nhung over him like a pall, that feeling of the unseen Presence which was\nsymbolized by the skillful hand of the artist. Then it had grown\nawesome, and held him from many deeds and words, nay even thoughts,\nuntil now it was growing sweet and dear, a presence of help, the eyes of\na friend looking down upon him in all his daily actions, and\nunconsciously he was beginning to wonder whenever a course of conduct\nwas presented to his mind whether it would seem right to Christ.\n\nAt last the happy winter was slipping away rapidly. He had scarcely\nstopped to realize how fast, until one night when letters had come in on\nthe evening mail, one from England brought vividly to his mind some of\nhis thoughts and resolves and feelings during that return voyage in the\nfall. He smiled to himself as he leaned back in the great leather chair\nand half-closed his eyes. How he had resolved to devote himself to art\nand literature and leave religion and philanthropy to itself! And he had\ndevoted himself to literature, in a way. Had not he and Miss Manning and\nseveral others of the mission spent the greater part of the winter in an\neffort to put good pictures and books into the homes of the people of\nthe mission, and also to interest these people in the pictures and\nbooks? He had delivered several popular lectures, illustrated by the\nbest pictures, and had assisted at readings from our best authors. But\nwould his broad and cultured friends from the foreign shore, who had so\nhigh an opinion of his ability, consider that a strict devotion of\nhimself to art and literature? And as for the despised mission and its\nvarious functions, it had become the center of his life interest. He\nglanced up at the picture on his wall. Had it not been the cause of all\nthis change in actions, his plans, his very feelings? Nay, had not its\ncentral figure, the Man of Sorrows, become his friend, his guide, his\nSaviour in a very real and near sense?\n\nAnd so he remembered the first night he had looked upon that picture and\nits strange effect upon him. He remembered some of his own thoughts\nminutely, his vision of that \u201cladye of high degree\u201d with whose future\nhis own seemed likely to be joined. How strange it seemed to him now\nthat he could have ever dreamed of such a thing! Her supercilious smile\nseemed even now to make him shrink. The prospect of her trip to America\nin the spring or early summer was not the pleasant thing he had then\nthought it. Indeed, it annoyed him to remember how much would be\nexpected of him as guide and host. It would take his time from\nthings\u2014and people\u2014more correctly speaking, one person who had grown\nvery dear. He might as well confess it to himself now as at any other\ntime. Margaret Manning had become to him the one woman in all the earth\nwhose love he cared to win. And looking on his heart as it now was, and\nthinking of himself as when he first returned from abroad, he realized\nthat he was not nearly so sure of her saying \u201cYes\u201d to his request that\nshe would give her life into his keeping, as he had been that the \u201cladye\nof high degree\u201d would assent to that request.\n\nWhy was it? Ah! Of this one he was not worthy, so pure and true and\nbeautiful a woman was she. While the other\u2014was it possible that he had\nbeen willing to marry a woman about whom he felt as he did toward this\nother haughty woman of wealth and position? To what depths had he almost\ndescended! He shuddered involuntarily at the thought.\n\nBy and by he arose and put out the light preparatory to going upstairs\nfor the night, humming a line of an old song:\n\n     \u201cThe laird may marry his ladye, his ladye of high degree\u2014\n       But I will marry my true love,\u201d\n\nand then his face broke into a sweet smile and he added aloud and\nheartily, \u201cif I can\u201d\u2014and hummed the closing words, \u201cFor true of heart\nam I,\u201d as he went out into the hall, a look of determination growing on\nhis face and the vision of Margaret Manning enshrined in his heart.\n\n\n                              CHAPTER VII\n\nThe visit of the \u201cladye of high degree\u201d to America was delayed by wind\nand tide and circumstance until the late fall, and in the meantime the\npeople of America had not stood still for her coming.\n\nAmong other things that had been done, there had been put up and fully\nequipped a sort of club-house belonging to the Forest Hill Mission. It\ndoes not take long to carry out such schemes when there are two earnest\npersons with determination and ability to work like John Stanley and\nMargaret Manning.\n\nThe money for the scheme had come in rapidly and from unexpected\nsources. Margaret declared that every dollar was an answer to prayer.\n\nThe house itself was perfectly adapted for the carrying out of their\nplans of work. There were reading-rooms and parlors where comfort and a\ncertain degree of refinement prevailed. There was a gymnasium in which\nthe privileges and days were divided equally between men and women, and\nwhere thorough instruction was given. There were rooms in which various\nclasses were carried on evenings for those who had no chance otherwise,\nand there were even a few rooms for young men or young women, homeless\nand forlorn, where they could get good board for a time, and the whole\nwas presided over by a motherly, gray-haired woman and her husband,\nwhose hearts were in the work, and whose good common sense made them\nadmirably fitted for such a position.\n\nBut amid all these plans and preparations for better work John Stanley\nhad found opportunity to speak to Margaret Manning the words which had\nwon her consent to make his home bright by her presence and his heart\nglad with her love.\n\nTheir wedding cards had traveled across the ocean, passing midway the\nsteamer that carried a letter from the \u201cladye of high degree,\u201d saying\nthat she was about to embark on her trip to America and rather demanding\nJohn Stanley\u2019s time and attention during her stay near his home. She had\nbeen used to this in the days when he was near her home, and he had been\nonly too glad to be summoned then.\n\nHis letter waited for him several days while he was away on a short\nbusiness trip, and it came about that he opened it but three days before\nhis wedding day. He smiled as he read her orders. He was to meet her at\nthe steamer on the fifteenth. Ah! that was the day when he hoped to be a\nhundred miles away from New York, speeding blissfully along with\nMargaret by his side. He drew a sigh of relief as he reached for pen and\npaper and wrote her a brief note explaining that he was sorry not to be\nable to show her the courtesies he had promised, but that he would be\naway on his wedding trip at the time. He afterward added an invitation\nfrom his mother, and closed the note and forgot all about the matter.\n\nAnd so it was that the \u201cladye of high degree,\u201d instead of being met with\nall the devotion she had expected,\u2014and which she had intended to exact\nto its utmost,\u2014found only a brief note with a paltry invitation to his\nwedding reception. She bit her lips in vexation and spent a disagreeable\nday in a New York hotel, making all those who had to do with her\nmiserable. Then she hunted up the names of other acquaintances in\nAmerica, noted the date of that reception, and made up her mind to make\nher haughty best of it; at least, when she returned home there was the\nlaird and the earl and the poor duke, if worst came to worst.\n\nThe Stanley home was alight from one end to the other, and flowers and\nvines did their best to keep up the idea of the departing summer indoors\nthat night when John Stanley brought home his lovely bride.\n\nIt was a strange gathering and a large one. There were present of New\nYork\u2019s best society the truest and best of men and women, whose costumes\nand faces showed that their purses and their culture were equally deep.\nAnd there were many people, poor and plain, in their best clothes it is\ntrue, but so different from the others that one scarcely knew which\ncostume was more out of place, that of the rich or of the poor.\n\nIt had been John Stanley\u2019s idea, and Margaret had joined in it heartily,\nthis mingling of the different classes to congratulate them in their new\nlife.\n\n\u201cThey will all have to come together in heaven, mother,\u201d John had said\nin answer to Mrs. Stanley\u2019s mild protest at inviting Mrs. Cornelius Van\nRensselaer together with Joe Andrews and the mill girls from the\nmission. \u201cThat is, if they all get there, and in my opinion Joe Andrews\nstands as good a chance as Mrs. Van Rensselaer. What is the difference?\nIt will only be a little in their dress. I think all of our friends are\ntoo sensible to mind that. Let them wear what they please, and for once\nlet us show them that people can mingle and be friends without caring\nfor the quality of cotton or silk in which each one is wrapped.\u201d\n\nThe mother smiled and lifted her eyebrows a little. She could imagine\nthe difference between those mill girls and the New York ladies, and she\nknew her son could not, but her position was established in the world,\nand she was coming to the age when these little material things do not\nso much matter. She was willing that her son should do as he wished. She\nonly said in a lingering protest, \u201cBut their grammar, John. You forget\nhow they murder the king\u2019s English.\u201d\n\n\u201cNever mind, mother,\u201d he said, \u201cI shouldn\u2019t wonder if we should all have\nto learn a little heavenly grammar when we get there before we can talk\nfittingly with the angels.\u201d\n\nAnd so their friends were all invited, and none belonging to the Forest\nMission were omitted. Mrs. Ketchum, it is true, was scandalized. She\nknew how to dress, and she did not like to be classed among the\n\u201crabble,\u201d as she confided to a few of her friends. \u201cHowever, one never\nknew what Margaret Manning would do, and of course this was just another\nof her performances. If John Stanley wasn\u2019t sorry before very long that\nhe married that woman of the clouds, she would miss her guess.\u201d\n\nShe took it upon herself to explain in an undertone to all the guests,\nwhom she considered worthy of the toilet she had prepared, that these\n\u201cother people,\u201d as she denominated the Forest Hill Mission, pointing to\nthem with her point lace fan with a dainty sweeping gesture, were\n_prot\u00e9g\u00e9s_ of the bride and groom, and were invited that they might have\nthe pleasure of a glimpse into the well-dressed world, a pleasure\nprobably that none of them had ever had before.\n\nThe \u201cladye of high degree\u201d was there, oh, yes! Her curiosity led her,\nand her own pique. She wanted to see what kind of a wife John Stanley\nhad married, and she wanted to see if her power over him was really at\nan end.\n\nThe rich elegance of her wonderful gown, ablaze with diamonds and\nadorned with lace of fabulous price, brushed aside the dainty white of\nthe bride\u2019s and threatened to swallow it up out of sight in its own\nglistening folds.\n\nBut the bride, in her filmy white robes, seemed in no wise disturbed,\nneither did her fair face suffer by contrast with the proud, handsome\none. The \u201cladye of high degree,\u201d standing in the shadow studying the\nsweet bride\u2019s face, was forced to admit that there was a superior\nsomething in this other woman that she did not understand. She turned to\nJohn Stanley, her former admirer, and found his eyes resting in\nundisguised admiration on the lovely face of his wife, and her eyes\nturned again to the wife and saw her kiss the wrinkled face of an\nelderly Scotch woman with beautiful, tender brown eyes and soft waving\nhair. The neat, worn brown cashmere dress that the woman wore was\nornamented only by a soft ruffle about the neck. The hair was partly\ncovered by a plain, brown bonnet with an attempt at gala attire in a bit\nof white lace in front, and the wrinkled, worn hands were guiltless of\nany gloves, but one of those bare hands was held lovingly between the\nbride\u2019s white gloves, and the other rested familiarly about the soft\nwhite of the bride\u2019s waist. There was a beautiful look of love and trust\nand appreciation in both faces, and instinctively this stranger was\nforced to ask the other onlooker, \u201cWho is she?\u201d\n\n\u201cOne of God\u2019s saints on earth,\u201d came John Stanley\u2019s voice in answer. He\nhad been watching the scene and had forgotten for the moment to whom he\nwas talking. Not that he would have disliked to speak so to the \u201cladye\nof high degree\u201d now, for he was much changed, but he would not have\nthought she would understand.\n\n\u201cShe is just a dear woman in the church whom my wife loves very much.\nShe is a natural poet soul, and you may be sure she has been saying\nsomething to her which would be worth writing in a book, and which she\nwill always remember.\u201d\n\nAnd then the \u201cladye of high degree\u201d turned and looked at her old\nacquaintance in undisguised astonishment. John Stanley must have noticed\nthis and been embarrassed a moment, but Mrs. Ketchum came by just then\nto be introduced, and she proved to be the kindred spirit for whom this\nstranger had been searching. From her was gained much information, some\nof which astonished her beyond belief. She made one or two more attempts\nto rally her power over John Stanley later in the evening, but she too\nhad fallen under the spell of the lovely woman whose eyes her husband\u2019s\nfollowed wherever she went, and she finally gave it up.\n\nThe final surprise came to the stranger guest late in the evening, as\nshe was making her way through John Stanley\u2019s study to the cloak room.\nShe had been told by the voluble Mrs. Ketchum that this room was Mr.\nStanley\u2019s \u201cden.\u201d She had also noticed during the evening at different\ntimes that people stopped opposite the picture that hung on the wall\nover the mantel. She had not before been in a position to see what this\npicture was for the crowd, but she had supposed it some master-piece\nthat Mr. Stanley had brought home from his travels. Her curiosity, or\nher interest, or both, led her to pause now alone, and to look up.\n\nAs others were held under its spell, so was this woman for a moment. The\nbeauty and expression of the work of art caught her fancy, and the face\nof the Master held her gaze, while her soul recognized and understood\nthe subject. In great astonishment she glanced around the room once more\nand back. Could it be that John Stanley kept a picture like this in his\nden? It was not like the John Stanley she had known.\n\nAnd then a soft, little, white-gloved hand rested on her shoulder, and a\nsweet, earnest voice said: \u201cIsn\u2019t it wonderful? I\u2019m so glad to be where\nI can look at it every day as much as I wish.\u201d\n\n[Illustration: \u201cTHE \u2018LADYE OF HIGH DEGREE\u2019 . . . SAW THEM STANDING ALSO.\u201d]\n\nTurning she saw the bride standing by her side. She scarcely knew how to\nanswer, and before she could do so she noticed that another had entered\nthe room, and she knew instinctively that Mr. Stanley had come.\n\n\u201cThat is one of my treasures. Are you admiring it?\u201d he said in the\nstrong voice that seemed so unlike his old one, and the guest murmured\nsomething about the picture, and looking about uneasily excused herself\nand slipped away.\n\nThey stood a moment before the picture together, the husband and wife.\nThey were tired with the evening\u2019s talk, and a sight of this refreshed\nthem both and gave the promise of future joy.\n\nThe \u201cladye of high degree,\u201d passing through that hall, having purposely\ncome by another route from the cloak room rather than through the study,\nsaw them standing also, and understood\u2014that she did not understand, and\nwent out into the night with a lonely longing for something, she knew\nnot what.\n\nAs the two stood together the husband said: \u201cDo you know, dear, that\npicture has made the turning point in my life. Ever since it came in\nhere I have felt that his presence was with me wherever I went. And I\nhave you to thank for it all. And through it I have gained you, this\nrichest, sweetest blessing of my life. Do you know, I found a verse in\nmy Bible to-day that it seems to me fits me and that picture. It is\nthis: \u2018The angel of his presence saved them. In his love and in his pity\nhe redeemed them.\u2019\u201d\n\n\n\n\n                          GABRIEL THE ACADIAN\n\n                                   BY\n\n                        EDITH M. NICHOLL BOWYER\n\n\n\n\n                          GABRIEL THE ACADIAN\n\n                        =LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS=\n\n              \u201c\u2018_It is a heretic name!\u2019 exclaimed Le\n                Loutre_\u201d                                 3\n\n              \u201c_Suddenly the girl raised her head_\u201d     27\n\n              \u201c_M. l\u2019Abb\u00e9 commands_\u201d                    42\n\n              \u201c_But Gabriel had neither eyes nor ears\n                for the priest_\u201d                        69\n\n              \u201c\u2018_Wild Deer; tell Wild Deer_\u2019\u201d           82\n\n              \u201c_Far away at the mouth of the inlet\n                . . . lay three small ships_\u201d           91\n\n              \u201c\u2018_And thou wilt make me a traitor too!\u2019\n                he cried_\u201d                             120\n\n              \u201c_They sat down side by side before the\n                empty hearth_\u201d                         131\n\n[Illustration: \u201c\u2018It is a heretic name!\u2019 exclaimed Le Loutre.\u201d]\n\n\n\n\n              _There is a history in all men\u2019s lives,_\n              _Figuring the nature of the times deceased;_\n              _The which observed, a man may prophesy,_\n              _With a near aim, of the main chance of things_\n              _As yet not come to life; which in their seeds_\n              _And weak beginnings lie intreasured._\n                           \u2014_Shakespeare, Henry IV._\n\n\n\n\n                          GABRIEL THE ACADIAN\n\n\n                               CHAPTER I\n\n\u201cIt is the name my mother called me by,\u201d quoth Gabriel sturdily.\n\nFor a moment there was silence, save for a murmur of horror that ran\nthrough the assembled Acadians at the daring of a boy who thus defied\nthe fierce priest; yet his bearing was perfectly respectful.\n\n\u201cIt is a heretic name!\u201d exclaimed Le Loutre.\n\n\u201cPardon, _M. l\u2019Abb\u00e9_, but it is said not. My father also bare it, and\nhis father before him. Never willingly will I be called by any other.\nDid not my mother swear on the crucifix to my dying sire that his child\nshould bear his name? And to break a holy vow\u2014is not that of all things\nthe most sinful, O _mon p\u00e8re_?\u201d\n\n\u201cThy father died unshriven.\u201d\n\n\u201cMy father was of the Protestant faith,\u201d rejoined the boy quickly. \u201cHe\ndied faithful to his own, though far from the land of his birth. He\nwould have carried my mother to join the colonists in Virginia, where\nabide many of his kindred, but the prospect of leaving our Acadian land\ndid not please her, and he loved her more than kin or country. My father\nwas a good soldier and brave, monsieur; he was but true to the flag he\nserved, and to which all we of Acadia have sworn allegiance, and daily\nbreak our vows!\u201d\n\nHe raised his eyes of English blue, and looked straight into those of\nthe Abb\u00e9 Le Loutre, black and angry as a thundercloud.\n\nA fine figure of a seventeen-year-old lad he was. At his age many an\nAcadian youth was beginning to dream of wife and home all his own. Tall\nand strongly built, his light curls tossed back from a brow whose\ntell-tale fairness showed through the ruddy bronze left by the suns and\nstorms of Acadia.\n\nThis time the exclamations of horror rose louder than before, and above\nthem was heard the piteous remonstrance of the village _cur\u00e9_, \u201cAh, _mon\nfils_, submit thyself to the good _abb\u00e9_.\u201d\n\nGabriel\u2019s fearless glance swept the rows of dull Acadian faces. It\nseemed to him as if in actual bodily fear the villagers crouched before\nthe enraged priest, who drove, rather than led, his timid, ignorant\nflock, and the gentle _cur\u00e9_, his subordinate. And the whip with which\nhe goaded them was none other than the ferocious band of Micmac Indians,\nto whom he had been sent by the French government, nominally as\nmissionary, but in reality that he might keep the Acadians, by fair\nmeans or foul, in a continual state of rebellion to their easy-going\nEnglish rulers.\n\nThe murmurs died away into awed silence. Then, with a scornful lift of\nthe hand, Le Loutre turned from the boy and faced the trembling\nvillagers. His address at first was in the usual strain, only, if\npossible, more intolerant and fanatic than at his last visit, and\nGabriel soon pushed impatiently out of the crowd, and flung himself down\nupon the river\u2019s bank. Presently, however, he found himself listening\nintently. Here were threats more terrible, even, than of old. Gabriel\nwas brave; his father\u2019s blood did not run in his veins for naught; but\nfor once he wondered not that his countrymen cowered beneath the lash of\nthat fierce tongue.\n\n\u201cThe people of Acadia are the people of my mother,\u201d he often said, \u201cand\nI love them. But they are cowards.\u201d\n\nAnd when he looked forth from the harbor mouth of Chebucto and swept\nwith his eyes the wide Atlantic, there burned in his young bosom a fire\nthat would have amazed his placid kinsmen had they known of it, content,\nas they were, with the daily round of humble submission to the priests,\npetty legal quarrels or equally petty gossip with the neighbors, and\ndaily tilling of the soil\u2014a fire that was kindled a hundred years\nbefore in one who sailed the seas with Raleigh, and which burned anew in\nthis young scion of an ancient race.\n\n\u201cI want to go, to see, to do!\u201d he would cry, flinging wide his arms.\n\nBut now, as he gave unwilling ear to Le Loutre, his boyish heart sank.\nCould the _abb\u00e9_ in truth fulfill these threats of driving the people to\nFrench soil, whether they would or no? Could he force them, in the name\nof God and the king, to forsake their pleasant homes in which the\nEnglish, whatever might be their crimes against the French, at least\nallowed the Acadians to live in peace, unpunished too during all these\nyears for their want of loyalty to sworn allegiance? Gabriel\u2019s eyes\ntraveled beyond that dominant figure, and dwelt upon the savage band of\n\u201cconverts\u201d gathered behind the priest. Yes, he could, and would!\n\nWrapt in his own thoughts, Gabriel noticed neither the dispersion of the\npeople nor the ominous fact that his grandfather, Pierre Gr\u00e9tin, was\naccompanied on his homeward way by Le Loutre himself. His eyes were upon\nthe flowing river, and the light step of his Cousin Margot failed to\narouse him. Her sweet face was close to his, and her small hand on his\nshoulder ere he stirred.\n\n\u201cGabriel, I have somewhat to say to thee.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat is it, _ma mie_?\u201d\n\n\u201cWilt thou not depart to-night to thy friends whom thou dost sometimes\nvisit without the walls of the new Halifax, by the harbor called of us\nChebucto? There lives that English priest who taught thee discontent\nwith our blessed religion and with our beloved _cur\u00e9_.\u201d\n\n\u201cNot with our _cur\u00e9_, Margot. He is good; he makes all religion\nbeautiful and true. But wouldst thou blame me because my heart turns to\nthe faith of my father? That in which my mother might have found courage\nto rear me had she lived?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, _mon cousin_, no, not blame. But grievous danger threatens all who\ndefy the _abb\u00e9_, and thee more than others, because of thy hated English\nblood. But listen, Gabriel; dost thou indeed love Margot as though she\nwere thine own sister?\u201d\n\nThe boy was silent a moment, then he answered simply:\n\n\u201cThat I cannot tell thee, Margot, seeing that I never had a sister. But\nI love thee as I love none other besides.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat is well,\u201d she said with equal simplicity, \u201cbecause to save thy\nlife for my sake thou must act contrary to thy nature.\u201d\n\nHe sprang to his feet, his blue eyes flashing so that for a moment\nMargot quailed before him.\n\n\u201cYou would not have me play the coward and liar?\u201d he cried. \u201cThat I\ncannot do, even for thee. I am an Acadian\u2014yes. Yet neither of these\nthings will I be!\u201d\n\n\u201cI too am an Acadian,\u201d replied the young girl with quiet dignity, \u201cyet\nam I not false. Timid I may be, for such is the wont of my sex.\u201d\n\n\u201cPardon, _ma cousine_, pardon,\u201d exclaimed Gabriel remorsefully. \u201cThou\nknowest how it is with me; my heart beats, and the words rush, and it is\nall over.\u201d\n\n\u201cWilt thou never learn prudence?\u201d she retorted, smiling. \u201cWe Acadians\nhave learned it in nigh forty years of lying helpless like a lamb\nbetwixt two snapping wolves.\u201d\n\n\u201cPrudence, dost thou call it, Margot? My father called it by a harsher\nname; and even my mother said that was a poor thing we did, to live, a\nfree people, under one flag; untaxed, ministered to by our own priests,\nthe very necessaries of life supplied to us, and yet intriguing, forever\nintriguing, with those of the other flag.\u201d\n\n\u201cThe flag under which we live is an alien flag,\u201d said gentle Margot.\n\n\u201cThat may be; but have we ever been called upon to fight for it? And now\nthat we are summoned to swear the full oath of allegiance, we have\nrichly deserved this mild rebuke. The French are cruel; we go with them\nonly through fear of the Indians.\u201d\n\n\u201cThe _gran\u2019-p\u00e8re_, he goes with none,\u201d interposed the girl with a flash\nof spirit. \u201cHe tills the soil in peace, meddling not with French or\nEnglish.\u201d\n\n\u201cAh, but even he will have to choose ere many days are past; the _abb\u00e9_\ndoes not bring here his flock for naught. And,\u201d cried the lad, clenching\nhis fists, \u201cwho would be a neutral? Not I!\u201d Then more quietly: \u201cHast\nthou not heard them tell, Margot, how when France yielded Acadia to\nEngland we were free, all of us, to move within the year to French soil\nif we would? But we would neither go nor remain and take the oath of\nfealty; nevertheless we were permitted to stay unsworn for seventeen\nyears, intriguing then even as we do now. At last the oath was won from\nus, and more than twenty years since then have come and gone, and once\nagain, because of our untruth and the cruelties practised upon English\nsettlers, the word has gone forth that we must swear anew. What kind of\na people, then are we, Margot, to be thus double-faced? Thirteen\nthousand souls, and withal afraid of priests and Indians! Not daring,\nnot one of us, to play the man and come out boldly for the one flag or\nthe other. Oh, we are cowards\u2014cowards all!\u201d\n\nHe flung himself upon the ground and covered his face with his hands.\n\nTo simple, yet wise little Margot these bursts of passion on the part of\nher cousin were almost incomprehensible. Her nature was a still, clear\npool, whilst his was as the young torrent leaping down the rocks,\nunconscious of its own power, but eager to join the strong and swelling\nstream beneath, upon whose bosom the great ships float down to the deep\nsea. But although she did not understand, love gave her sympathy. She\nkneeled beside him, and once more laid her hand upon his shoulder; but\nthe words she would have uttered died in her throat, and instead she\nexclaimed in accents of terror:\n\n\u201cO Gabriel, Gabriel, arise. It is the _gran\u2019-p\u00e8re_ who calls, and with\nhim is still the _abb\u00e9_.\u201d\n\nIn an instant the lad was on his feet.\n\n\u201cGabriel, _mon fils_!\u201d\n\nThe thin, cracked voice floated across the meadows from the door of the\nsmall hut, which was considered by even prosperous Acadians like Gr\u00e9tin\nall-sufficient for the family needs. Without a moment\u2019s hesitation\nGabriel took his cousin\u2019s hand, and led her, half crying now, toward\ntheir home, where the tall form of the priest was plainly visible,\ntowering over that of the grandfather.\n\n                 *        *        *        *        *\n\nThese were stirring times for Acadie. Lord Cornwallis was governor of\nthe province\u2014the Cornwallis described by Walpole as \u201ca brave, sensible\nyoung man, of great temper and good nature.\u201d He needed to be all this\nand more, for the Acadians were a difficult people to deal with.\nVacillating, ignorant, and priest-ridden, it was the easiest thing in\nthe world for the French to hold them in actual fact, while by treaty\nceding them to England, an alien power and race. Fear, however, played a\nlarge part in French influence; and this was invariably the case\nthroughout the long dissensions betwixt France and England. Indian\nsavagery was winked at, even encouraged, by French authorities in their\ndealings both with English and Acadians; and the fair escutcheon of\nFrance was defaced by many a stain of blood cruelly, wantonly,\ntreacherously shed. That the Acadians should be in sympathy with France\nrather than with England was natural; their wrong-doing consisted not in\nthat, but in their readiness to accept English protection while plotting\nsteadily with the French against the flag to which they had sworn fealty\nrather than move to French soil. They were now in a somewhat sorry\nplight.\n\nThe long-patient English government, through Cornwallis, was requiring\nof them a fresh oath, and better faith in keeping it, if they continued\nto reside in the province, whilst the governor of those French\npossessions, now called Cape Breton and Prince Edward\u2019s Island, was\nusing every means in his power, hideous threats included, to induce them\nto come definitely under the French flag. What those means might\neventually be even such young creatures as Margot and Gabriel knew only\ntoo well.\n\nThe cousins found their grandfather looking troubled and distressed, and\nthe priest still wearing the menacing air which had all that day awed\nhis village audience.\n\n\u201cIt is full time you of Port Royal bethought you of your duty to your\nreligion and your king instead of forever quarreling among yourselves,\nand enriching pettifogging men of law. But for thee, Gr\u00e9tin, though\nspecial indulgence has ever been shown thee, it will be well that thou\nshouldst take thought for thy family before it is too late. Thou knowest\nmy flock of old,\u201d alluding to his savage converts, \u201cand the kind of\nlambs they are. Homes await the loyal subjects of God and the king on\nthe Isle of St. Jean and Isle Royale, and if they see not what is best\nfor their own souls\u2019 good I have the means to make them see it!\u201d\n\nGr\u00e9tin was both morally and intellectually the superior of those among\nwhom he lived, and he was also braver than his neighbors, but of what\navail is superiority when a man stands alone? It was for this reason,\ncombined with the habit of subjection to priestly authority, that he\nreplied hastily:\n\n\u201cYes, _M. l\u2019Abb\u00e9_, it is even as you say.\n\n\u201cThis boy must be disciplined,\u201d continued the priest sternly.\n\n\u201cYes, _M. l\u2019Abb\u00e9_, so it must be.\u201d\n\nIt was at this moment that \u201cthe boy\u201d presented himself, his head erect,\nhis face pale, and holding the hand of his cousin.\n\n\u201cDrop the maiden\u2019s hand and follow me!\u201d was the _abb\u00e9\u2019s_ harsh\nsalutation. \u201cI have that to say which is not for feminine ears.\u201d\n\nGabriel obeyed, but there was something in his air which, though\npromising submission, meant submission within definite limits.\n\nLe Loutre entered the hut and closed the door on the peaceful, pastoral\nscene without, lit up by the rays of the declining sun. Then seating\nhimself on a bench, rude and plain as were the furnishings of all the\nhomes of the frugal and industrious Acadians, however rich in land and\nstock, he addressed Gabriel standing respectfully before him.\n\n\u201cWhat is thine age?\u201d\n\n\u201cI shall be eighteen at the Christmastide.\u201d\n\n\u201cHumph! a well-grown youth! Dost thou call thyself boy or man?\u201d\n\nAn irrepressible smile curled Gabriel\u2019s fresh lips, but he answered\ndemurely:\n\n\u201cNeither, _mon p\u00e8re_.\u201d\n\n\u201cDare not to trifle with me, son of a heretic!\u201d broke out the priest,\nhis imperious temper rising. Accustomed to see all men cringe before\nhim, this lad\u2019s fearless demeanor was particularly galling to Le Loutre.\nHe controlled himself again, however, and proceeded with that\npersuasiveness of which when it suited him he was master:\n\n\u201cIt is as man, not boy, I call upon thee this day to serve God and the\nking, and to prove thyself worthy of the confidence I would repose in\nthee. I give thee thy just due, thou hast a good courage, and it is men\nof such mettle that Louis requires, _men_, hearest thou?\u201d\n\nGabriel\u2019s frank, yet searching, gaze was riveted on the priest\u2019s face;\nand so keen were those blue eyes that Le Loutre shifted his, momentarily\ndisconcerted. For perhaps the first time in his remarkable career he was\nconscious of difficulty in explaining the righteousness, according to\nhis creed, of \u201cdoing evil that good may come.\u201d Not that he himself\ndoubted; he was too honest a zealot for that; but in this case\nexplanation was somehow not easy.\n\n\u201cThou knowest,\u201d he said at length, \u201cof this new oath that the heretics\nwould extort from God\u2019s people. To keep them in the fold and preserve\ntheir souls alive at any cost is my priestly duty; but in order to\naccomplish this I must have loyal aid. My Micmacs waver, they have even\nmade a treaty with the English. This cannot be permitted to endure. It\nis therefore the king\u2019s wish that they be secretly encouraged to break\nit, and to this end loyal Acadians in disguise must accompany them when\nthey go to Halifax. Later these same faithful subjects will continue\ntheir work for the holy cause in the old way.\u201d\n\nLe Loutre paused and regarded Gabriel fixedly. The boy\u2019s face was alight\nwith sudden comprehension. It was not the priest\u2019s custom to speak\nopenly of his plans, but he was fully aware that he was now dealing with\nno ordinary dull-witted Acadian peasant. What an invaluable ally this\nhalf-heretic lad would be could he only mold him to his will.\n\nGabriel had not lived his brief span of life in Port Royal for nothing.\nHe already knew that Le Loutre was quite capable of using force to drive\nthe Acadians from their thriving farms to make new homes for themselves\non French soil, rather than that they should pledge their word to the\nEnglish again, even though that pledge might be broken as before. And\nthere was evidently some scheme more serious in process of hatching than\nthe well-worn one of painting and disguising Acadians and sending them\nout with the Micmacs to plunder and slay English settlers. The ancient\nfarce of \u201cIndian warfare\u201d was to wear a new face. The existence of peace\nbetween the two countries had never been any hindrance to French\nscheming. Gabriel had only too vivid recollections of the fate of\ncertain Acadians, who had been cajoled or frightened into joining those\nIndian war-parties, and who, when taken prisoner by the English, had\nbeen disowned by the French and declared to have \u201cacted of their own\naccord.\u201d\n\nThe lad\u2019s heart was heavy within him. If he defied the priest and\nrefused to stoop to that which in his eyes was baseness and treachery,\nhis life would be made a torment, nay, perhaps forfeited, none could\nforetell where Le Loutre would stop. And worse, far worse than this, the\n_gran\u2019-p\u00e8re_, hitherto well regarded by the bigoted priest and granted\nmany indulgences, would be ruthlessly hunted from the dear home to the\nbleak, uncleared shores of Isle Royale, or, as the English named it,\nCape Breton. The _gran\u2019-p\u00e8re_\u2014he was old\u2014he would certainly die\nwithout the strong grandson to help him. And Margot? Ah, it was too\nbitter! In spite of himself Gabriel covered his eyes with his hand as if\nto shut out the frightful vision.\n\nThe face of Le Loutre glowed with triumph. He had not expected so easy a\nvictory. To his present scheme this youth, with his knowledge of the\nEnglish tongue and the customs of the fort, was well-nigh indispensable;\nmoreover, his intelligence and his sense of honor were alike keen, and\nonce pledged to him, the priest knew that he would never turn traitor.\nUnder pretense of trading in furs a French vessel had brought to Acadie\nguns and ammunition enough to arm both Acadians and Indians, and the\nlatter were already being secretly bribed by the Intendant at Louisburg\nthrough Le Loutre; for a signal act of treachery was now required of\nthem.\n\nBut the priest had triumphed too soon. When at length Gabriel raised his\nhead, though his young face looked almost ghostly in the dying light,\nhis eyes were shining with high resolve. Not that the path of duty was\nas yet perfectly clear before him, or that he knew whither it might\nlead, but he was resolute to take no other. Nevertheless he understood\nthat mere defiance would not help either himself or those far dearer\nthan self. Therefore he controlled himself and said quietly:\n\n\u201c_M. l\u2019Abb\u00e9_ has without doubt heard of that _pr\u00eatre_ from the New\nEngland who instructs a flock outside the walls of Halifax?\u201d\n\nLe Loutre scowled darkly.\n\n\u201cArt thou a heretic already? I feared as much.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, _M. l\u2019Abb\u00e9_,\u201d replied the boy in the same restrained tones; \u201cyet I\nconfess that the faith of my fathers holds much of interest for me. And\nhe is good, _monsieur_, oh, good! like our own beloved _cur\u00e9_.\u201d\n\nHere he hesitated; then took courage, and went on rapidly:\n\n\u201cHe bade me always to remember, even if I should not in the end turn to\nmy father\u2019s faith, that one of its noblest commands is: Never do evil\nthat good may come. Also that my father obeyed that command. O _mon\np\u00e8re_, choose some one else for thy purpose; one who is not divided in\nheart as I, but who hates the English as my blood will not let me do,\nand to whom the Holy Catholic Church is the only church!\u201d\n\nFor a moment it seemed as though the priest would strike the pleading\nface upturned to his, so fierce a flame of wrath swept over him, but\ninstead he said with a sneer:\n\n\u201cAnd thou wouldst thrust the words of a heretic down the throat of a\npriest of God and the king? There is but one explanation, boy, thou art\na coward!\u201d\n\nThe hot blood surged into Gabriel\u2019s cheeks. All his prudence was tossed\naside beneath the lash of that tongue. Flinging back his head he\nconfronted Le Loutre with an air which compelled, as it never had failed\nto do, the reluctant admiration of the man to whom courage seemed the\nbest of God\u2019s gifts to mortals.\n\n\u201c_M. l\u2019Abb\u00e9_,\u201d said the boy, in the low tones of an unbending resolve,\n\u201cI am no coward; but I should be both coward and liar were I to do your\nbidding.\u201d\n\nFor a breathing space the two pairs of eyes held one another like\nwrestlers. Then:\n\n\u201cAs thou wilt,\u201d rejoined the priest coldly. \u201cBut forget not that no\ntraitors to God and the king can dwell at ease in Acadie. Mine are no\nempty threats.\u201d\n\nHe flung wide the door and called to the waiting Micmacs. As they\nstepped out of the surrounding gloom, the pine torches carried by them\nilluminated their ferocious countenances. Margot sprang forward and cast\nherself upon her knees before the priest.\n\n\u201cO _mon p\u00e8re, mon p\u00e8re_, do with me what you will, inflict on me any\npenance that seems unto you good; but spare, oh, spare my cousin, if\nonly for the sake of the _gran\u2019-p\u00e8re_!\u201d\n\nThe girl\u2019s agonized pleading rang out into the night. Then, in a voice\nrendered tremulous by years and infirmity, but still not devoid of\ndignity, Gr\u00e9tin himself spoke.\n\n\u201c_M. l\u2019Abb\u00e9_,\u201d he said, \u201cthe boy is of heretic blood\u2014yes. But also is\nhe of my blood\u2014mine, who am a faithful servant of the true church. If\nhe has been led astray, I myself will see to it that he returns to the\nfold. For he is a good lad, and the prop and staff of my old age.\u201d\n\nLe Loutre turned on the _gran\u2019-p\u00e8re_ his piercing eyes.\n\n\u201cThou hast reason, Gr\u00e9tin. Thou hast indeed been a faithful servant of\nthe church, but art thou that now? Do not thy religion and thy king\ndemand of thee that thou shouldst leave, with all that is thine, the air\nbreathed by pestilential heretics, and dost thou not still linger,\nbattening in their green pastures, yea, feeding from their hand? Art\nthou, therefore, fit to be the guide of erring youth? It may be too,\nthat thou wilt have to suffer for his sin if he repent not.\u201d\n\nThe old man bowed his head, and a low moan escaped him.\n\n\u201cHurt not the lad,\u201d he murmured. \u201cHe is as the very apple of my eye.\u201d\n\n\u201cMy Micmacs will look to his repentance,\u201d retorted the priest grimly.\n\u201cIn the saving of the soul the body may have to endure somewhat, but\nholy church is merciful to the penitent.\u201d\n\nAs he spoke Gabriel sprang from the detaining hands, of the Indians, and\nkneeling at the feet of the old man, lifted the shriveled fingers and\nlaid them upon his own fair head.\n\n\u201cBless me, even me, O _mon p\u00e8re_,\u201d he cried.\n\nBut the _gran\u2019-p\u00e8re_ fell upon his neck and wept.\n\n\u201cOh, Gabriel, my son, my son!\u201d\n\nBefore he could so much as speak to Margot, the Indians, at a sign from\nLe Loutre, relentless always in the performance of what he believed to\nbe his duty and now enraged by defeat, seized the youth and disappeared\nwith him into the forest. Lingering only to make the sign of the cross\nover the helpless and bereaved pair, Le Loutre himself followed.\n\n\n                               CHAPTER II\n\nGabriel, hurried along through \u201cbrake, bush, and brier,\u201d each arm\ngrasped by a brawny Micmac, had no time for thought. A grown man of\nsettled convictions might have found his situation a very labyrinth of\ndifficulty. How much more, then, a growing lad, unavoidably halting\nbetwixt two nationalities and two forms of religion?\n\nAfter what seemed endless hours, but which in reality was but a short\ntime, the party arrived at the settlement of wigwams on the bank of the\nShubenacadie. The priest was no longer to be seen. \u201cAm I then to be left\nto the mercy of these savages?\u201d thought Gabriel. Yet close on the heels\nof the thought flashed the consciousness that the Indians\u2019 violence had\nconsiderably slackened since the disappearance of Le Loutre. The bonds\nwith which they had tied their prisoner were so loose that he easily\nslipped out of them, and approaching the squaws who were gathering wood\nfor the fires, he addressed them in their own language and proceeded to\nhelp them. The braves merely turned their heads and glanced at him\nindifferently. \u201cNot enough gold!\u201d he heard one mutter to another. He had\nalready heard that the Micmacs had grown shrewd enough to put their own\nprice on the harassing of recalcitrant or timid Acadians, and the taking\nof English scalps; and like all ignorant or savage races had quickly\nlearned to overestimate their services and become insatiate in their\ndemands. Gabriel\u2019s chances, therefore, depended to some extent on the\ncondition of the priest\u2019s treasury; also on the fact that he was\npersonally acquainted with certain members of the band, to whom by\nreason of his skill in woodcraft and familiarity with the habits of the\nforest game he had not only occasionally been of service, but whose\nrespect he had won.\n\n\u201cThis is the white boy who knows even as does the red man the lair of\nthe wild deer and where in the noonday heat they turn their steps to\ndrink,\u201d observed one to the other, as Gabriel, restraining every symptom\nof fear, quietly joined the group around the now blazing fire and helped\nhimself out of the common pot.\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d he put in coolly, \u201cand I can tell you more than that if you\nwill.\u201d\n\nThere are natures, those of women as well as of men, whose vitality\nquickens in the face of actual danger. They may be even cowardly in the\nmere anticipation, but the trumpet-call of duty, honor, or sacrifice, or\nthe less high-sounding clarion of self-preservation, sets them on their\nfeet, face forward to the coming foe. In Gabriel all these forces were\nat work, though Margot\u2019s sweet, pale face and the _gran\u2019-p\u00e8re\u2019s_ bowed\ngray head, were the strongest influences. And behind all these was that\nirrepressible spirit of adventure, never wholly absent from the normally\nhealthy young mind.\n\nDrawing on his store of woodland stories, and occasionally pausing to\ngive ear to those furnished by the now interested Micmacs, an hour\npassed in total oblivion by the captors of the commands laid on them\nconcerning their prisoner; and when at last a tall dark form suddenly\nappeared within the circle of light, and a well-known terrible voice\nbroke forth in objurgation; it was plain that the owner of both was\nscarcely more welcome to his \u201clambs\u201d than to the prisoner.\n\n\u201cWhat is that I behold?\u201d exclaimed Le Loutre. \u201cWhere is your Christian\nservice, vowed to God and the king? Instead, I find feasting and foolish\ngabbling, with a traitorous captive in the midst!\u201d\n\nThe faces of the Indians clouded in sullen silence. The lash of the\npriest\u2019s tongue went unsparingly on. At length the leader growled out,\n\u201cThe pale faces from over the sea bring no more gifts. The red men grow\nweary of taking the scalps of friendly white men who are at war with\nyour people but who do the Indian no wrong. They at the new fort have\ntreated us well. And as for this boy, you give us not enough to take the\nscalp of so mighty a hunter and true a tracker.\u201d\n\nLe Loutre\u2019s face paled with baffled rage. True it was that owing to some\nat present unexplained delay the customary large remittances from France\nfor the bribing of Indians who were friendly to the English were not\nforthcoming, and with a heart-leap of joy Gabriel saw the truth written\nin his eyes.\n\n\u201cFools! Did I bid you take his scalp? Did I not bid you rather to\nchasten him for his faithlessness and force him back to his duty? This\nyou know well enough how to do without my guiding presence. Yet I come\nto find\u2014\u2014\u201d\n\nWith a gesture of unutterable scorn he waved his black-robed arm.\n\nBut his personal influence was on the wane, and he knew it. It was\nmoney, gifts, that were needed, and for these he must wait. Yet were\nthere still a few whose greed was of the kind that will take anything\nrather than nothing, and on these he depended, and not in vain.\n\nStealthily, like dark spirits, two or three Indians glided from behind\ntheir companions, and took up their station beside the priest.\nStrengthened by these mute allies he once more faced the group at the\nfire, and proceeded to pour forth in fervid eloquence alternate\npersuasion, threat, and glowing promise of future reward. Gabriel soon\ndiscovered that he was not the central figure in this tirade\u2014that\nlarger projects than the fate of one boy were being held before the now\nattentive Indians, who uttered guttural notes of assent or dissent.\n\n\u201cA hundred _livres_ for each scalp\u2014a hundred _livres_, mark you! This\nboy knows, as you cannot do, the plan of the fort at Halifax, and the\nnumber of its defenders. If he be so mighty a tracker, let him track\nthese English dogs to their lair and fire them out of it, or in it, it\nmatters not which, so that to God and the king are restored what is\nrightly theirs. But remember, a hundred _livres_ is yours for every\nEnglish scalp! My people may not do this thing, for they have signed a\npeace with their enemies, but for your people it is otherwise.\u201d\n\n\u201cHave we too, not set our totems to a solemn treaty?\u201d growled one\ndissenting voice.\n\nOnce more from the priest that gesture of contempt.\n\n\u201cAnd what is that for such as you?\u201d he said. \u201cWhat is a broken treaty to\nthe Indian?\u201d\n\nGabriel, unable longer to contain himself, sprang to his feet.\n\n\u201c_Mon p\u00e8re!_\u201d he cried, his heart in a flame, a blaze of sudden\nillumination in his soul. \u201cNay, never more _mon p\u00e8re! M. l\u2019Abb\u00e9_, is\nthis, then, the Christianity, the fealty to God and the king, to which\nyou would have me faithful? Then, God willing, faithless will I be.\u201d\n\nFor a long minute there was dead silence, broken only by the quick\nbreathing of the excited boy. The Indians, though not fully\nunderstanding the words, realized their daring, and gazed upon him with\nall the admiration of which their anger was capable.\n\n\u201cDo your work,\u201d said Le Loutre at last coldly, signing to the Micmacs at\nhis side.\n\nIn a moment Gabriel was thrown to the ground, his arms bound to his\nside, his feet tied. A hole was dug in the ground, a post placed in it,\nand around the post fresh logs were heaped.\n\nSuch scenes, alas! were not uncommon under the despotic rule of Abb\u00e9 Le\nLoutre, and though no instance is recorded of actual sacrifice of life,\nowing perhaps almost as much to Acadian timidity as to priestly\nforbearance, much terror and temporary suffering were caused by his\nblind fanaticism. But in this boy of mixed race there was stouter stuff\nto deal with, and his English blood was to the priest as a thing\naccursed.\n\n                 *        *        *        *        *\n\nDays passed, and Pierre Gr\u00e9tin and his granddaughter could obtain no\nnews of Gabriel. Tossed and torn by conflicting emotions, communal as\nwell as personal, the old man\u2019s strength seemed to be ebbing from him.\nYet never did he need it more. The village of Port Royal (now\nAnnapolis), nay, all Acadie, was in the confusion of helpless distress.\nWhat should they do, these poor ignorant habitans? To whom should they\nlisten? In their hearts they knew that every word of Cornwallis\u2019\nproclamation was true, that under English rule they had enjoyed freedom,\nboth secular and religious. On the other hand, Le Loutre swept down upon\nthem continually with the firebrand of his eloquence. \u201cCome to French\nsoil,\u201d he cried, \u201cseek new homes under the old flag! For three years _le\nbon roi_ will support you. You are French at heart\u2014what have you to do\nwith these English? Refuse, and the consolations of religion will be\ndenied you and your property shall be given over to the savages.\u201d\n\nTrue, they were French at heart, the most of them, but not all; and\ntheir tranquil, sluggish lives had drifted so peacefully on the broad\nriver of the English governor\u2019s indulgence. It was almost worth while to\nrenew the oath of allegiance to these foreigners and sleep quietly once\nmore under their own rooftrees. But would they sleep quietly? Ah, there\nwas the rub! Le Loutre had ever been a man of his word.\n\nTherefore it came to pass that French ships passing to Isle St. Jean,\nnow called Prince Edward Island, and Isle Royale, now Cape Breton, had\nfor two years many hundred Acadians for passengers, some willing, more\nreluctant, destined to semi-starvation and unutterable misery in the new\nand desolate country in which their small stock of courage was to be so\ngrievously tried, and in which few of them plucked up spirit sufficient\nto clear new land for their subsistence, but existed, or ceased to\nexist, on such meagre supplies as the French government furnished them.\n\n\u201c_Gran\u2019-p\u00e8re_,\u201d said Margot one evening, as bereft of most of their near\nneighbors they clung almost alone to their humble home, \u201c_mon\ngran\u2019-p\u00e8re_, what think you, has become of our Gabriel?\u201d Her eyes were\nheavy with weeping, her round cheeks pale.\n\nGr\u00e9tin, in yet worse case, had scarce strength to take his turn with her\nbehind their yoke of oxen at the plow. He sat on a bench at the door of\nthe hut, both hands leaning heavily on his staff. For a while he\nanswered nothing, but his sunken gaze wandered along the banks of the\nriver, from one desolated home to another. In scarcely more than two or\nthree still burned the sweet fires of home, and those that were forsaken\nhad been plundered by the Indians, fresh traces of whose presence were\ndaily visible. The good village _cur\u00e9_, beloved of all, and the\ninfluence of whose noble life and teachings represented all that was\nbest in the Catholic church, was gone too. Torn by contending duties he\nhad decided that the forlorn exiles needed his ministrations more than\nthose still remaining in their homes, and had followed them to French\nsoil.\n\n\u201c_Le bon Dieu_ knows, my child!\u201d Gr\u00e9tin answered at last, in the dull\ntones of hopeless old age.\n\n\u201cSurely _M. l\u2019Abb\u00e9_ would not permit that\u2014that\u2014\u2014\u201d her voice broke.\n\n\u201cThat his fair young life should be destroyed by those savages? No, my\nchild, no\u2014that can I not believe. Moreover, Jean Jacques, Paul\nPierre\u2014they were his friends among the Micmacs. And _M. l\u2019Abb\u00e9_\u2014no, he\nwould bend but not break the boy.\u201d\n\nThere was a long silence. The evening dews, tears of the soil for the\nbanishment of her children, sparkled on the wide meadows beneath the now\nrising moon.\n\n\u201cMargot, we can no longer resist the priest\u2019s will,\u201d he said again, \u201cand\nalone we are not able to till the land, so that it may bring forth crops\nfor our sustenance.\u201d\n\nBut a burst of tears from the girl interrupted him. Flinging herself at\nhis feet, she threw her arms around him and hid her face in his breast.\n\n\u201c_Gran\u2019-p\u00e8re, mon gran\u2019-p\u00e8re!_\u201d she cried, \u201cI will work! I can plow\u2014I\ncan dig! I am young it is true, and small, but we women of Acadie are\nstrong. You shall care for the house\u2014it is I who will till the land.\nLet us not leave Acadie. Gabriel may return\u2014sick, wounded, who knows?\nand we gone, the house desolate! If _M. l\u2019Abb\u00e9_ sets his Micmacs on us\nto drive us forth, I will plead with them. They have hearkened to me\nbefore now, they will again. If not, then we must go forth indeed, but\nnot yet, not yet!\u201d\n\n[Illustration: \u201cSuddenly the girl raised her head.\u201d]\n\nWeeping they clung together. Suddenly the girl raised her head. A moment\nmore she was on her feet, gazing intently into the black depths of the\nforest.\n\n\u201c_Gran\u2019-p\u00e8re_,\u201d she whispered, \u201cdo you hear?\u201d\n\n\u201cOnly the night-hawk, my daughter.\u201d\n\n\u201cAh, but the night-hawk! Many a time have I heard my cousin call thus in\nthe woods in our happy play times. There, again!\u201d\n\nLike an arrow from a bow she was gone, speeding through the long grass,\nbut keeping well in the shadows.\n\nThe old man rose with difficulty. He was weary and cramped with the long\nday\u2019s work, of which since his grandson began to grow toward manhood his\nshare had until these evil days been slight. As the minutes crawled by\nand Margot did not return, anxiety swelled to terror. The Indians\u2014they\ndid not all know her. With shaking hand he took his ancient-fowling\npiece from the peg where it hung.\n\nHis vision was dim, and as he started blindly on his way, he found\nhimself arrested, gently pushed back into the hut, the door barred, the\nsmall windows shuttered. All was done quickly and quietly, as by an\naccustomed hand. Pine cones were thrown upon the half-dead fire, there\nwas a blaze of light, and Pierre Gr\u00e9tin fell into the arms of his\ngrandson.\n\nBut joy sobered as Gr\u00e9tin and Margot surveyed their recovered treasure\nby the additional illumination of home-made tallow dips. Gabriel,\nindeed, was but the ghost of his former buoyant, radiant self. Only the\nblue, brave light in his eyes betrayed the old Gabriel. His cheeks were\nhollow, his frame gaunt, his home-spun clothing torn to rags.\n\n\u201cThat I can soon remedy,\u201d said the little housewife to herself, as she\nthought of the new suit in the oaken chest, set aside for his first\ncommunion.\n\nStrange scars were on his legs and hands, and these Margot soon fell to\nexamining, a growing dread in her face, though he strove to draw his\nfingers from her clasp.\n\n\u201cHeed them not, _ma cousine_,\u201d he said tenderly. \u201cI have weightier\nmatters to speak of with thee and with the _gran\u2019-p\u00e8re_.\u201d\n\n\u201cSpeak on, my son.\u201d\n\n\u201cNay,\u201d said the girl quickly, \u201clet him rest and eat first.\u201d\n\nGlancing into the pot, which hung, French fashion, over the fire, she\nadded to it shredded meat and vegetables until the whole was a savory\nmess. While she prepared it, the boy sat with his head in his hands, a\nman before his time.\n\nThe meal ended and the kitchen restored to its wonted order, Margot, in\nwhom, as in all Acadians, the frugal spirit of the French peasant\nprevailed, extinguished the tallow dips; then, taking her seat on a\ncricket at her grandfather\u2019s knee, she eagerly awaited Gabriel\u2019s story.\n\nThis story of Gabriel\u2019s was no easy one to tell; this he felt himself.\nIn the brief time that he had been absent from his home, brief in actual\nduration, but to himself and to his loved ones so long, life had\nacquired for him a wholly different meaning. Hitherto his nature had\nbeen as plastic material prepared for some mold, the selection of which\nhad not as yet been made known. He knew now for what he was destined,\nand was conscious that the boy was rapidly hardening into the man he was\nintended to be. The fanaticism permitted in one of its most potent\ninstruments had upset his faith in the form of religion in which he had\nbeen reared, and he was too young for the tolerance that is often the\nfruit of a larger experience. Moreover, strange as it may seem, there\nwas in this generous, tender-hearted youth elements not unlike those in\nthe relentless and vindictive priest. The fanatic and the enthusiast not\nseldom spring from the same root. But how to explain to these two, who,\ndear to him as they were, could not be expected to share his\nconvictions? At last he roused himself.\n\n\u201cFirst, dear _gran\u2019-p\u00e8re_,\u201d he said, \u201cI must learn how it fares with you\nand with _ma cousine_. God grant that you be left here in peace!\u201d\n\nThere was a pause. They too had their difficulties. How could they tell\nhim that Le Loutre might even yet have spared them their home had it not\nbeen for what he called \u201cthe contumacy of that young heretic\u201d? Margot\u2019s\nwoman\u2019s wit, however, came to the rescue and she told simply and\ntruthfully the tale of the gradual banishment of their people. \u201cWe still\nare spared,\u201d she concluded, \u201cbut it cannot be for long.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen my sins were not visited on your head,\u201d said Gabriel eagerly.\n\n\u201cAs others fare, so must we in the end,\u201d was the somewhat evasive reply.\n\u201cBut come, my cousin, to thy tale.\u201d\n\nSo Gabriel began, but when he came to the scene of the torture,\nhesitated. Margot\u2019s indignant sympathy, however, divined what he would\nnot tell.\n\n\u201cWas it very bad, dear cousin?\u201d she cried, the tears in her dark eyes,\nas she pressed his hand.\n\n\u201cNo, not so very bad,\u201d he replied with forced lightness. \u201cThe friendly\nMicmacs rebelled, and I do not believe _M. l\u2019Abb\u00e9_ ever pushes things to\nextremes at first. He strove only to scare me into submission to his\nwill, and I have got a bit of tough English oak somewhere in me that\ndoesn\u2019t bend as do tender Acadian saplings.\u201d He smiled down into his\ncousin\u2019s wet eyes. \u201cDon\u2019t weep, little cousin. See, I am well; none has\nhurt me.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, but thou art thin, thou art pale, thou art changed,\u201d she cried,\nbreaking down completely. \u201cOh, _mon gran\u2019-p\u00e8re_, is it that we must love\nand obey so cruel a priest?\u201d\n\nThe old man\u2019s trembling hand smoothed her hair; he could not speak yet.\n\n\u201c_Mon gran\u2019-p\u00e8re_, Margot,\u201d Gabriel said bravely, \u201cI have that to tell\nyou which may grieve your hearts; but my mind is made up. I have,\nindeed, changed since we parted. I am no longer a Christian as your\nchurch holds such.\u201d\n\n\u201cYour church!\u201d This could mean but one thing\u2014their Gabriel was then, in\ntruth, a heretic! But the low-breathed \u201cHelas, _mon fils_,\u201d which\nescaped the old man was not echoed by his granddaughter. She raised her\nhead and looked at her cousin, who had sprung to his feet and was pacing\nthe floor like a young lion.\n\n\u201cNo,\u201d he cried. \u201cIf to do such in the name of the Father and the gentle\nmother of a gentle Saviour is to be a Christian, then am I none! If to\nbe a missionary of the church is to spur poor savages on to be more\ncruel, more treacherous, than in their ignorance they were, then heaven\ngrant that no holy church may ever receive them! If to be false to every\ngiven vow, to strike the enemy in the back, to hate even as do the\ndevils in hell, is to be a Christian, then no Christian am I!\u201d\n\nHe returned to the fireside, and sinking upon the high-backed settle,\nrelapsed into reverie so profound as to become oblivious of his\nsurroundings.\n\n\u201cAnd if thou dost proclaim thyself a heretic, _mon fils_,\u201d observed\nGr\u00e9tin at length fearfully, \u201cwhat is to become of us?\u201d\n\n\u201cAlas, at best what can I do for you, honored _gran\u2019-p\u00e8re_? Is not even\nnow that vindictive priest on my track? And may it not be that he may\nyet take my life because I will not aid him in his treacherous plot? I\nhave escaped him once, but only by the aid of Jean Jacques, and now that\ngold has come from France, Jean Jacques will love French crowns better\nthan my life.\u201d\n\n\u201c_M. l\u2019Abb\u00e9_ never takes lives, my son,\u201d said the old man rebukingly.\n\n\u201cAnd why not, _mon gran\u2019-p\u00e8re_? May it not have been because none dared\noppose him?\u201d\n\nGr\u00e9tin sighed heavily, but made no reply, and Gabriel continued:\n\n\u201cAll here are his tools, the Acadians from fear, the Indians for gold. I\nam no tool, and for that, if needs be, I must suffer. But you\u2014ah, my\nbeloved and dear!\u201d He sank impulsively upon his knees, and throwing his\narm around his cousin and leaning his head on his grandsire\u2019s knees,\nyielded himself to an abandonment of grief.\n\nFinally Margot spoke, quietly and decisively.\n\n\u201cDear Gabriel, thou canst indeed do nothing for us and thou art in peril\nhere. Thou must make thy way with all speed to thy friend, the New\nEngland _pr\u00eatre_; he will succor and aid thee. Thou art like the\nHuguenots and the Puritans; thou wilt have to suffer for conscience\u2019\nsake.\u201d\n\nShe smiled bravely, but her lips trembled.\n\n\u201cBut you,\u201d Gabriel groaned, \u201cyou!\u201d\n\nThe poor boy was passing through that bitterest trial of all,\nexperiencing what to all martyrs is worse than any fiery stake, the\nhelpless, incomparable anguish of bringing suffering on those dearer to\nhim than life. What if in the saving of his own soul alive he should\nhave to trample over the bodies of the beloved? Might not his course be\nthe very acme of self-seeking? What recompense could the martyr\u2019s crown\nconfer for this mortal agony of vicarious suffering?\n\nBut Margot\u2019s steady, quiet voice went on; her soft touch was on his\nhead. Timid she might be, but ah, brave, brave too!\n\n\u201cHe will not hurt us, the _abb\u00e9_,\u201d she said. \u201cDo not fear, my cousin. If\nthou dost stay with us, thou wilt have to act a lie every day. Even\nshould he refrain from pressing thee into his schemes, he will watch\nthee, and not one single ordinance of our church wilt thou be permitted\nto elude. He can be very hard, our _abb\u00e9_. No, dear Gabriel, vain is it\nto strive to serve two masters; if of our faith, thou must remain here\nand profess it; if of the other, thou must go.\u201d\n\nShe averted her head and further speech failed her.\n\nAt that moment there was a violent knocking on the door. Gabriel was on\nhis feet at once, alert, resolute once more.\n\n\u201cI knew he would track me,\u201d he said, \u201cbut I had hoped not to be found\nhere, and neither will I. Adieu, _mon gran\u2019-p\u00e8re_. God in very truth\nkeep you! Margot, the small door into the cowpen.\u201d\n\nAt a word from the girl, Gr\u00e9tin crept into his covered bed in the wall,\nwhile she and Gabriel slipped noiselessly away through a back entrance.\n\n\u201cLet us go with thee, dear cousin,\u201d implored Margot, as they paused for\nan instant among the cows, her fears for him making her once more timid.\n\n\u201c_Ma ch\u00e9rie_, no! Ah, my best beloved!\u201d\n\nHe clasped her to his breast, kissed her passionately, as never before,\non brow, cheek, and lips, and was gone.\n\nOn the house door the knocking continued, and the _gran\u2019-p\u00e8re\u2019s_ voice\nwas heard in the accents of one aroused from sleep. Margot, hastily\ncomposing her features and trusting that the traces of tears would not\nbe visible in the light of the dying fire, re-entered the kitchen and,\nafter much fumbling and delay, opened the door. Without stood Le Loutre,\naccompanied as usual by his \u201clambs.\u201d Without deigning to address her, he\nsnatched a torch from one of the Indians and, striding into the small\nhouse, explored every corner. Even the cowpen was not left unsearched.\nOn pretense of arranging the bed-covering, Margot bent over her\ngrandfather.\n\n\u201cDelay him if you can,\u201d she breathed; \u201cevery moment is precious.\u201d\n\nBut the priest was already at her side.\n\n\u201cWhere is the malicious heretic, at last avowed?\u201d he thundered.\n\n\u201cAh, where is he, _M. l\u2019Abb\u00e9_?\u201d exclaimed Gr\u00e9tin, raising himself on his\nelbow, endued with a sudden excess of courage at the thought of Gabriel\nwandering alone through the perils of the forest. \u201cWhere is the boy, the\nson of my loved and only daughter, my heart\u2019s treasure? Where is he,\nGabriel, staff of my old age?\u201d\n\nFor a moment the furious priest was confounded. The color mounted to his\ndark cheeks and he hesitated. The old man\u2019s aspect was almost\nthreatening, and if fanaticism had left Le Loutre a conscience, it\nsurely spoke then. But the momentary weakness passed.\n\n\u201cAnd thou wouldst shelter a heretic,\u201d he said sternly, \u201crecusant son of\nMother Church that thou art! But she chastens, if in love, yet she\nchastens. Hope not for further grace. As for the boy, he must be brought\nback into the fold. This I have ere now told thee, and I repeat it. Me,\nthe chosen instrument of God and the king, he cannot escape. Faithless\nas thou mayst be, thou canst not keep him from me. This very night he\nshall be forced back to his duty. As for thyself and the girl\u2014\u2014\u201d\n\nHe paused, the terrible look in his eyes. But it was enough. Further\nwords were unnecessary. And as the torches danced away like fireflies\ninto the forest shades, Margot, now completely exhausted, flung herself\ndown beside the old man and, with an arm about his neck, wailed:\n\u201c_Gran\u2019-p\u00e8re_, my _gran\u2019-p\u00e8re_, they will find him!\u201d\n\nAnd the hopeless response came: \u201c_Ma fille_, they cannot fail to do it.\nLet us pray.\u201d\n\nFeebly he arose, and hand in hand the helpless pair kneeled before the\nimage of the sorrowing Christ.\n\n\n                              CHAPTER III\n\nConcealed in the branches of a wide-spreading oak, Gabriel hoped against\nhope to remain hidden from the Micmac trailers, now close on his heels.\nWhite men his woodcraft would enable him to elude, but Indians hardly.\nHis very breathing seemed as if it must betray him.\n\nListening thus, every nerve an ear, he heard a slight sound in the deep\nglade beneath. To the novice it might mean anything or nothing; to his\npractised understanding it was the crack of a twig beneath a human foot.\n\nCarefully he surveyed his position. The moon, though near its setting,\nstill afforded light sufficient to betray him should its rays fall on\nface or hands. Then, for the first time, he perceived that, as he lay\nface downward on a branching limb, the hand with which he sustained\nhimself was palely illuminated; the moon, in her swift course, had\npenetrated the sheltering foliage. What should he do? To move meant\ncertain discovery. He resolved to lie still, the chances being slightly\nin favor of absolute stillness. Then he became aware that some one was\nstanding beneath the tree. Now in actual fact he held his breath; for\nthough his sight could not pierce the leaves, every other sense told him\nthat it was an Indian. But his hopes were vain. Another moment and he\nknew the tree was being climbed.\n\nAs the green grasshopper clings, even after detection, blindly to the\nleaf that it so closely resembles, so Gabriel clung instinctively to his\nbranch, and even when a sinewy hand grasped his ankle, made no sign. The\nforest-bred boy obeyed the instinct of all woodland creatures; besides,\nthere was one hope left, faint as it was, and were he to move or speak\nhe might lose even that.\n\n\u201cWild Deer?\u201d\n\n\u201cJean Jacques?\u201d\n\nWild Deer was the name by which the friendly Micmacs called him. Now for\nthe test. Was the Indian true?\n\n\u201cWild Deer, the great medicine man of your tribe is on the trail.\u201d\n\n\u201cI know. What wilt thou do? Betray me to him?\u201d\n\nThe low-breathed question and answer swept quickly back and forth.\n\n\u201cThe red man betrays not him who is skilled as himself.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat wilt thou do then?\u201d\n\n\u201cLet Wild Deer descend and follow his friend.\u201d\n\nGliding to the ground with a noiselessness and rapidity equal to that of\nthe Indian, Gabriel, at a sign from his companion, followed him on his\nsinuous track. Was he his friend? He had dwelt too long with the red men\nnot to dread the treachery which is the inevitable consequence of\ncenturies of savage and relentless warfare, tribe with tribe, red man\nwith white man. Nevertheless, he pushed on; what else could he do?\n\nThe gray dawn peered beneath a veil of cloud before they paused on the\nedge of the forest. Gabriel\u2019s powers were well-nigh spent; ill treatment\nand privation had sapped his young strength. The spot where they had\nhalted was the last camping-ground of the Micmacs. Going to a hollow\ntree, Jean Jacques drew from it some strips of sun-dried beef and a few\ndried leaves, which Gabriel recognized as those of the coca plant, on\nwhich, when unable to obtain food, the red man makes arduous journeys,\nlasting for days together.\n\n\u201cEat,\u201d he said with native brevity; \u201cthen put these leaves in thy mouth\nand chew them as we go. The strength of the pale face will come back to\nhim as that of the young eagle.\u201d\n\nGabriel obeyed, imitating the taciturnity of the Indian. When at length,\nrefreshed and strengthened, he arose to prosecute his attempt to reach\nHalifax, Jean Jacques, with a grunt, declined not only to be thanked,\nbut to leave him.\n\n\u201cI too go to the new fort,\u201d he remarked calmly.\n\n\u201cThou wilt go?\u201d\n\nA sudden suspicion overwhelmed him. Could it be that his apparent rescue\nwas one of the priest\u2019s deep laid plots? That Jean Jacques, heavily\nbribed with French gold, was but carrying out some scheme of treachery\nwhich should involve the defenders of the fort as well as himself? The\nsupposition was an only too plausible one, given such a man as Le Loutre\nand such lucre-lovers as the Micmacs. The Indian\u2019s impervious\ncountenance revealed nothing. To question him would be vain. Well, he\nmust go forward and hope for the best; no other course was open to him.\n\nSilently, at the steady Indian dog-trot, the pair pressed on. As mile\nafter mile was covered, Gabriel\u2019s strength seemed to renew itself, even,\nindeed, as that of the young eagle; hope revived within his breast,\nministering to his keen vitality; and when at last the Indian paused,\nand kneeling, examined in ominous silence a bent twig here, a crushed\nblade of grass there, and finally laid his ear to the ground, Gabriel\nwas inclined to scout Jean Jacques\u2019 fears and his own suspicions.\n\n\u201cFeet have passed this way,\u201d muttered Jean Jacques, \u201cfeet of red men,\nwith them a white man. Let Wild Deer put his head to the ground, and he\nwill hear them yet. But our trail they have lost. They wander, seeking\nit.\u201d\n\nStriking in the opposite direction, they proceeded cautiously. Then\nagain the Indian stopped and listened after his manner.\n\n\u201cThey come,\u201d he said, as he once more arose, \u201cmany of them. They go to\nthe fort; but they will not go until they find Wild Deer to carry him\nwith them. But Jean Jacques will be his guide, he shall escape them.\u201d\n\nAt nightfall they crept beneath a pile of brush and leaves, concealing\nthe deserted lair of a gray fox, and Gabriel, worn out now, and happy in\nthe thought of at sunrise being free to abandon the circuitous route and\nmaking straight for the fort, but a few miles distant, soon fell asleep.\n\nBut there is many a slip, etc. It seemed to him that he had slept but\nfive minutes when he was aroused by a flash of light in his eyes, and he\nopened them to find himself in the grasp of half a dozen Micmacs, behind\nthem Le Loutre. Jean Jacques was nowhere to be seen. Speechless, he\nlooked from one dark face to another; every one of them he knew to be\nunfriendly, or at least corrupted by French gold. His young heart felt\nnigh to bursting. So near the goal and to be thwarted thus! So near the\nnew life, in which, in his youthful enthusiasm, he believed he could be\ntrue to the highest that was in him, true to his grandfather and Margot,\nvaguely but ardently hopeful that he could save them. And Jean Jacques?\nHad he indeed betrayed him?\n\nIt was one of those moments of discouragement in which even the falsity\nof an untutored savage can pierce the very soul.\n\n\u201cBind him, and bring him on!\u201d was the priest\u2019s stern command.\n\nBewildered by fatigue, sick with disappointment, Gabriel offered no\nresistance, uttered no word. He was dragged about a mile and then\ndropped rudely by the embers of a camp-fire. Waving his \u201clambs\u201d to a\ndistance, Le Loutre addressed him in accents cold as steel and merciless\nas the hand that drives it home.\n\n\u201cHave I not told thee that thou canst not escape me, I, the chosen\ninstrument of God to bring stragglers back into the fold? My duty is\nclear. He who will not bend must break.\u201d\n\nHe paused, but his hearer made no sign.\n\n\u201cThou knowest what is demanded of thee. This day my converts go on a\nfriendly mission to the new fort. Must I instruct thee yet again in thy\nduty?\u201d\n\nHe waited for the response that came not. Gabriel lay as if life itself\nwere already crushed out of him; every drooping finger of his strong,\nright hand nerveless, hopeless. Yet must there have been something of\ntacit resistance in his air, for Le Loutre continued in tones of\nexasperation:\n\n\u201cOpposition will avail thee nothing, and for thy grandfather and cousin\nit will mean suffering and privation beyond their wildest dreams. Every\nAcadian is rewarded according to his loyalty to the king and to the true\nchurch. Hitherto I have spared them, but it is I alone who have the\nordering of their going, and of the new home to which they journey. The\n_gran\u2019-p\u00e8re_ is old, Margot more tender than is the habit of Acadian\nmaidens, yet must the church not stay her hand when the saving of souls\nis in the balance. She must make example, she must discipline. I am no\nman meting out man\u2019s justice,\u201d continued the fanatic, raising his hands\nsolemnly, \u201cbut chosen of the church to execute her righteous will. This\nbeing so, thou wilt find me relentless in my duty.\u201d\n\nGabriel\u2019s benumbed senses, together with the spirit that in some natures\nnever slumbers long, were reawakening. He found himself wondering why\nthis autocratic priest, before whom all trembled, should find it\nnecessary to explain his conduct to a mere boy. Then, as mental vigor\nreturned more fully, he drew his exhausted body into a sitting posture,\nand said:\n\n\u201c_M. l\u2019Abb\u00e9_ commands that I shall go with these savages?\u201d\n\n\u201cConverts to the true church,\u201d interrupted Le Loutre imperiously. \u201cWho\ndares call baptized Christians savages?\u201d\n\n\u201cI name them according to their deeds,\u201d continued Gabriel, with a\ncertain manly dignity which had come to him of late. \u201cHoly water on the\nbrow does not change the heart.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt doth not!\u201d cried the priest in the same tone. \u201cJean Jacques is a\npervert\u2014perverted by thyself from the true faith.\u201d\n\n\u201cYet he has played me false,\u201d exclaimed Gabriel bitterly.\n\n\u201cDull-witted boy! Knowest thou no better than that?\u201d\n\nCould it be? Was Jean Jacques faithful? Not only that, but free to help\nhim again? Hope kindled once more within his breast. Then he rose to his\nfeet and looked straight into the eyes of Le Loutre.\n\n[Illustration: \u201c\u2018M. l\u2019Abb\u00e9 commands\u2014\u2014.\u2019\u201d]\n\n\u201cIt is the will of _M. l\u2019Abb\u00e9_,\u201d he said again, \u201cthat I should go to\nHalifax on this \u2018friendly\u2019 mission? The Micmacs will camp without the\nfort, I shall be received within, and can then learn more than I know\nalready of its defenses and of the habits of its defenders. The Indians,\nbeing friendly, will pass in and out with me, two or three perhaps only;\nI am to guide them with what secrecy I may from one portion of the\nstronghold to another, and they in turn will pass on their knowledge to\nthe waiting horde concealed within reach, and then at a given signal the\nattack is to be made, and, they and I alike familiar with the weak\npoints of the fort and other matters, they will easily gain entrance,\nand put all to fire and sword? Is this the will of _M. l\u2019Abb\u00e9_?\u201d\n\nLe Loutre looked back at him consideringly. Keen-sighted, as he was, he\nscarce knew what to make of this boy. Then he said:\n\n\u201cYou swear it in the name of the Holy Mother of God?\u201d\n\n\u201cI promise nothing,\u201d said Gabriel steadily.\n\n\u201cThen,\u201d cried the priest with a sudden burst of fury, \u201cremember this: If\nthou dost play the traitor\u2014\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cHe can be no traitor,\u201d Gabriel interposed, with a calm which compelled\na hearing, \u201cwho gives no promise, except that if it be within his power\nhe will defeat the plot laid.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo matter what thou art,\u201d burst forth Le Loutre again, \u201cthou art false\nto the faith in which thou hast been reared. But forget not that thy\ncourse will be watched, and that if my commands are not obeyed thy\ngrandfather and cousin will pay the forfeit\u2014yes, with their very lives.\nDost hear me?\u201d\n\nGabriel, pale before, whitened now to the lips. But he kept his\nsteadfast eyes on the priest\u2019s face as he replied:\n\n\u201cI hear, _M. l\u2019Abb\u00e9_.\u201d\n\n                 *        *        *        *        *\n\nThe blue waves of the harbor of Chebucto leaped gayly landward before\nthe strong south wind. On the wooden ramparts of Halifax the sentinels\nkept watch, specks of scarlet betwixt the blue of sea and sky, moving,\nautomaton-like, on their appointed rounds. But the automatons possessed\neyes, nevertheless, and those directed north were riveted on a band of\nIndians who, since sunrise, had been busy getting into camp about half a\nmile from the post.\n\nThe British colony at Halifax was now, counting those within and without\nits walls, over three thousand strong, and though the settlers without\nhad been sorely harassed by Indians\u2014whom the governor was beginning at\nlast to suspect were set on by the French, despite the peace nominally\nexisting between the two nations\u2014they continued to thrive and increase.\nThe Indians at present camping so near were soon recognized as Micmacs,\nwho had made a solemn treaty with the British the previous year,\nconsequently their appearance created but slight interest.\n\nIn his own simple apartments the \u201cbrave, sensible young man, of great\ntemper and good nature,\u201d was writing, with what for him was unusual\nirascibility, a letter to the Bishop of Quebec. But his patience had\nbeen sorely tried. \u201cWas it you,\u201d he wrote, \u201cwho sent Le Loutre as a\nmissionary to the Micmacs? And is it for their good that he excites\nthese wretches to practise their cruelties against those who have shown\nthem every kindness? The conduct of the priests of Acadia has been such\nthat by command of his majesty I have published an order declaring that\nif any one of them presumes to exercise his functions without my express\npermission he shall be dealt with according to the laws of England.\u201d\n\nHaving finished his letter he gave orders that the French priest,\nGirard, should be invited to a final audience. Obedient to the summons,\nan elderly man, of strong and gentle countenance, made his appearance.\nBidding him be seated, Cornwallis addressed him courteously in French.\n\n\u201c_M. le Cur\u00e9_,\u201d he began, \u201cyou know that you are one of very few who\nhave been required to take the oath to do nothing contrary to the\ninterests of the country I serve. Is not that so?\u201d\n\nThe priest bent his head with quiet dignity.\n\n\u201cI believe now that of you it was not necessary to exact it.\u201d\n\n\u201cPardon, _M. le Gouverneur_, of me it was not exacted. I rendered it.\u201d\n\n\u201cPardon, _M. le Cur\u00e9_, you are in the right. I owe you an apology.\u201d\n\n\u201c_Monsieur_ has nothing for which to make amends. He is all honor and\ngenerosity.\u201d\n\nCornwallis bowed in acknowledgment of the compliment, then continued:\n\n\u201cThere are many, however, of whom it would be as well for these simple\nAcadians as for helpless English settlers that the oath of allegiance to\nmy king were demanded. This Abb\u00e9 Le Loutre, for example, he is a very\nfirebrand. Nay, rather a wolf in sheep\u2019s clothing, working havoc in the\npoor, silly flock. Know you him, _M. le Cur\u00e9_?\u201d\n\nThe priest lowered his eyes.\n\n\u201c_M. le Gouverneur_,\u201d he replied in a constrained tone, \u201cit is contrary\nto the habit of my order to say of our superior, He is wrong or he is\nright.\u201d\n\n\u201cOnce more, pardon!\u201d cried the younger man frankly. \u201cI made an error.\nTell me, M. Girard, on your return to Cobequid, what course will you\npursue?\u201d\n\n\u201cIn accordance with my oath, _M. le Gouverneur_, I shall inform M.\nLongueuil that I can make no effort to prevent my people from submitting\nto you, according to their own desires.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd what, think you, your governor will reply?\u201d\n\n\u201cI know not, _monsieur_, but it is probable that I shall be compelled to\nretire from my position.\u201d\n\nThe two men, of different creed and antagonistic blood, looked each\nother full in the face. Then, with manifestations of mutual respect,\nclasped hands.\n\n\u201cAdieu, _M. le Cur\u00e9_.\u201d\n\n\u201cAdieu, _M. le Gouverneur_. The saints have you in their holy keeping,\nand bring you to the shelter of the true fold.\u201d\n\nBut as Girard turned to go, Cornwallis spoke again:\n\n\u201cM. Girard, there is a lad here, half Acadian, half British, know you\naught of him?\u201d\n\n\u201cGabriel\u2014ah, the hard name! I cannot call it.\u201d\n\n\u201cYet did the name and he that originally bore it sail once with your own\nconquering William from the land of your birth. Champernowne\u2014it is a\nNorman name\u2014and you, you yourself come from _la belle Normandie_, is it\nnot so, _M. le Cur\u00e9_?\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is true, _monsieur_. But this boy, I have heard of him from the\n_cur\u00e9_ at Port Royal. He is a good boy, though, alas, no longer of our\nfaith.\u201d\n\n\u201cHe is to be trusted?\u201d\n\n\u201cSo I have been assured, _monsieur_.\u201d\n\nMeanwhile another scene was being enacted under the eastern rampart. \u201cIn\nthe name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, Gabriel, I baptize\nthee.\u201d\n\nThe brief ceremony was at an end, and the few witnesses departed.\n\nFeeling somehow encouraged by this open profession of his inward\nconvictions to thread the difficult maze that lay before him, Gabriel\njoined the New England minister at his frugal meal, and then at his\nadvice betook himself to an upper chamber to rest his weary body. But\nrest to aching heart and tired brain would not come. In whom should he\nconfide? What should he do? Even his knowledge of the English tongue was\nlimited, though it fitted readily to his own, and he felt that he would\nsoon be master of it. Of but one thing was he certain; come what would,\nhe must now cast in his lot with his father\u2019s race. There were ways by\nwhich he could earn his bread\u2014he, active and vigorous and accustomed to\nlabor. And the colonists, they would need defenders; he could handle a\nmusket with the best, and endure long marches. Then, with a groan he\nturned his face to the wall. Margot\u2014the grandfather! Like a knife\nturning in his heart the harrowing dread would not be stilled. Nothing\ncould be done, no revelation of intended treachery made, until these two\nwere beyond the reach of Le Loutre and his terrible threats. And the\ndays would slip past as the hours were slipping now. Could, would, the\nEnglish governor help them? Then slowly, like swallows sailing\ncirclewise ever nearer and nearer their resting place, his revolving\nthoughts settled down upon their nest. Yes, there was one hope. He\nsprang from the bed and was out of the house in less time than it takes\nto write the words.\n\n\u201cM. Girard, M. Girard,\u201d he said to himself as he hastened along. But\nwhen he arrived at the priest\u2019s lodging, he was informed that _M. le\nCur\u00e9_ had started two hours before for Cobequid.\n\nThe woman of the house, mother herself of stalwart sons, felt her heart\nstir in pity for this splendid-looking youth, with the \u201cair noble\u201d and\nthe sad face. She was a former parishioner of M. Girard, an Acadian come\nhither from Cobequid.\n\n\u201cBut see,\u201d she said, following him out of the door, \u201c_M. le Cur\u00e9_ was to\ntarry awhile at the Indian camp. Maybe he is still there.\u201d\n\nWith a word of thanks Gabriel hastened away. Yet back to the Indian\ncamp, that nest of traitors. There was, however, no help for it. In any\ncase he would have to return to the camp at nightfall, for he was\nclosely watched, and his plans were not yet ripe for defying his dusky\nguardians, two or three of whom on the morrow expected to be conducted\nwithin the walls of Halifax. To obtain private speech with the _cur\u00e9_\nwould no doubt be difficult, but it must be done. Fortune favored him.\nAs he skirted the low hills to the eastward of the camp, watching his\nopportunity, he beheld a man in priestly garb, escorted by some Cobequid\nAcadians, who had voluntarily visited Halifax to take the new oath of\nallegiance, making his way across the levels in the direction of the\nforest. Girard\u2019s adieu to Le Loutre\u2019s \u201clambs\u201d was, then, made. Weary and\nspent as he was, Gabriel put forth his last remaining strength and ran\nswiftly forward to intercept the party. He accomplished his object, and\nstanding respectfully before the priest returned his gentle greeting.\n\n\u201cAnd who art thou, my son?\u201d\n\n\u201cMy name, _mon p\u00e8re_, is Gabriel, grandson of Pierre Gr\u00e9tin, habitan of\nPort Royal.\u201d\n\nA long-drawn \u201cAh!\u201d escaped M. Girard\u2019s lips. Then taking the boy by the\narm he led him out of earshot, and seating himself on a small hillock,\nsaid kindly:\n\n\u201cRest, my son. The sun is yet some hours high, and thou art weary, and\nhast a tale to tell.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, _mon p\u00e8re_!\u201d cried Gabriel, then stopped, unable to proceed.\n\nThis son of a mixed race could be steadfast as well as brave, but that\nintense vitality which sends the warm life-blood coursing through the\nveins like a torrent instead of as a calm and sluggish stream, even\nwhile acting as a spur to noble endeavor and keeping the heart forever\nyoung, exacts also its penalties. Now that the moment had arrived on\nwhich all his hopes hung, Gabriel was past speech. He lay face downward\non the short turf, struggling with a burst of passionate tears that\nwould not be repressed.\n\n\u201cWeep, my son, weep,\u201d said the kind old man, laying his hand on the fair\nhead, \u201cthou hast endured much, and thou art but a lad. Moreover, thou\nhast this day solemnly abjured thy mother\u2019s faith. I reproach thee not,\nbut for a youth such as thou, thou didst take upon thyself a grave\nresponsibility.\u201d\n\nBut Gabriel was pulling himself together, and presently he sat up and\nshook the curls back from his eyes.\n\n\u201c_Mon p\u00e8re_,\u201d he said, still clinging to the old loved title familiar to\nhim from earliest childhood, \u201cthat I know; I considered long; and forget\nnot that the faith to which I have turned was the faith of my father.\nBut it is not of myself I would speak, it is of those dearer to me than\nlife.\u201d\n\nThen briefly he narrated the events that had occurred, his forced\nabandonment of his grandfather and cousin, their desolate and helpless\ncondition, and the _abb\u00e9\u2019s_ threats should he fail in the task demanded\nof him.\n\n\u201cAnd this task I cannot and will not fulfill,\u201d concluded Gabriel firmly;\n\u201cthen should I be traitor indeed.\u201d\n\nM. Girard\u2019s face had grown very sad. The conduct of Le Loutre had caused\nhim and many another gentle-hearted priest much sorrow. Yet he was the\nsuperior; his authority could not be questioned. He remained silent for\na while; then spoke, not without hesitation.\n\n\u201cMy son,\u201d he said, \u201cthere is a way, but even that way is not without\ndifficulties. Thy cousin\u2014Margot\u2014our Acadian youth are often\nhouseholders at thine age. Yes, I know, those of English blood are more\nbackward in such matters, but there must be true affection betwixt you,\nand for thy wife she is altogether suitable. Thus thou couldst protect\nher and the _gran\u2019-p\u00e8re_ also. The saints forbid that I should encourage\na union betwixt a heretic and a daughter of the church were there any\nother way, and did I not hope much from her influence. Wives have\nbrought erring husbands back to the true fold ere now, and thou art\nscarce experienced enough to have embraced for reasons that will endure\nanother faith. It was resentment, not conviction, that led thee astray.\n\n\u201cAmong the Acadians protected by the fort the followers of the Holy\nCatholic Church dwell in peace, ministered to by priests who have taken\nthe oath of allegiance to the English king. There, with Margot for thy\nwife, thou wilt return to the true faith.\u201d\n\nThe good old priest, pleased with the future his imagination had\ncreated, rambled on. But after the first Gabriel hardly heard him.\n_Margot his wife!_ The hot blood flamed to cheek and brow, then the\nflash faded, leaving him paler than before. Who was it that dared thus\nto handle the sweet familiar affection, from whose leaves the delicate\nbud, destined in the fullness of time to expand into the radiant flower\nof a strong man\u2019s love, peeped forth so timidly that he himself had not\nyet ventured to do more than glance at it and then avert his eyes? When\nhad he first known that those cool, green leaves held for him such a\npearl of price? It was at his last parting from Margot, when forced to\nflee and leave those so helpless and so dear to the mercy of Le Loutre.\nThe remembrance of this parting had never left him, despite danger,\nsuffering, dread, not for one little hour. But that any one should speak\nof that of which he had never yet spoken to himself! Gradually, however,\nthe sense of shock, of desecration, faded; and when after a long and\npatient waiting M. Girard addressed him almost in the very words once\nused by the _abb\u00e9_, but with very different intention, his answer this\ntime was prompt and decisive.\n\n\u201c_Mon fils_, art thou boy or man?\u201d\n\n\u201cI am a man, _mon p\u00e8re_.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, think on what I have said.\u201d\n\nThe priest gathered up his skirts and arose.\n\n\u201cBut, Margot, _mon p\u00e8re_? Her desires may be quite other\u2014\u2014\u201d\n\nGabriel\u2019s cheeks were hot again. He faltered in his speech. The old man\nlooked him up and down. Yes, he was a goodly youth. A queer little smile\nflickered on the priest\u2019s thin-lipped mouth, but all he said was:\n\n\u201cMy son, these things arrange themselves.\u201d\n\nHe turned to go. Gabriel stood where he had left him, dreamy-eyed and\nquiet. Then, with a start he came to himself. He was allowing M. Girard\nto go, and nothing was settled. This was no time for dreams impossible\nof immediate fulfillment; there was work to be done, and that quickly.\nWith one bound he had overtaken the priest and laid his hand on his arm.\n\n\u201cBut soon\u2014in a day, two days\u2014the _abb\u00e9_ will know me disobedient\nhere,\u201d he cried. \u201cI cannot go to Port Royal, neither can the\n_gran\u2019-p\u00e8re_ endure the toilsome journey hither. O _mon p\u00e8re_, advise,\ncounsel me.\u201d\n\nThe priest paused, irresolute.\n\n\u201cMy son, in this matter of the fort I cannot advise thee. For the\n_gran\u2019-p\u00e8re_ and the little Margot I will give them what protection I\nmay. _M. l\u2019Abb\u00e9_ visits Cobequid on matters concerning the oath I have\ntaken, and I will represent to him that thou art one whom to drive is\nvain, but that thou canst be led. Put thy faith in the Holy Mother, _mon\nfils_, she will intercede for thee and thine. Ah, I had forgotten, thou\nart no longer of the faith. Adieu, then, poor youth.\u201d\n\nWith a cold chill at his heart, and a sense of desolation such as never\nin his young life he had felt before, Gabriel watched the figure of him\nwho represented his last hope disappear into the now darkening shades of\nthe forest.\n\nBut sometimes it happens that hope is never so near us as when we deem\nher fled. As Gabriel slowly bent his steps toward the settlement by the\nway that he had come, a dusky form glided out from the hills and\nconfronted him.\n\n\u201cI have sought Wild Deer long,\u201d said a well-known voice, \u201cand at last I\nfind him.\u201d\n\n\u201cJean Jacques.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is he. But say not that Jean Jacques was faithless to the paleface\nboy. He was not. Let Wild Deer clasp hands with the Micmac, and all may\nyet be well.\u201d\n\n\n                               CHAPTER IV\n\nNight had closed in around the new fort of Halifax and upon the houses\nclustered about its walls. With a beating heart Gabriel leaned against\nthe postern, waiting for the expected summons from the lambs of Le\nLoutre. What if his plans should fail? What if the governor\u2019s trust in\nthe word of a mere boy should falter? What if the feet of Jean Jacques\nshould waver ere the goal was reached?\n\nGabriel had followed that rarely misleading impulse which impels one\nsoul of honor to confide in another, no matter what the dividing line\nbetween them, whether of sex, age, or degree. Cornwallis knew all, and\nJean Jacques was on his way to remove the _gran\u2019-p\u00e8re_ and Margot to a\nplace of safety, if yet there might be time.\n\nTime! Yes, time was all that Gabriel needed for the escape of those whom\nhe loved, happen what might to himself. Yet on his own safety theirs in\npart depended, he thought. How should the riddle be solved?\n\nThe peace and well-being of those two once secured, he would spread his\nuntried wings and do more than merely dream of a new life beyond the\nbars of the narrow cage in which his life had hitherto been passed. He\nlonged to lead a man\u2019s life,\u2014worthy of Margot, worthy of his dead\nfather,\u2014not that of a dull steer hitched to a plow!\n\nHe had not told Cornwallis that among the Micmacs incited to this deed\nof treachery there were in all probability some of his own countrymen\ndisguised as Indians. It was the policy of Le Loutre to induce by\nthreats or bribes the more or less reluctant Acadians to perform such\nservices. It was easy for the priest to protest in case of the capture\nof the Acadians that it was not the French who had broken the peace, but\nthe inhabitants themselves, of their own free will. The Acadians were\nuseful for the encouragement of the Indians; therefore were they used.\nGabriel reasoned that not until the presence of the Acadians was\ndiscovered would the time arrive to plead for them. The governor was a\nman of kind heart as well as of good sense, and the boy would represent\nto him the simplicity and ignorance of these his country-people, who,\nalthough not loving those of alien blood, would assuredly have lived\npeaceably under their rule, had it not been for their priest\u2019s threats\nand their terror of eternal damnation. Gabriel knew, but would never\nadd, that the cowardice of weak natures was allied with its almost\ninevitable comrades, deceit and untruthfulness.\n\nWhilst Gabriel waited without, Cornwallis sat in his room, the tallow\ncandles in the silver sconces brought from England shedding their\nflaring light upon his bowed head. He had dismissed his council and was\nalone with his secretary. His kind, manly face was clouded with\ndejection. His term of service was drawing to a close, and despite his\nefforts, the Acadians were no better off than before. Presently he arose\nand began pacing the floor.\n\n\u201cPoor, unhappy people!\u201d he exclaimed. \u201cWhy cannot they understand that\nFrance but uses them as in the ancient fable the monkey used the cat?\nThey were contented enough before this priest came to scare their small\nwits out of them.\u201d\n\n\u201cYet, my lord,\u201d put in the secretary, \u201cI have heard that the Acadians\nwere ever a contentious race, given to petty strife and over fond of the\nlaw.\u201d\n\nThe governor smiled.\n\n\u201cAnd who would deny them those simple joys in their dull lives? Their\nharmless disputes kept the sluggish blood moving in their veins and\nserious trouble was rare. Now all is changed. If by their vacillation\nthey drive us to stern courses, sad, alas, will be their fate. We have\nborne much treachery, but the end is at hand.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt will be well for them, my lord, if your successor is as forbearing\nas yourself,\u201d observed the secretary gathering up his papers.\n\nThere was a knock at the door, and Gabriel\u2019s fair head appeared.\n\n\u201cThey are here, my lord,\u201d he said in a low voice.\n\n\u201cDo you retire, then, my son,\u201d replied the governor; \u201cyour safety\ndemands that you should not know too much if it be that you still desire\nto go with these savages.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is my only hope, my lord.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd if you fail?\u201d Cornwallis added, laying his hand kindly on the boy\u2019s\nshoulder. \u201cWhat then? Remember, that if you find neither Jean Jacques\nnor those dear to you, the country to whom your father proved his\nallegiance owes you in turn something.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhether my quest be vain or no,\u201d and Gabriel\u2019s voice faltered, \u201cGod\nsparing me, I shall return to serve under the flag for which my father\nfought and died, and in the faith that was his.\u201d\n\n\u201cGod keep you, then,\u201d said the governor fervently, and turned aside.\n\nGreat, indeed, was the astonishment of Jean Baptiste Cope, the favorite\nchief of Le Loutre, when he found himself ushered into the presence of\nthe governor. He knew that the priest had commanded Gabriel to take\nadvantage of his knowledge of the fort and of the habits of the sentries\nto admit the Micmacs into the building at the dead of night, while all\nsave the sentries slept; yet here was the dead of night and here stood\nthe governor himself, cool and grave, and the fort was alive with\nwakeful and armed men.\n\nCornwallis held in hand a treaty of peace, to which these same Micmacs\nhad solemnly affixed their totems less than one year before. He was\nempowered by his government to go to almost any length in the matter of\nbribes and presents to bind the Indians to peace, as by such means alone\nwas peace for the whole unhappy country to be secured. Le Loutre,\ndeprived of his lambs, would be practically powerless to stir up strife.\nAlready Cornwallis foresaw the tragic outcome of this long-continued\ntrouble. The vacillations and treachery of the wretched Acadians\nrendered justice, law, and order alike impossible, and peace and\nprosperity were out of the question so long as they hesitated betwixt\ntwo masters. That Le Loutre was well paid for his services Cornwallis\nwas assured. As the French minister wrote to Pr\u00e9vost, the intendant at\nLouisbourg, a French possession in Acadie: \u201cThe fear is that the zeal of\nLe Loutre and Maillard,\u201d another equally bigoted priest, \u201cmay carry them\ntoo far. Excite them to keep the Indians in our interest, but do not let\nthem compromise us. Act always so as to make the English appear as\naggressors.\u201d\n\nBearing these things in mind, Cornwallis bent all his energies to\nwinning over the Micmac lambs, and after a long pow-wow, the pipe of\npeace was again smoked and \u201cMajor\u201d Cope, as he called himself, swore for\nhis tribe allegiance to the English government. Laden with gifts and\nescorted by the governor in person, they forsook their camp the\nfollowing afternoon and embarked on a small schooner, manned by an\nEnglish crew which outnumbered the little band of savages. With them\nwent Gabriel.\n\nFour weeks later Pr\u00e9vost wrote to the French minister: \u201cLast month the\nsavages took eighteen English scalps, and M. Le Loutre was obliged to\npay them eighteen hundred _livres_, Acadian money, which I have\nreimbursed him.\u201d\n\nAnd the _gran\u2019-p\u00e8re_ and Margot, where were they?\n\nJean Jacques, with the subtlety of his race, did not go direct to\nAnnapolis. He was aware that many of the Acadians had been induced by Le\nLoutre to leave the river valley and had betaken themselves to the\nlarger settlement of Beaubassin; and later rumors had reached him that\nthe English were about to lay claim to their own and send a small force\nunder Lawrence\u2014destined to be governor of the province\u2014to quell the\nconstant disaffection created by the French troops at Beaus\u00e9jour, across\nthe Missaguash. It was to Beaubassin, then, that the Micmac turned his\nsteps.\n\nHe arrived to find a scene of wild terror; that which has been termed\nthe first expulsion of the Acadians was in full progress.\n\nIt was evening, and the western sky was dark with clouds, but as Jean\nJacques, at the rapid Indian dog-trot, stole swiftly toward the\nsettlement, he observed to himself that the villagers would have scant\nneed of their tallow dips that night. In huddled groups\u2014the women and\nchildren wailing, the men almost equally demoralized\u2014the unfortunate\nAcadians watched the destruction of their homes; not only so, but what\nwas worse to the many devout among them, the same devouring flames\nconsuming their church. And the moving spirit of this tragic scene was\ntheir own _abb\u00e9_\u2014he whom they had revered and wholly feared.\n\nThe imposing figure of Le Loutre stood out in bold relief against the\nblazing edifice. Crucifix held aloft, he incited his Micmacs, genuine\nand spurious alike, to the dreadful deed.\n\nJean Jacques mingled unremarked with his tribe.\n\n\u201cIt is for the good of your souls, my people!\u201d thundered the enthusiast.\n\u201cYou refused to obey the gentle voice of the true church and follow\nwhere she leads. Now your salvation must be wrought for you; to live at\nease under the protection of heretics will bring damnation on your\nsouls.\u201d\n\n\u201cCharlot, what does the priest to the palefaces?\u201d\n\nAt the sound of his own name the Acadian, disguised in paint and\nfeathers, started violently, but peering into the face of Jean Jacques\nhis fears were quieted.\n\n\u201c\u2019Tis for the good of their souls,\u201d he repeated, as a sullen boy\nreciting a lesson.\n\nSeizing him by the arm, the Micmac drew him out of the throng. A brief\ncolloquy ensued, punctuated by Jean Jacques with grunts of disapproval;\nthen, releasing the Acadian, he made his way unheeded in the commotion\ntoward a small hut, as yet beyond the reach of the flames. Pushing open\nthe door, he entered.\n\nUpon a couch of moss in a corner lay an old man, evidently dying. Beside\nhim knelt a priest performing the last sacred offices of the Catholic\nChurch, and a young girl, the tears upon her pale, worn cheeks. At a\nglance the Indian perceived that he had found those he sought\u2014Pierre\nGr\u00e9tin, Margot, and the good priest of Cobequid, M. Girard. Had the\npriest not been too much absorbed in his solemn duty to notice the\nnewcomer, the significant fact that the so-called \u2018convert\u2019 failed to\ncross himself would not have passed unobserved. Jean Jacques kneeled\ndown, however, reverently enough.\n\nAll that night the circle of fire slowly widened, spreading ever more\nslowly because the clouds broke in heavy showers; but at length, soon\nafter the poor old man had breathed his last and the bright dawn was\nilluminating the clearing sky, Jean Jacques saw that another place of\nrefuge must be sought from the fire. Gathering up the few articles the\nmiserable hut contained, he sped with them to the shelter of the near-by\nwoods, and then returning he wrapped, with characteristic taciturnity,\nthe body of the _gran\u2019-p\u00e8re_ in the blanket and, followed by the priest\nand the weeping Margot, bore it also away.\n\n\u201cFor the sainted _gran\u2019-p\u00e8re_ there is no consecrated ground!\u201d moaned\nthe girl, casting a backward glance at the smouldering ruins of the\nchurch.\n\n\u201cWeep not for that, my daughter,\u201d said the priest in soothing tones, as\nhe led her forward, \u201cfor the faithful servant holy ground shall be\nfound.\u201d\n\nHe drew from beneath his robe a tiny vial of holy water and in due form\nconsecrated the spot of earth in the forest in which the _gran\u2019-p\u00e8re_\nwas to rest. Then seizing one of the two mattocks brought from the hut,\nhe set to work with the Indian.\n\nFew, indeed, were the tools or other possessions Pierre Gr\u00e9tin had\ncontrived to save in their compulsory flight from the pleasant home in\nthe Annapolis Valley\u2014a flight which had taken place shortly after\nGabriel\u2019s departure. Even then they might have held on longer had not an\nancient grudge on the part of a neighbor served to keep their obstinacy\never before the eyes of Le Loutre; for it has been said that the\nAcadians were a people given to petty squabbles. At Beaubassin they had\nfound refuge with many others of their race, but on English ground, and\nit was on this account that the bigoted priest sought to remove them.\nLong had the Acadians tacitly resisted, not out of love for the English,\nbut out of love for the peace so dear to their sluggish natures and\nwhich they were permitted to enjoy under British rule, so long, at\nleast, as they refrained from meddling or from bearing arms.\n\n\u201cNo coffin, _mon p\u00e8re_?\u201d said Margot timidly at last.\n\nFor answer the priest stuck his spade into the ground; the work was\ndone. Then he pointed to a white sail upon the waters of Chignecto Bay.\n\n\u201cThe English!\u201d she murmured awestruck; and then again, \u201cAnd no coffin,\n_M. le Cur\u00e9_?\u201d\n\n\u201cThe English are heretics, my daughter, but they do not desecrate\ngraves. The body of God\u2019s servant will be as safe here as in his loved\nAnnapolis.\u201d\n\nThen Jean Jacques and M. Girard laid the body in the grave, and as the\npriest took out his breviary and began to read the first words of the\noffice for the dead, the Micmac slipped away to the hut, thence to\nremove the scanty remains of Margot\u2019s possessions. The short service\nover, Margot herself helped M. Girard in the filling of the grave.\n\nBut even as they worked the mingled sounds of lamentation and exultation\ndrew nearer, and just as the grave was filled, the imperious figure of\nLe Loutre, his face alight with religious fervor, stood beside it.\n\n\u201cWhat doest thou here, brother?\u201d he said sternly.\n\n\u201cWhat thou seest, _M. l\u2019Abb\u00e9_. I lay in consecrated earth the remains of\nthis our brother in the faith.\u201d\n\n\u201cIn consecrated earth,\u201d cried Le Loutre. \u201cWhat earth is consecrated trod\nby the feet of heretics? M. Girard, I exhort thee, in the name of the\nholy mother of God, to remove to uncontaminated soil the body of this\nservant of the true church.\u201d\n\nHe pointed as he spoke to the crowd of hurrying fugitives pressing\nacross the water in boats and on rafts.\n\nM. Girard faced his superior calmly. Well he knew that when, for the\nsake of his flock as also for the sake of right, he had taken that oath\nat Halifax, he had incurred the suspicion, nay anger, of his clerical\nsuperiors; but in the mild eyes which he raised to the fierce ones of\nthe _abb\u00e9_ there was no fear\u2014only the firmness which has led many as\ngentle a martyr to the stake.\n\n\u201c_M. l\u2019Abb\u00e9_ knows,\u201d he said quietly, \u201cthat the ground consecrated by a\npriest of the church becomes holy ground, and that to disturb the dead\nlaid therein is profanation.\u201d\n\nIt seemed a long time to the anxious Margot before the silent duel was\ndecided, for some moments elapsed ere either spoke again. Then the hand\nof Le Loutre slowly fell, and he averted his eyes. Not even his\narrogance could forswear the tenets of the church for which he fought so\nzealously.\n\n\u201cBut this maiden?\u201d\n\nHe spoke with forced indifference.\n\n\u201cShe would go under my protection to Cobequid.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat shall never be!\u201d exclaimed Le Loutre violently. \u201cIs not one of the\nmost rebellious of my flock her near kinsman, and shall that dangerous\nand seditious youth have access to her? If thou dost desire so great a\nwrong, _M. le Cur\u00e9_\u2014\u2014\u201d\n\nBut before M. Girard could reply Margot was on her knees.\n\n\u201c_M. l\u2019Abb\u00e9_,\u201d she cried, \u201conly tell me that Gabriel\u2014_mon cousin_\u2014is\nalive and well, and I will ask nothing further.\u201d\n\nLe Loutre looked down upon the girl in silence, a contemptuous pity in\nevery line of his strongly marked features.\n\n\u201cIf he is alive? that I cannot tell thee, maiden. One last chance have I\ngiven the would-be renegade lest he become ere his time an outcast. How\nhe hath borne himself, I as yet know not.\u201d\n\nBut M. Girard laid his hand kindly on the bowed dark head.\n\n\u201cMy daughter, it is the wish of _M. l\u2019Abb\u00e9_ that thou shouldst seek the\nFrench shore. Louis Herbes, thy neighbor, crosses even now with his\nwife; it would be well for thee to go with these kind friends.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd may I not pray one little hour beside the grave of him who was all\nof father and mother I ever knew?\u201d said Margot in stifled tones.\n\nLe Loutre shrugged his shoulders; then crossed himself piously.\n\n\u201cAs thou wilt, daughter. One little quarter of an hour will I give\nthee.\u201d\n\nHe linked his arm in that of the cur\u00e9 and walked away with him.\n\nScarcely had the priestly pair disappeared than the bushes at Margot\u2019s\nside rustled and Jean Jacques crept into view. Seizing her wrist in his\nsinewy fingers he led her toward the shore, close to which was now\nanchoring the English ship.\n\n\u201cThe Micmac will find thee a refuge, maiden,\u201d he said. \u201cFollow Jean\nJacques, and all will be well.\u201d\n\nBut the timid Acadian girl shrank from the Indian.\n\n\u201cTo go among those redcoats\u2014and alone, Jean Jacques? Oh, I cannot.\u201d\n\n\u201cDid not Jean Jacques swear to Wild Deer that he would save his\nkinswoman from the cruel priest?\u201d said the Indian with stoicism, \u201cand\nwill he not do it even with the strength of his arm? Neither do the\nwhite braves harm women.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes\u2014no\u2014oh, I know not,\u201d faltered Margot; \u201coh, leave me, Jean Jacques!\nYet tell me first, where is Gabriel?\u201d\n\nThe Indian grunted.\n\n\u201cThe Great Spirit knows, not I. But, maiden, while we waste words the\npriest comes, and Jean Jacques is no longer of his faith; the faith of\nthe Micmac is the faith of the Wild Deer. Wilt thou come, or no?\u201d\n\nMargot started. \u201cThen Gabriel is in truth a heretic!\u201d\n\nWhilst she hesitated, Jean Jacques, who was in no mood for delay, led\nher deeper into the woods.\n\nNow Margot, though, as we know, possessed of that kind of courage which\nwill bravely choose and do the right, and even be physically brave for\nthose she loved, was naturally timid, and now she was worn and exhausted\nand scarcely mistress of herself. Her inborn terror of Indians got the\nupper hand, and she uttered a piercing shriek, promptly stifled by the\nMicmac\u2019s hand upon her mouth. Then he suddenly released her.\n\n\u201cMaiden,\u201d he said, \u201cJean Jacques can do no more. Thou wilt not seek\nsafety? So be it then. The priests come\u2014Jean Jacques goes.\u201d\n\nThe girl made a great effort, and though still very pale, held out her\nhand with a smile to the Indian.\n\n\u201cForgive me, Jean Jacques,\u201d she said in tones which would have won\nforgiveness anywhere; \u201cmy heart is sick, I know not what I do. Take me\nwhither thou wilt\u2014whither Wild Deer wills.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd it shall not be to the redcoat braves,\u201d said the Indian, as\ntogether they sped through the undergrowth. \u201cDown beside the crimson\nMissaguash there are homes in which thy race still dwells in peace, even\nas those who remain beside the Annapolis. Thither will the Micmac take\nthe maiden of Wild Deer.\u201d\n\n\u201cHalt!\u201d thundered a familiar voice. \u201cA straying lamb, indeed\u2014a lamb in\nsore need of chastisement.\u201d\n\nBut for once the fierce priest had reckoned amiss. Quicker than the\nlightning\u2019s flash the hand of the Indian went to his tomahawk, his eyes\nglittering balefully. With a motion almost as rapid the whistle\nwherewith Le Loutre summoned his lambs was at his lips, while with his\ndisengaged hand he held a crucifix aloft. But that almost might have\nruled betwixt life and death had not Margot sprung forward and placed\nher slight body as a shield for the priest.\n\n\u201cJean Jacques,\u201d she cried, \u201cis this thy new faith? to strike the\nanointed of God?\u201d\n\nThe upraised tomahawk dropped, and the Indian grunted sullenly. But Le\nLoutre, the full violence of whose fanaticism was aroused by the\n\u2018perversion\u2019 of one of his lambs, was not to be so easily pacified,\nthough life itself were at stake; and the influence of the paleface\nmaiden might not have availed to save him, so irritating was the\nlanguage he used toward the already enraged Micmac, had not Margot,\naghast at the prospect of beholding the _abb\u00e9_ murdered before her very\neyes, hastily promised to go with him whither he would, if so be he\nwould permit the Indian to depart in peace.\n\n\u201cSwear upon the crucifix,\u201d insisted Le Loutre, \u201cthat you will follow me\nback to the true fold.\u201d\n\nScarcely realized by herself, the girl\u2019s heart and sense, and perhaps\nalso the recollection of Gabriel\u2019s persecution, were combining to lead\nher in spirit away from that fold; and now she drew back.\n\n\u201cI will take no oath, _mon p\u00e8re_,\u201d she said gently, \u201cbut I promise to go\nwith thee now; more I cannot promise.\u201d\n\nThen she turned to Jean Jacques, holding out her hand in grateful\nfarewell.\n\n[Illustration: \u201cBut Gabriel had neither eyes nor ears for the priest.\u201d]\n\n\u201cSeek thine own safety,\u201d she said hurriedly, \u201cand if _mon cousin_ lives,\ntell him\u2014\u2014\u201d\n\nHer voice broke, and she started to follow the already moving priest.\n\n\u201cIf Gabriel lives!\u201d cried another voice, and in a moment she was in the\narms of its owner.\n\nWhat matter that he wore the scarlet coat of the British soldier, that\nhe had forsworn the faith of their common forefathers? Was he not\nGabriel still, the playmate of her childhood, and now, as she suddenly\nunderstood, the lover of her youth?\n\nIt was but for a moment, and then the priest tore them asunder.\n\n\u201cHeretic boy!\u201d he exclaimed, regardless of the Micmac, who once more\napproached threateningly, \u201crelease this maiden, unworthy as thou art to\ntouch the hem of her garment.\u201d\n\nBut Gabriel had neither eyes nor ears for the priest. He freed Margot\nfrom his embrace indeed, but held her hand firmly in his, and flushed\nand smiling gazed upon the small, downcast face bright with rapture.\n\n\u201cIt is with me thou comest, is it not so, _ma cousine_?\u201d he said softly,\nbending over her.\n\nShe lifted her dark eyes, and for a long minute they rested on his,\nheedless of the objurgations of Le Loutre. Then she remembered, and her\nface grew suddenly so pale that its wanness struck Gabriel with a great\nfear. How much, ah, how much, she had suffered. He seemed to see it all\nnow.\n\n\u201cI have promised\u2014I dare not break my sacred word.\u201d\n\nHer voice was barely audible.\n\n\u201cIt is true,\u201d cried the priest, thrusting himself so abruptly betwixt\nthe cousins as to compel Gabriel to drop the hand of the girl, \u201cshe has\npromised to return to the true fold, and as the daughter of mother\nchurch the touch of the heretic is defilement.\u201d\n\nGabriel lifted his fair head with the old fearless air that had ever\nexasperated the priest, while winning his reluctant admiration.\n\n\u201cIt may be that I am no longer a boy,\u201d he said coolly, \u201cat least I am no\nlonger of your church; and by all laws human and divine, she being my\nnext of kin, this maiden has a right to my protection. Also, _M.\nl\u2019Abb\u00e9_, you are upon English ground.\u201d\n\nHe pointed to the thin line of redcoats deploying upon a low hill some\ndistance away.\n\nThe face of Le Loutre was convulsed with hatred.\n\n\u201cThe more reason that we swiftly depart,\u201d he said. \u201cCome, daughter, bear\nin mind thy vow.\u201d\n\nGabriel\u2019s blue eyes flashed as Margot had so often seen them do in the\npast. She pressed by the _abb\u00e9_, and taking her cousin\u2019s outstretched\nhands, said in a low, persuasive voice:\n\n\u201cGabriel, _mon ami_, it is even so. I promised to go with _M. l\u2019Abb\u00e9_ in\norder to save his life; there was no other way. But the promise was only\nfor the day; I would make no further vow.\u201d\n\nLe Loutre watched the girl uneasily, for had she not refused to swear\nupon the cross, and what was a mere promise without some appeal to\nsuperstition? He could not comprehend the force of a higher influence\nthan that of mere symbolism.\n\nPale now as Margot herself Gabriel moved aside with her, holding her\nhands, and looking down into the pathos of those dark eyes which\npossessed, even as in the days when they were children together, power\nto still the tumult in his breast\u2014the rebellion of a nature more\npassionate than her own.\n\n\u201cIt is but for this one day, _mon_ Gabriel,\u201d she murmured.\n\n\u201cBut for this one day!\u201d he repeated. \u201cAnd our force is small, and God\nalone knows where we may be on the morrow. Margot, must it be?\u201d\n\n\u201cGabriel, it was thou who didst first tell me, when thy heart began to\nchange toward our church, that to break the promised word was to lie,\nand that to lie was deadly sin. Oh, _mon cousin_, dost thou not\nremember?\u201d\n\n\u201cI do, I do!\u201d he groaned, passing his hand over his eyes in unbearable\nanguish.\n\n\u201cThe priest will not harm me,\u201d she went on, \u201cand I shall be with\nfriends\u2014Louis Herbes and his good wife. They will build them a hut\nclose beside the water, so that if chance offer they may return to\nEnglish soil\u2014dost hearken, Gabriel?\u201d\n\nGabriel\u2019s face cleared.\n\n\u201cYes, yes, sweet cousin. I will take a boat\u2014to-morrow\u2014toward the\nsunsetting\u2014remember.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is well. But, Gabriel, go. See the lambs\u2014they come.\u201d\n\n\u201cI fear them not,\u201d he cried, the warrior spirit awake in an instant;\n\u201clet them come. Have I not baffled them already many times? I would bear\nthee through a host of them, my Margot.\u201d\n\n\u201cGo, I beseech thee!\u201d she implored, a prayer in her eyes.\n\n\u201cGod keep thee in his holy keeping then, until we meet again,\u201d and\nseizing her in his arms he pressed his lips to her brow, and was gone,\nfollowed by Jean Jacques.\n\n\n                               CHAPTER V\n\nIn that hurried meeting and parting Margot had been unable to learn from\nGabriel the history of his life since they had looked upon one another\nlast. Of his conversion to the Protestant faith she already knew, and of\nhis sojourn in the fort of Halifax, but of the rest nothing. Most of\nall, nothing of his miraculous escape from the treacherous Micmacs\nduring the voyage from Halifax. Le Loutre, too well acquainted with his\nlambs to repose trust in them, and writhing under the knowledge that he\ncould not bend the white boy to his will, had made use of a well-known\nhalf-breed spy to keep him informed of the doings at the fort. This man\nwas instructed, should the murderous plot fail or the Micmacs be once\nmore won over to the English, to offer the savages yet higher bribes, so\nthat they should at the last moment turn again to France. These higher\nbribes of course prevailed, and reinforced by members of their own\ntribe, who boarded the vessel under cover of the darkness, the English\ncrew was overpowered, and all, with one exception, massacred. The\nexception, needless to say, was Gabriel. When the priest heard of the\nboy\u2019s escape he scarce knew whether to mourn or to rejoice; for, until\nhe had seen him actually in English uniform, he had still hoped to win\nover this choice spirit to his service.\n\nGabriel, being an expert swimmer, had contrived to make his way to the\nshore, and from thence by a toilsome route to the fort. Arrived there,\nall hesitation was at an end. Once and forever he threw in his lot with\nhis father\u2019s race; and chiefly in the hope of rescuing the _gran\u2019-p\u00e8re_\nand Margot, but also because his natural bent was to a soldier\u2019s career,\nhe offered his services to the government. Cornwallis accepted them\ngladly, placing him advantageously from the first, and recommending him\nstrongly to his successor, to make way for whom he shortly after crossed\nthe ocean. Cornwallis carried with him at best a heavy heart, but it was\nin some degree lightened by the gratitude of the many to whom he had\nshown kindness.\n\nIt is doubtful whether the French government invariably approved of the\nlengths to which the zeal of Le Loutre carried him. At all events, the\nhome ministers occasionally found it advisable to shut their eyes to his\nmethod of interpreting their instructions; which were, in brief, to keep\nAcadie at any price, or rather to keep their share of the unhappy\ncountry and take all the rest that was not theirs.\n\nWhen Jean Jacques told Gabriel of the _gran\u2019-p\u00e8re\u2019s_ death, and of the\nprivations he and the girl had endured, even the new hope for Margot\ncould not keep back the tears. For Gabriel had loved and revered the\ngood old man; therefore he wept and was not ashamed. But doubly\nnecessary was it now to carry Margot away, though where to bestow her in\nthe English camp he hardly knew\u2014only he felt sure that a way would be\nopened. Major Lawrence was acquainted with his story and would certainly\naid him. Moreover, the smallness of the force caused him to believe that\ntheir stay on the Missaguash would be brief, and once at Halifax, Margot\nwould find refuge with her country-people assembled there. Perhaps there\ntoo, she might learn to love his faith and be turned wholly from the\nRomish Church, and then perhaps\u2014perhaps\u2014who could say?\n\nBut Gabriel\u2019s daydreams were rudely dispelled, and the struggle betwixt\nlove and duty was not yet at an end.\n\nThe very next day, when he, with the aid of the faithful Micmac, was\nabout to carry out his carefully laid scheme, Major Lawrence, having\nsatisfied himself that his force was too small for the work it would\nhave to accomplish, gave orders for immediate re-embarkation.\n\n\u201cThe fortunes of war, my lad,\u201d he said, with a shrug, and gave the\nmatter no further thought; for Lawrence was made of very different stuff\nfrom Cornwallis, as the Acadians were to discover when he became\ngovernor of the province soon after. Not by nature a patient man, such\npatience as he had acquired soon vanished when appointed to direct a\npeople who, it must be confessed, were not without trying\ncharacteristics. Already he marveled at the leniency of Cornwallis. To\nplead with Lawrence for a few hours grace, therefore, Gabriel knew to be\nunavailing; probably it would have been so with Cornwallis also, for\nafter all \u201cdiscipline must be maintained.\u201d But at least the governor\nwould have shown some sympathy. There came a moment when the young\nsoldier was inclined to rebel, then duty triumphed, and he had learned\nhis hardest lesson in self-restraint, which if a man fails to learn he\nbecomes little better than a castaway. So duty and honor prevailed, and\nGabriel confided his cousin to the care of Jean Jacques for as long a\ntime as the Protestant convert dared to remain in that dangerous\nneighborhood; thereafter, if possible, the Indian was to convey the girl\nto the fort at Halifax, where were gathered many of her countrymen.\nNevertheless, Gabriel leaned with straining eyes and an almost breaking\nheart over the bulwarks of the vessel that bore him rapidly away from\nall he loved best on earth, his only consolation being that he was\nkeeping faith and doing his duty, and that the God of love and faith\nwould not forsake either him or Margot.\n\nAnd, indeed, he was to be yet further tried. Upon his arrival at Halifax\nhe found great changes. Cornwallis had departed, and his place was\nalready taken by Hopson, his immediate successor. In the excitement of\nnew arrangements, heightened by the information that the French were\ninvading the colonies, the recruit was suddenly plunged into another\nexistence. By the special recommendation of the late governor he was\nattached to a lately arrived regiment marching south, and thereupon his\nboyhood\u2019s dreams of escaping from the dull Acadian round, and of making\nhimself of some account in the world, began to show signs of future\nfulfillment. Courage, fidelity, and intelligence, were virtues then as\nnow sure to make their mark. The day came when the young soldier served\nunder Washington himself, sharing with him the failure that made the\nfourth of July, 1754, the darkest day, perhaps, of his whole eventful\nlife. But Gabriel\u2019s relations with the Father of his country belong to a\npart of his career with which Acadie had nothing to do, and which\ntherefore does not belong to this story. For him the long separation was\nin truth less hard than for the girl. He at least could drown the\ntorturing sense of powerlessness to aid her in constant activity, and in\na succession of duties and dangers; and the hours of his saddest thought\nwere often interrupted by some stirring call to arms.\n\nFar other was poor Margot\u2019s lot. Hers was that of endurance\u2014the hardest\nof all.\n\nThe day of her parting from Gabriel went heavily by; and when in the\nwaning afternoon she crouched in the long marsh grass while the tide\nfell lower and lower and still no craft appeared upon the waters, she\nwrung her hands in helpless anguish, knowing that in two short hours\nneither boat nor canoe could pass up or down the river; for of the\nMissaguash nothing would remain but deep red mud. Yet Gabriel came not,\nand the precious minutes flew.\n\nThe Herbes and herself, pressing far into the woods in the hope of\nreturning ere long to peaceful English soil, had missed the weighing of\nthe anchor at early dawn and the skimming seaward of the white-winged\nship bearing Margot\u2019s fondest hope with it. So the girl crouched in the\ngrass and waited, while the wife of Louis built a fire upon the firmer\nland and cooked from their scanty store of provisions.\n\nThen at last, breasting the falling tide, a canoe came creeping up the\nMissaguash; and though it came not down, as it should have done from the\nEnglish camp, Margot rose to her feet, and shading her eyes from the\nwestering sun, watched it with beating heart and a prayer on her lips.\nNearer and nearer\u2014but that was no bright head bending over the paddle,\nbut a dark and swarthy one\u2014the head of an Indian; and it was Jean\nJacques who presently grounded his little vessel, and slipped through\nthe long grass toward Margot, who was waiting sick at heart. The Micmac\nspoke first.\n\n\u201cMaiden,\u201d he said, \u201cWild Deer has sailed toward the setting of the sun.\nThe braves of his nation commanded and it was for Wild Deer to obey. But\nthe Micmac has found for thee a shelter until the youth comes again. Let\nus go quickly, ere the river too follow the sun.\u201d\n\nBitter indeed was the disappointment, but Margot faced it bravely. After\nall, though their fashion of faith was no longer the same, were not she\nand Gabriel both in the hands of the one God?\n\n\u201cI will go with thee, Jean Jacques,\u201d she said, after a moment\u2019s struggle\nwith her grief; \u201cbut Louis and Marie, they too desire to go. Whither do\nwe follow thee?\u201d\n\nThe Indian pointed down the Missaguash, where upon the opposite shore,\nremoved from the burned settlement some two or three miles and concealed\nfrom it by a bend in the river, pleasant farmhouses and cultivated acres\nbrooded in the hush of evening.\n\n\u201cAnd those good people will receive me?\u201d\n\nThe Indian nodded.\n\n\u201cAnd I can work,\u201d she added eagerly. \u201cI can work well, Jean Jacques.\u201d\n\nIt was true. The slender, dark-eyed maiden, though of a frailer build\nthan the majority of Acadian women, possessed the ambition they so often\nlacked.\n\n\u201cCome, then,\u201d urged Jean Jacques. \u201cThe white man and his squaw they must\nwait. The waters of the Missaguash droop in their bed.\u201d\n\n\u201cWilt thou come for the white man and his wife at the rising of the\ntide?\u201d\n\nThe Indian grunted in acquiescence.\n\n\u201cAnd thou, Jean Jacques, whither wilt thou go?\u201d\n\nHe pointed southward.\n\n\u201cAh, to the new fort! There thou wilt be safe.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd thither am I to bear thee, maiden, when the trail is safe for\nthee.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is well. And now, wait but the flashing of an arrow,\u201d cried the\ngirl, and was gone.\n\nThen, as Jean Jacques squatted in the marsh grass, there was borne to\nhim a sound which caused him to fall prone upon his stomach and crawl as\nthe snake crawls toward the woods. For the sound was the cry of the\npaleface maiden, and had not Wild Deer delivered her into the faithful\nkeeping of the Micmac?\n\nNow it was not sweet to the heart of Jean Jacques to turn his hand\nagainst those of his own tribe, well as he knew that the lambs of Le\nLoutre, with whom he had before his conversion, slain and pillaged many\na time, were in disposition rather birds of prey than lambs.\n\nOn the edge of the marsh he paused, lifting his head and gazing. To see\nwas to act. With the swift and silent motion of the true Indian the\narrow was on the string, and in a moment more buried in the heart of the\nfeathered brave with whom Margot was struggling. In the background knelt\na woman, clasping a crucifix to her bosom; beside her the prostrate form\nof a white man\u2014Louis Herbes and Marie, his wife.\n\nAs Jean Jacques sprang forward Marie screamed again, whilst Margot\nuttered a cry of joy.\n\n\u201cJean Jacques! It is our good Jean Jacques! Hasten, Marie! We will lift\nLouis, and bear him to the river. He is but wounded, he is not dead.\u201d\n\nWith the taciturnity of his race at a crisis Jean Jacques spoke not.\nWiser than Margot, he knew that the Micmacs never hunted singly, and\nthat if their coveted prey reached the river in safety\u2014well, the\nattempt could at least be made. As for the wounded man, he also knew\nthat, though enjoined by Le Loutre to do the Acadians no injury, the\nlambs constantly employed means more in keeping with their savage\nnatures than persuasion.\n\nMotioning to the women to take the feet of Louis, who was unconscious,\nhe raised him by the shoulders, and the small party began a hurried\nretreat through the marsh grass. Instinctively they all stooped as they\nwalked, and well it was for them that they did so, for more than one\narrow whistled over their heads.\n\n\u201cThe brave is now alone,\u201d grunted Jean Jacques in tones of satisfaction.\n\u201cAlone he fears Jean Jacques.\u201d\n\nMargot, panting and breathless, made no reply, but she rejoiced, knowing\nthat the Indian spoke truth. So doughty a warrior as he would not be\nattacked single-handed.\n\nThe canoe was already stranded by the falling tide, and the red mud was\nover ankle deep. Plunging into it, Jean Jacques, ably assisted by the\nstrong, thick-set Acadian Marie, laid Louis in the canoe, and all three\nproceeded to push it toward the sluggish, ever-narrowing river.\n\n\u201cGod and the Holy Mother be praised,\u201d ejaculated Marie, as impelled by\nthe paddle of the Indian the little vessel glided at last down the\nstream.\n\nThe words had scarcely left her lips when the air at her ear was cut by\nan arrow, which swept on to bury itself in the back of Jean Jacques.\n\nThe women uttered an exclamation of dismay, but the Indian, though his\nswarthy face went ashen gray, said not a word; only when Marie would\nhave extricated the arrow, muttered, \u201cTouch it not.\u201d\n\nFortunately there was a spare paddle in the canoe, and both women in\nturn put their whole strength into the work, so that aided by the tide\nthey made rapid progress. And well that so it was, for as the canoe bore\nup against a green promontory, upon which houses and groups of people\nwere visible, Jean Jacques fell forward on his face, the life-blood\ngushing from his nose and mouth. Willing arms lifted him and laid him\nupon the green turf, for the habitans had for some time been anxiously\nwatching the approaching canoe, and were ready with their aid. But\nMargot\u2019s first and only thought was for the faithful Micmac. Carefully\nas the arrow was withdrawn, the shock was too great; and as the girl\nbent weeping over him, it was but glazing eyes he raised to hers.\n\n\u201cWild Deer; tell Wild Deer.\u201d\n\nThen he fell back upon her arm and spoke no more.\n\nFaithful unto death, indeed, was this poor Indian. And, heretic though\nhe was, they laid him in consecrated earth, blessed by one of the\npriests who, French assertions to the contrary notwithstanding, were\nalways permitted to minister to their flocks upon English soil, unless\ndetected in acts of treachery.\n\n                 *        *        *        *        *\n\n[Illustration: \u201c\u2018Wild Deer; tell Wild Deer.\u2019\u201d]\n\nSo for a time poor, little, hunted Margot found peace and a refuge with\nher country people, but only for a time. When in a few months news of\nLawrence\u2019s return with a larger force reached the ears of Le Loutre he\nsent forth his Micmacs to destroy the cluster of homes yet remaining on\nthe English side of the water. The Acadians, caring not much for\nfighting any one, refused to obey his mandate and take arms against the\nredcoats, so fled in helpless terror, some to Halifax and Annapolis, but\nthe larger number across the Missaguash. Whether Le Loutre honestly\ndesired to found a settlement in this locality, or merely desired to\nvent his hatred for the English, cannot be rightly known; at all events\nhis calculations were at fault regarding a new settlement. The French\nshore was already crowded, and if he really entertained hopes of filling\nup the marsh and turning it into fertile land for the benefit of the\nrefugees, these hopes were defeated by the corrupt practices of his own\ngovernment, which cared not at all for the welfare of the unhappy\nAcadians, but used them merely as tools. Half clothed and half starved,\nthe men were at once put to hard, labor, with scanty or no remuneration.\nThe strong new fort of Beaus\u00e9jour, built in opposition to the less\nimposing one of Fort St. Lawrence, was the handiwork of Acadian\nrefugees. Even then they might not have fared so ill had the supplies\nactually sent by the French government ever reached their rightful\ndestination, but this was far from being the case. Official corruption,\nbad as it was throughout New France, was worse, probably, at Beaus\u00e9jour\nthan elsewhere. One of the most incompetent and unworthy of the numerous\n\u201coffice seekers,\u201d to use a modern term, was in command there, and the\n\u201cspoils system\u201d was at its height upon the shores of the Missaguash.\nVergor, the commandant, applied but a small portion of the food and\nclothing to the uses for which they were intended, and sent the large\nremainder back to Quebec, or to Louisbourg, where his confederates sold\nthem, greatly to his and their profit, but not at all to that of the\npoor Acadians.\n\nTerrified at Le Loutre, Vergor, the Micmacs, and French soldiers, not\nnaturally loving the foreign race across the water, yet craving peaceful\nhomes with them, the refugees dragged on a miserable existence, finding\nthemselves becoming daily more of a burden to their countrymen in the\nsettlements about Chipody. At length they resolved to inquire secretly\nof the English whether they would be allowed to return to their homes,\ncould they make their escape? The answer was that they could return if\nthey renewed the oath of fealty to the English crown, the oath they had\nso often broken in their weakness and vacillation. They would not be\nrequired by English law to bear arms, but if on the contrary they were\nfound fighting for, or aiding the French, they would be dealt with as\ntraitors. Among those who joined in this request were Margot\u2019s\nguardians, the Herbes, also the family with whom the fugitives had found\nshelter on the south bank of the Missaguash close to the Pont-\u00e0-Buot.\n\nFurious, indeed, was the anger of the _abb\u00e9_ when he heard of the\nbacksliding of his people. His ravings were rather those of a lunatic\nthan of an anointed priest, as he flung himself hither and thither in\nthe pulpit, calling down the wrath of God upon his recreant flock. And\nLe Loutre was a man who never stopped at mere words. So one night two\nthings happened; one, however, which had nothing to do with him.\n\nThe people for whom Margot worked in return for bare sustenance were not\nunkind, but they found Louis and Marie of more service to them, being\nstronger and stouter, and little Margot, in losing heart and hope, was\nlosing physical strength too. That night, as she crossed the meadows\nbehind the home-going cows, she was very sad. Slowly, very slowly, her\nfaith in the church of her fathers was being dragged up by the roots,\nand the fury of the _abb\u00e9_, his cruel words in the sacred building a few\nhours since, had uprooted it yet more. Yet she had no other spiritual\nguide but him\u2014none to direct her in new, untrodden ways. Gabriel, who\ncould have helped her, was far away. M. Girard she had not seen since\nthe burning of Beaubassin, and she feared that the good old man was in\ntrouble. It was working and waiting in the dark for Margot.\n\nAs she neared the marsh a sound struck on her ear.\n\n\u201cTst!\u201d\n\nShe glanced around fearfully, and her eyes fell on the head of an\nIndian, stealthily upreared.\n\nTerror of the Micmacs amounted to an inborn instinct among the Acadians,\nand common sense alone intervened to stay Margot\u2019s flying feet. Perhaps\nthe man had some message for her, a message from him who was ever in her\nthoughts. She paused, therefore, with as fair a show of courage as she\ncould muster.\n\n\u201cBe not afraid, maiden,\u201d said the Indian in broken French. \u201cCome nearer.\nBent Bow carries a message for thee from one whom Jean Jacques called\n\u2018Wild Deer.\u2019\u201d\n\nMargot\u2019s eyes brightened, and oblivious of fear she approached the\nIndian, who she now perceived was no Micmac. He held toward her a little\nbillet which she eagerly took. Now the good _cur\u00e9_ at Annapolis, at\nGabriel\u2019s earnest entreaty, had taught the cousins to read and write,\nand never was Margot more thankful than at this moment for the blessed\nprivilege, though she had often times found the lesson hour a toilsome\none.\n\n\u201cAh!\u201d she cried. \u201cI have nothing to give thee, Bent Bow, to reward thy\nfaithfulness. The poor Acadians have not so much as a handful of beads.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is enough that I bring thee the billet,\u201d replied the Indian, \u201cand\nthat I serve Wild Deer. Together, many moons from here, we drove before\nus the foreign devils, and there came a night on which the paleface\nyouth saved the life of the Indian brave.\u201d\n\n\u201cWilt thou see him again?\u201d cried the girl eagerly.\n\nBent Bow shook his head, and with a sign of farewell began to crawl away\nthrough the marsh grass.\n\n\u201cIs it well with Wild Deer?\u201d she called after him.\n\n\u201cIt is well.\u201d And she saw the messenger no more. Still walking behind\nthe cows, she read the precious letter:\n\n    MA COUSINE: Would that I knew it was as well with thee as it is\n    with me. But, alas! this I cannot know. Yet Jean Jacques is\n    faithful, and he has vowed to care for my pearl of price. Long\n    ere this he will have told thee why I failed to meet thee.\n    Margot, I have for leader one of the noblest young men God ever\n    created. It was a happy day for me when, through my father\u2019s\n    name, I was appointed to serve under such an one. Sad it is that\n    a soldier\u2019s life takes me far from thee, but I shall come again,\n    sweet cousin, to find thee safe and sheltered beside the\n    Missaguash, far from the cruel priest. The family to whom Jean\n    Jacques was to carry thee are known by me, and will protect and\n    cherish thee.\n\n\u201cAh, Gabriel,\u201d said Margot to herself, the tears upon her cheeks, \u201cwell\nis it that so much is hid from thee.\u201d\n\n    For I am coming back. Little is said, but Washington himself\n    thinks that some great move is to be made, and that the men of\n    New England are gathering, and that the governor of\n    Massachusetts and the governor of our poor distraught country\n    are planning alike against the French. Then I and others who\n    came southward with me will return. Till then, _ma cherie, mon\n    amie_, adieu. In English, though I have grown to like my\n    father\u2019s tongue, methinks these words are not so sweet.\n\n                                                          GABRIEL.\n\nAnd all the way along the meadows her heart sang, \u201cHe is coming back.\u201d\n\nBut at home a scene of confusion and distress awaited her.\n\nLe Loutre, not content with thunders from the pulpit, had been making a\nhouse to house visitation of those whom he considered the most\nrebellious members his flock. Among these were classed Louis Herbes and\nhis host, Fran\u00e7ois Marin. Banishment to Isle St. Jean, where many exiled\nAcadians were already in a fair way to starve, was the priest\u2019s usual\npunishment; and should any man refuse to obey, refusal was met by a\nthreat to permit the Micmacs to carry off, and possibly kill, his wife\nand children. A yet worse fate than banishment awaited Herbes and Marin.\n\nThat morning in the church Le Loutre had assured the signers of the two\ndocuments of appeal\u2014to the French and to the English governments\u2014that\nif they did not take their names from both papers they should \u201chave\nneither sacraments in this life nor heaven in the next.\u201d What could the\npoor, hunted Acadians do but obey? And even with obedience came\nbanishment for many. As for Herbes and Marin, they were given the\ngrievous permission to proceed to Quebec as deputies on behalf of the\nAcadians who desired to return to the English side of the river.\nGrievous permission, indeed! For even slow-witted Acadians were bright\nenough to understand that the _abb\u00e9_ would prepare the way before them\nin such a manner as to make their mission not only useless, but\nterrifying. And truly they were correct in their anticipations, for\nafter the visit Duquesne, the governor, wrote Le Loutre as follows:\n\n\u201cI think that the two rascals of deputies whom you sent me will not soon\nrecover from the fright I gave them.\u201d\n\nSuch was the heartlessness with which this unhappy race was treated.\n\n\n                               CHAPTER VI\n\nThe last sad scenes in the sad story of the Acadians in Acadie are now\ndrawing near. Possibly had those two patient gentlemen, Cornwallis and\nHopson, continued in command of the country, such scenes might never\nhave come to pass, or at least might have been long delayed. But, as we\nknow, Governor Lawrence was soon worn out by what he described as \u201cthe\nobstinacy, treachery, and ingratitude\u201d of the Acadians, and he and\nShirley, the governor of Massachusetts, determined to settle this\ntroublesome affair once and for all. The two governors knew, moreover,\nthat the French were merely waiting for a good excuse to attack the\nEnglish, whose defenses in Acadie were of the feeblest, and that if they\nhoped to be successful they themselves must strike the first blow.\n\nThe result of their decision was an act which has been well described as\nbeing \u201ctoo harsh and indiscriminate to be wholly justified,\u201d but which\nis explained by the fact that the Acadians \u201cwhile calling themselves\nneutrals, were an enemy encamped in the heart of the province.\u201d[1]\n\n-----\n\n[1] \u201cMontcalm and Wolfe.\u201d Francis Parkman.\n\nThe first step was to lay siege to Beaus\u00e9jour; and to the aid of the\nregulars flocked volunteers under the command of that warlike farmer,\nJohn Winslow. These men enrolled themselves under the orders of General\nMonckton, having responded to the call of the New England governor.\n\nIt was the afternoon of a June day when the two deputies wearied, cowed,\nand helpless returned home. Their passage through the settlements had\nbeen greatly delayed by the questions showered upon them by anxious\nhabitans, and it was late ere they arrived. Then again the tale of\nfailure had to be told, and listened to with tears and lamentations.\n\n\u201cIf the Acadians are miserable, remember that the priests are the cause\nof it,\u201d wrote a French officer to a French missionary.\n\nNews had quite recently come to Chipody, the adjacent settlement, that\nmany of the Acadians banished by Le Loutre to Isle St. Jean had found\ntheir way to Halifax, had taken the oath of allegiance to the British,\nwere reinstated in their former homes, and were being provided\ntemporarily with supplies by the English government. Yet it was not love\nfor the English that had drawn them back again\u2014simply the love of home\nand peace. The returned deputies had scarcely finished their tale when\nthe women began to try and persuade them to remove to Halifax,\nimmediately if possible.\n\nMargot alone neither wept nor argued. There was a hope within her breast\nthat would not die, a hope aroused by Gabriel\u2019s letter. She stole away\nfrom the clatter of tongues down to the edge of the marsh-grass. The sun\nwas near its setting, as it had been when she had waited in vain for\nGabriel so long, so very long, as it seemed to her, ago. Where was he\nnow? When would he\u2014\u2014 Then suddenly her heart stood still, to beat\nagain with mingled dread and expectation.\n\n[Illustration: \u201cFar away, at the mouth of the inlet . . . lay three small\n  ships.\u201d]\n\nFar away, at the mouth of the inlet, where it broadens into Chignecto\nBay, lay three small ships, English beyond a doubt.\n\nFor a minute Margot lingered, giving herself up to speculation. Then\nlike a bird she flew back to one of the rude and simple dwellings of the\nkind which even in happier days fulfilled the frugal Acadian\u2019s highest\nidea of home. Flinging open the door without ceremony she cried,\n\u201cEnglish ships in the bay!\u201d and sped upon her homeward course.\n\nHerbes and Marin and their wives were still planning and discussing, but\nthe words on their lips were checked by Margot\u2019s breathless ejaculation.\nIn silence they gazed at one another, with the characteristic slowness\nof their race. What was now to be done?\n\nMargot, whose mind moved more swiftly than those of most of her\ncountry-people, soon spoke again, with as much impatience as the habit\nof respect for her elders permitted.\n\n\u201cWhat shall we do, you say? Oh, good friends, let us escape to the\nEnglish ships, they will help us to Halifax! But oh, quick, quick!\u201d\n\n\u201cYou forget, maiden,\u201d said Marin with pompous rebuke. \u201cThere is the oath\nof allegiance in the way.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd what of that?\u201d cried all three women this time. Marie Herbes\ncontinuing:\n\n\u201cWhat hurt did the oath do us in the past? Did we not till our own land\nand gather in our crops unaffrighted and undisturbed?\u2014untaxed too? Did\nnot our own priests minister to us?\u201d\n\nA crafty gleam crept into the little eyes of Marin.\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d he said, \u201cand if we broke faith with our rulers for our good or\nadvancement, why\u2014pfui! What matter!\u201d He shrugged his shoulders and\nspread his hands. \u201cA small matter! Let the habitan take the oath anew,\nsaid the governor. But now\u2014now it is otherwise. As we came through the\nsettlement the new proclamation was made known to us. Should the\nFrench\u2014and verily are they not of our own blood? make fair offers,\nsuch, for instance, that under their rule too, we should live in peace,\nand it became the duty of a good habitan to give ear to them, what then?\nThen would we be called traitors, and meet the fate of such!\u201d\n\nMarie lifted her eyebrows, and made a little sound of dissension in her\nthroat.\n\n\u201cIt is true,\u201d he persisted doggedly.\n\n\u201cThe good friend is in the right,\u201d put in Herbes, speaking for the first\ntime. \u201cThis Governor Lawrence is not as the others, he is not to be\ncajoled.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut why should we break faith with the English?\u201d It was Margot who\nspoke in a low voice. \u201cWith the Acadians the French have never yet kept\nfaith.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat knows a young maid of great affairs such as these?\u201d growled Marin;\nwhile his wife added with a taunting laugh:\n\n\u201cBut thou must remember, _mon ami_, that the child has an English lover;\nwhat wouldst thou, then?\u201d\n\nThe color dyed Margot\u2019s cheek, then fled, leaving her very pale. But she\nwas, as we know, no moral coward, so she quickly controlled herself, and\nreplied quietly:\n\n\u201cPardon, madame, thou hast forgotten that my cousin\u2019s mother was an\nAcadian, even as we are, and that he himself was my cousin ere he was my\nlover. The country of his birth is dear to him, though whether he be yet\nalive I know not, or whether I shall ever see him more.\u201d\n\nHer voice choked, and her dark eyes filled. The good Marie clapped her\nbriskly on the shoulder crying vehemently:\n\n\u201cBe of a better courage, _mon enfant_! Thou and thy heretic will meet\nagain, never fear!\u201d\n\n\u201cSometimes it misgives me that our Margot is already part heretic\nherself,\u201d said Louis with a suspicious glare.\n\n\u201cShame on thee, shame on thee!\u201d protested his wife. \u201cAnd hast thou so\nsoon forgotten to be grateful? Could the maiden not have left us that\nday on the banks of the Missaguash\u2014you a mere helpless burden hindering\nher flight?\u201d Then, while Louis hung his head in abashed silence, she\nhastily brought the conversation back to its former subject. It was\nfinally decided that the whole party should proceed to the house of the\nneighbor whom Margot had warned of the arrival of the ships, there to\ndiscuss the advisability of further action. Thus slowly did the minds of\nAcadians work. The result was that the commandant at the fort received\nno notice of the enemy\u2019s approach until the small hours of the morning.\nThe attacking force was then at the very doors, and all was confusion\nand alarm. Messengers were sent in hot haste to Louisbourg for aid, and\nby alternate threats and promises the poor Acadians, who so much\npreferred to have their fighting done for them, were forced either to\nassist in the defense of the fort, or worse still, oppose the enemy in\nthe open.\n\nIt was a case of English regulars and provincials against French\nregulars and Acadians\u2014on the one side the whole heart, on the other but\nhalf a heart; for the French soldiers corrupted by corrupt officials,\nwere no match either in resolution for the stout New Englanders, or in\ndiscipline for the British troops. The Acadians and Indians sent out of\nthe fort were as mere puppets in the path of Monckton\u2019s army, and the\nsecond night beheld the invaders safely across the river and encamped\nwithin a mile of Beaus\u00e9jour.\n\nHerbes and Marin had of course been pressed into the service, but unlike\ntheir neighbors had decided to leave their families in the farmhouse\ninstead of hiding them in the woods. The crafty Marin declared that the\nhome was far enough from the scene of the conflict to insure safety, but\nin truth he depended far more upon the almost certain hope that Margot\u2019s\nEnglish lover would take care that she, therefore they, would not be\nmolested. By this it may be seen how vague were his notions concerning\narmy regulations, discipline, and so forth. Depending on this hope,\nhowever, the women and the two half-grown sons of Marin were left\nbehind, to listen to the distant roar and rattle of the bombardment of\nBeaus\u00e9jour,\u2014for the attack was not long in beginning. The wives told\ntheir beads, weeping and praying for the safety of their husbands, while\nMargot, pale and still, and alternating betwixt hope and fear, turned\nnow consciously in her petitions to the faith of him whom she loved. For\nMargot\u2019s nature like that of Gabriel, was clear and straightforward; and\nnow that the forms of the Catholic religion were getting to mean little\nto her, she faced the knowledge bravely, dropping these forms one by\none, striving to wait patiently until light and help should come; and\nthis lonely waiting amounted to heroism in a timid Acadian maid. But the\nlength of the loneliness, the yearning for counsel and support, was\nforming the girl\u2019s character, and ripening it as the seed ripens within\nthe pod. It was Margot, the woman, who now awaited the return of\nGabriel, and such a woman as she might never have become had she led the\neffortless, unaspiring existence of the average Acadian peasant, without\nmental struggle or any higher object than that of living from day to\nday.\n\nNews of the siege came but fitfully to the three women, bereft as they\nwere of neighbors and the usual neighborly gossip; for the inhabitants\nof the scattered houses, or rather huts, within reach had all fled to\nthe shelter of the woods. Now and then some head of a family, wearied of\nwhat seemed to him profitless combat, having succeeded in eluding the\nunwelcome task, paused at the farmhouse to drink a cup of milk on his\nway to rejoin wife and babes, and shake his head over the news he\nbrought; or a fugitive Indian, prowling along the river\u2019s bank, bade the\npaleface squaws make ready for flight, declaring that the great\nmedicine-man could not much longer induce the braves to hold the fort\nagainst the foe. But secure in their simple faith that Marin would\ncontrive to see Gabriel, and that Gabriel would protect them, the women\nrefused to face the perils of the forest.\n\nThe day was the sixteenth of June. For several days they had heard\nnothing, and growing hourly more anxious, the three would once and again\ndrop their household tasks, and stepping one by one to the door, call to\nthe boys perched upon the tall trees to know if aught might be seen or\nheard. When at last a shout went up, it chanced that all the women were\nin the house. As they ran out into the open, young Fran\u00e7ois cried:\n\n\u201cThey come, they come! a host of them!\u201d\n\n\u201cWho come?\u201d inquired his mother impatiently. \u201cSpeak, boy!\u201d\n\n\u201cI cannot yet tell, _ma m\u00e8re_; but yes, yes!\u201d\n\nAnd little Jules took up the cry:\n\n\u201cYes, yes! It is our own dear Acadians. And they laugh, they are glad,\nthey carry bundles and shout!\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd see the _bon p\u00e8re_, Jules; he waves his cap, he espies us!\u201d\n\nAnd sliding down the tree, Fran\u00e7ois was off and away, deaf to his\nmother\u2019s calls and commands, followed as promptly as the shortness of\nhis legs would permit by his little brother.\n\nWhat did it all mean? The three women left behind looked into one\nanother\u2019s eyes, with the unspoken query on their lips. Then, with an air\nof determination, the wife of Marin threw her homespun apron over her\nhead and went after her sons. Marie Herbes dropped upon the rude bench\nbefore the door, and began rapidly telling her beads, tapping her foot\nupon the ground meanwhile in an agony of impatience and anxiety.\n\nAnd Margot? For the lonely girl how much was now at stake! Leaning\nagainst the wall of the house, her hands idle for the reason that she no\nlonger owned beads to tell, her dark lashes resting on her pale cheeks,\nand a prayer in her heart for resignation if the worst was to be, she\nwaited.\n\nThen it was that for the first time she fully understood that she was\never hoping and praying for the success of the alien race; that she had\nceased merely to tolerate them for the sake of the peace they gave, but\nthat she had in very truth gone over,\u2014as a few others of her race had\ndone, and were doing,\u2014heart and soul to the enemy.\n\nUndoubtedly the siege of Beaus\u00e9jour was at an end; the question\ntrembling on the lips of the waiting women was, In whose hands was the\nvictory? For peaceful Acadians, released from the perils and toils of\nwar, would for the moment rejoice in either victory or defeat; both\nwould sound alike to them.\n\nWithout, the sun burned more and more hotly. Within, the soup in the\niron pot, hung above the crackling sticks, boiled\u2014presently boiled\nover. None heeded.\n\nHalf an hour dragged by, the minutes ticking slowly along in the old\nclock in the corner. Then Marie sprang to her feet.\n\n\u201cThey come!\u201d she cried.\n\nVerily they came\u2014a strange spectacle. Out of the woods and across the\nbridge poured a little horde of Acadians\u2014all Acadians, Margot saw in\none swift glance, many of them excited by the red French wine, but every\nman of them singing and shouting, as they tramped along laden with what\nwas evidently plunder from the fort.\n\n\u201cBeaus\u00e9jour has fallen\u2014has fallen!\u201d\n\nThus they sang, as if exulting in the defeat of an enemy.\n\nThe wife of Marin, almost as wild as the men, had loaded herself down\nwith part of her husband\u2019s burden, and her voice rang shrill above the\ntumult in response to Marie\u2019s vociferous queries:\n\n\u201cBeaus\u00e9jour has fallen, I tell thee. And the English have pardoned our\nmen because they said they but fought under compulsion. All is well.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut whence came this, and this?\u201d persisted the more practical Marie,\npointing to the motley collection of food, wearing apparel, wines, and\neven furniture, with which the ground was now littered.\n\nQuestions for long brought no coherent reply, and it was not until late\nin the afternoon, their comrades having scattered in search of their\nrespective families, that either Herbes or Marin was able to give a\nclear account of all that had happened.\n\nIt was significant of the religious dependence and docility of the\nAcadian nature that one of the first questions asked and answered should\nbe concerning the fate of Le Loutre. At the query the two men, who since\ntheir vain trip to Quebec had wavered somewhat in their allegiance to\nthe tyrannical _abb\u00e9_, shrugged their shoulders and spread their hands\nas those who knew nothing.\n\n\u201cBut, Louis,\u201d Marie cried, \u201cit is important that we know, for without\nhim are we not but lost sheep in the wilderness?\u201d\n\n\u201cAs to that, good wife, I cannot tell thee,\u201d answered Louis. \u201cWhen we\nleft that villainous fort _M. l\u2019Abb\u00e9_ was nowhere to be seen. Depend on\nit, he was with the commandant. All was hurry and confusion from the\nmoment the shell fell upon the officers\u2019 table while they sat at meat,\nkilling six of them, yes, six!\u201d Here he crossed himself, shuddering, and\nMarin took up the tale:\n\n\u201cYes, and the _bon Dieu_ alone knows how great was the wonder of the\nEnglish, who expected to fight many more days, when the white flag flew\nfrom the ramparts. _M. l\u2019Abb\u00e9_ I beheld everywhere then. He ran from one\nto the other, pleading that the flag of the coward, for so our brave\n_abb\u00e9_ called it, be taken in. Well, we Acadians know that he hath the\ngift of speech, but now it was in vain. The French were glad to cease\nthis foolish killing of men for naught, glad even as we were. So\npresently it was arranged that they should march out with the honors of\nwar,\u2014whatever honor there be in slaying and quarreling,\u2014and proceed at\nonce to Louisbourg. Then the officers fell to drinking and plundering\nere they departed, and we gathered up what little we could lay hands on,\nand so took leave with our pardon. Of the priest I saw no more. That is\nall that has happened.\u201d\n\nMargot, who during this recital had been leaning forward with clasped\nhands, at last ventured timidly, addressing Louis Herbes:\n\n\u201cAnd _mon cousin_; of him you saw nothing?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, little one,\u201d replied Louis kindly; \u201cbut, I learned that one\nGabriel, with another name that cracks the jaws even to think of, was\nmuch spoken of during the attack by reason of his valor, and that he\nfought well. Rather he than I,\u201d he concluded with a grimace.\n\nMargot fell back and said no more. She had all for which she had dared\nto hope; again she must wait, it was true, but this time not wholly\nuncheered.\n\nThe sun sank and the moon rose and the wearied household was wrapped in\nslumber, all but Margot, who leaned from the window of the shedroom she\noccupied apart from the common sleeping apartment, which according to\nAcadian custom also served for a kitchen. She had tried to sleep and had\nfailed.\n\nSecure in the pardon granted them by the English, heedless of the\nfuture, the Acadians were once more collected under their own rooftrees,\nand as Margot\u2019s eyes roamed along the banks of the Missaguash they\nrested with a sense of sympathetic peace upon the little farmhouses\ncontaining so many re-united families.\n\nYet it was strange how constantly on this night of apparent peace her\nmind reverted to the relentless priest who had caused herself and others\nso much misery. Involuntarily her mind strayed backward to the days when\nthey had all hung on every glance of that strong, imperious man, whose\nword was law to a weak and vacillating people, and who represented to\nthe simple villagers salvation here and hereafter. Now, in his hour of\ndefeat, how would it be? His influence had already waned, she thought.\n\nHer window was raised only a few feet from the ground and, unseen by\nher, a figure came gliding along in the shadow of the wide eaves.\nAnother moment and her quick ear had caught the sound of hushed steps,\nbut before the flashing thought had had time to concentrate in the cry,\n\u201cGabriel!\u201d a grasp of iron was laid upon her shoulder and a hand crushed\ndown upon her mouth.\n\nThere was a hideous interval before a word was spoken, after her\nterrified eyes had taken in the fact that she was in the clutches of one\nof the dreaded Micmacs. Then, was it with increased horror or with\nrelief that she recognized the voice which at last spoke?\n\n\u201cMargot! maiden!\u201d The whisper was harsh. \u201cIt is thy priest and father in\nGod who commands thy service.\u201d\n\nThe shock temporarily deprived the girl of power to reply, but finding\nthat she made neither struggle nor outcry, Le Loutre, for it was indeed\nhe, released her.\n\nThis man was her enemy, so ran her swift thought; he had robbed her of\nall that made life dear.\n\nNow Margot, though gentle in heart and deed, was human and intolerant,\nas the young usually are. Forgiveness of cruel wrong could only come\nthrough prayer and striving. She remembered the destroyed and abandoned\nhome, made desolate by this man; the beloved _gran\u2019-p\u00e8re_, dead from\nexposure and want; the beloved cousin, an outcast and a wanderer; and it\nwas this man who had done it.\n\nYes, she guessed what the priest wanted. He was a hunted fugitive. But\nwhy did he come to her, whom he had so greatly wronged?\n\nThen she remembered also the words Gabriel had once read to her from an\nancient printed page treasured by his mother as having been the property\nof his father: \u201cForgive us our trespasses as we forgive those that\ntrespass against us.\u201d\n\nShe was so long silent that the voice of Le Loutre had in it a quaver of\napprehension when he again addressed her, and when she looked up and\nsaw, even in the moonlight, how almost craven were the glances the once\narrogant priest cast over his shoulder into the dim, wide-stretching\nwoods, compassion as well as higher emotions was aroused, and her\nresolve taken.\n\n\u201c_M. l\u2019Abb\u00e9_,\u201d she said simply, \u201cthere are none here who would harm\ntheir priest, even should they awake. As for me, I will do what I can,\nand God will teach me to forgive you.\u201d\n\nAt the sound of such words from one of the least of his flock, the\npriest\u2019s imperious temper sprang to his lips. But the situation was too\nperilous for anger.\n\nNone here who would harm him? He was not over sure of that. The men, did\nnot they both believe he had harmed them? Yet all that he had done had\nbeen for their souls\u2019 good. And of a surety he knew his dear Acadians,\nwho for the sake of peace and freedom from alarms would hesitate, even\nthough the life of the guardian of those souls were at stake. But this\nmaiden, with her it was otherwise. True, she was half-heretic, but she\nwas made of sterner stuff than most of her compatriots. Her he felt sure\nthat he might trust.\n\nMinds work quickly in hours of danger, and it was but a minute before he\nreplied:\n\n\u201cI will pray for the salvation of thy soul, maiden, if yet it may be\nwon. But now,\u201d his voice in spite of him trembling with anxiety, \u201cwhere\nwilt thou conceal me until such time as my trusty Cope arrives to go\nwith me to Baye-Verte? There tarries my brother in God, Manach, and\ntogether we seek safety at Quebec.\u201d\n\nAt the name of Jean Baptiste Cope, the Micmac at whose hands Gabriel had\nendured so much, Margot\u2019s heart contracted with something like hatred.\nThere was a short, sharp struggle within her. This, then, was what\nforgiving your enemies meant? Oh, it was hard, hard! And this priest and\nthis Indian had injured so many, was it right to help them to escape?\n\nLittle did she guess the thoughts pouring forth from the _abb\u00e9\u2019s_\nfertile imagination as he watched her\u2014new thoughts, new ideas. Anxiety\nfor the maiden\u2019s soul, he would have said, was the mainspring of his\nintended actions, the desire to make one final effort to save her from\nperdition. Like many another too sure of his own holiness, the taint of\npersonal malice, personal revenge, ran like a dark and dirty thread\nthrough the whiteness of his own soul\u2019s garment. Le Loutre was as honest\nwith himself as he was able to be, and certainly his fanaticism was real\nand true.\n\nYet he judged Gabriel entirely by himself, by his own capacity for\nrighteous (?) hatred: Gabriel was at the head of the party searching for\nhim betwixt Beaus\u00e9jour and Baye-Verte, and it was for this reason that\nhe had made a wide d\u00e9tour, appointing the meeting with his factotum,\nCope, at a house where dwelt one who could be depended upon not to\nbetray him. Her influence over the young heretic, he believed, could\nalso be depended upon, should the fugitives be intercepted by him in\ntheir flight. Honor, loyalty to duty, counted for nothing in the\nestimation of the religious fanatic.\n\n\u201cIt is for her soul\u2019s salvation,\u201d he repeated to himself with pious\nemphasis. From the woods near by floated the quavering cry of a night\nowl.\n\n\u201cAwait me here, Margot,\u201d exclaimed the priest authoritatively, and\nstepping backward was lost in the shadows.\n\nForce of habit was strong, and still leaning from the window she\ninstinctively obeyed.\n\nA few minutes elapsed, and then the terrifying Indian, who no longer had\nterrors for her, re-appeared.\n\nBut this time no words passed. A brawny arm seized her by the waist,\nwhile at the same time a cloth was pushed into her mouth. Unable to\nutter a sound, she was dragged from the window, and borne away.\n\n\n                              CHAPTER VII\n\nWhen Gabriel, two or three days later, rode up to rejoin Monckton\u2019s\ncommand under the walls of Beaus\u00e9jour, his heart\u2014despite his failure to\ncapture the fugitive priest\u2014beat high with joyful anticipation, for\nMonckton had promised that upon his return he should be given a few\nhours to visit his cousin and assure himself that all was indeed well\nwith her. The general himself was subject to the orders of Governor\nShirley, and Gabriel had come to him with a letter of recommendation\nfrom George Washington. Washington, himself a Virginian, rightly guessed\nthat the young soldier, of English birth and bound to Virginia by ties\nof blood and sympathy, would not harmonize comfortably with the New\nEngland Puritans under Winslow.\n\n\u201cThe maiden were best at Halifax,\u201d had been Monckton\u2019s comment on\nhearing Gabriel\u2019s briefly told tale. \u201cThere abide many of her people.\u201d\n\nBest! Yes, how far best! But wishes were vain.\n\nThe general, when Gabriel arrived in camp, was busy in his tent, and\nmerely waved his hand hurriedly as the young man saluted and began to\nmake his report.\n\n\u201cI know, I know!\u201d he exclaimed. \u201cThe rascally priest has slipped through\nour fingers, disguised as one of his infernal Micmacs, I understand.\nWell, the country is well rid of him. I shall soon have other work for\nyou.\u201d\n\nChancing to glance up, something in his lieutenant\u2019s face struck\nhim\u2014something in the tense eagerness of the fine, soldierly figure.\n\n\u201cSpeak,\u201d he said kindly, \u201cwhat is it?\u201d\n\nThen suddenly he remembered, and a smile illumined his anxious, rather\nworn face, while that of Gabriel flushed in response.\n\n\u201cAh, I bethink me. Well, rest and eat, and then go to the house on the\nMissaguash where dwells the cousin. Ere long I will have less pleasant\nwork for you.\u201d\n\nThe color ebbed from Gabriel\u2019s face. He longed to inquire further; to\nask if the rumor were true that in consequence of persistent refusal to\ntake the oath of allegiance the Acadians were to be expelled from\nEnglish soil, from the places of refuge still left them by the French\nafter forcing them from their former homes. Poor, unhappy people; driven\nlike sheep before the wolves! But discipline forbade anything but prompt\nand silent obedience. And, as an hour or two later, he swung at a gallop\ntoward the home of Herbes and Marin, of whose precise locality he had\nbeen informed by a friendly Acadian, his high hopes of the morning were\ntinged with gloomy forebodings.\n\nOne by one the French forts were falling into English hands, and in a\nfew days Acadia would once more be an English province. Already the land\nover which he rode\u2014called the Chignecto district\u2014belonged no more to\nFrance.\n\nAcross the bridge he thundered, and there in the midst of the meadows\nstood the rough cabin and outlying sheds inhabited by those he sought.\nFaster and faster flew the horse, conscious of his rider\u2019s impatience,\nand Marin, lolling on a bench before the door, arose in mingled alarm\nand curiosity. To the women and children, crowding to the front at the\nsound of galloping hoofs, the young soldier was a splendid apparition as\nhe sprang from his excited steed and greeted them bareheaded, the glory\nof the May sun in his ruffled blonde curls, and his eyes shining blue as\nthe waters of far Chignecto Bay.\n\nThen of a sudden knowledge came to Marie.\n\n\u201cAh, the cousin!\u201d she ejaculated; and then could say no more. How could\nshe tell him?\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d he cried, \u201cI am Gabriel. Where is Margot?\u201d\n\n\u201cAh, _la pauvre petite_! Who knows?\u201d\n\nAnd the kind-hearted woman threw her apron over her head and burst into\nloud sobs, in which she was joined by Julie, the wife of Marin.\n\nFrantic as he was with anxiety, Gabriel could extract nothing coherent\nfrom either the women or Marin, the latter a stupid fellow at best, with\njust enough brains to be suspicious and obstinate; but fortunately Louis\nHerbes arrived on the scene, and from him the sad tale was forthcoming.\n\n\u201cNevertheless he was no Indian,\u201d concluded Louis shrewdly, glancing over\nhis shoulder and speaking in a whisper; \u201cit was _M. l\u2019Abb\u00e9_ himself.\u201d\n\n\u201cHow knowest thou that?\u201d growled Marin.\n\n\u201cI do know it,\u201d asserted Herbes with quiet confidence. \u201cThere were some\nwho also knew and told. I have spoken aloud and sorely of the loss of\nour Margot.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, _bon ami_,\u201d sneered Marin. \u201cNow tell it all. Give _le bon pr\u00eatre_\ninto the hands of the heretics.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhom I may trust, that also I know,\u201d exclaimed Louis vehemently,\nturning upon his friend. . . Then more calmly, \u201cNo matter for that. _M.\nl\u2019Abb\u00e9_ is out of Acadie ere now, and we, say I, are well rid of him.\nOnly grief and trouble did he bring us.\u201d\n\nHe glanced around defiantly, but the little group remained passive.\nGabriel stood apart, his face hidden in his horse\u2019s mane. At length he\nspoke:\n\n\u201cAnd thou knowest no more, good Louis? Thou hast no clue?\u201d\n\n\u201cThis only: that from Baye-Verte _M. l\u2019Abb\u00e9_, and his brother priest\nmade sail for Quebec, and it was said that he would leave our Margot at\nIsle St. Jean, where is a goodly colony of our people, driven out of\nAcadie long since and living miserably.\u201d\n\nGabriel groaned. Julie stepped forward and laid a kindly hand upon his\nshoulder.\n\n\u201cBetter that than the Indians,\u201d she exclaimed in the sanguine tones\nhabitual to her. \u201cAnd something tells me that _la petite_ escaped. Who\nknows? She may have made her way to Halifax.\u201d\n\n\u201cImpossible!\u201d returned Gabriel sadly. \u201cAll alone, those many leagues?\u201d\n\n\u201cBut,\u201d put in Herbes confidently, \u201cthere was a party of our country\npeople landed at Baye-Verte from that melancholy isle, on their way to\nHalifax to take the oath of allegiance. One party had already done so,\nwith the result that they were reinstated in their old homes and\nfurnished by the heretic English with provisions for the winter. This\nsecond party looked for the same indulgence, if not too late. Who knows?\nthe maiden may have joined them. One coming hither from Baye-Verte vowed\nthat he saw her not with the priests.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd I?\u201d exclaimed Gabriel, in a sudden burst of anger with himself,\n\u201cwhy did not I capture that man, who over and over again has brought\nmisery into my own life and the lives of all dear to me? From Beaus\u00e9jour\nto Baye-Verte it is but twelve miles, and meseemed I rode with my\ncompany over every inch of it, yet saw neither priest nor Indian.\u201d\n\nThe face of Louis took on a peculiar expression.\n\n\u201c_M. le Capitain_,\u201d he said, \u201cit hath been related of us that we, the\nAcadians, love gold. And why not?\u201d shrugging his shoulders and spreading\nhis hands. \u201cGold, it is good, and we are poor. _M. l\u2019Abb\u00e9_ has gold\nalways, and so there are those who would hide and help him, even though\nhe be shorn of his strength. Also, is he not our father in God?\u201d Here\nhis expression became devout, and he crossed himself. \u201cAlso, there are\nsome who have wearied of his rule\u2014worse, say I, than that of a dozen\nkings\u2014and would speed him in his flight.\u201d\n\nBut Marie interrupted her husband:\n\n\u201cYes, Halifax,\u201d she cried, whirling on the two men; \u201cand was it not your\nwife, she who knows nothing, and the wife of the good friend, and _la\npetite_ herself, women all, who gave you the wise counsel to go to\nHalifax while yet there was time, and take the honorable oath of\nallegiance, and live in peace in the fair Annapolis meadows, and you\nwould not? What have the French done for us, I ask thee once more? What\nmatter the flag? I tell thee once again. Give us peace in the homes of\nour fathers.\u201d\n\nAnd at the thought, Marie wiped the tears of memory from her eyes.\n\nLouis continued silent, and Marin it was that answered with a shrug.\n\n\u201cNo need to weep, _bonne femme_! There is yet time. The English are a\ndull race. They permit themselves to be deceived once and yet again.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut not again,\u201d put in Gabriel sternly. \u201cLook you, Marin, and you too,\nfriend Herbes, you would have done well to listen to the sage counsel of\nyour wives, and of the little Margot,\u201d here his voice faltered, \u201cwho was\never wise, and for whose safe keeping so long I owe you all thanks which\nmay not be measured. Yet I tell you, England\u2019s lion may sleep long, but\nhe wakes at last; so hath it ever been. Our governors, Cornwallis,\nHopson, were men of large and tender heart; they forgave and forbore.\nWith this governor it is otherwise; with Governor Shirley is it also\notherwise; these are men who will not forbear; they strike, and they\nstrike hard. Greatly I fear me that naught will avail you now; yet I\nknow nothing absolutely.\u201d\n\nHe mounted his horse, and held out his hand to the group, all the\nbrightness gone from his young face. But they clung to him, unwilling to\npart from their last hope, beseeching him to intercede for them,\npromising that if he succeeded they would start for Halifax at once,\nsearching constantly for the maiden by the way.\n\n\u201cAlas, good friends!\u201d replied the young man sadly, \u201cI am insignificant.\nNo word of mine has weight with general or governor, although it is true\nthat Monckton favors me somewhat. My time, my person, are at the\ndisposal of my superiors. I cannot even go myself to search for and\nrescue the beloved! Even with you, my friends, I have lingered too\nlong.\u201d\n\nHe pressed each hand in turn.\n\n\u201cBut you will try, _M. le capitain_?\u201d they cried in chorus.\n\n\u201cI will try. But I am not even a captain!\u201d\n\nHe smiled kindly upon them, but in his eyes was a sorrow akin to\ndespair. Another moment, and the thunder of his horse\u2019s hoofs sounded\nupon the bridge.\n\nIt was as he foretold. The long years of indulgence were at an end. The\nstorm so slow in gathering broke at last with the fury of the\nlong-delayed. Winslow and Monckton, the New England and the British\ngenerals, their tempers ruffled by distasteful duty, were already\ninclined to fall out; and Gabriel soon saw that in order to intercede\nsuccessfully for his Acadian friends he must bide his time. But the\nperemptory orders sent by Governor Lawrence neither general was in a\nhurry to carry out; and so it happened that one day Gabriel perceived\nhis chance and seized it.\n\n\u201cThey are friends of yours, you say?\u201d said Monckton, \u201cand cared for the\ncousin in her time of need? How came it, then, that they gave her not\nbetter protection now? They tell you she is safe, but how know they? How\nknow you?\u201d\n\n\u201cAh, if I did but know!\u201d broke from the young soldier involuntarily.\nThen controlling himself, he proceeded: \u201cGeneral, the women of the\nhousehold have long striven with the men that they should return to live\nunder the English flag. Herbes and Marin were among those who signed the\npetition to the French and English governments that they should be\nallowed to do so, thereby grievously displeasing Le Loutre, so that he\nselected these men to go to Quebec as deputies, well knowing the\nreception that awaited them there. Thus did he punish them; and my lord\ncan guess that it was punishment indeed!\u201d\n\nMonckton half smiled; then rubbed his forehead in weariness and\nperplexity. Finally he said:\n\n\u201cWell, lieutenant, go! But bid them do quickly that which they desire.\nThe order has gone forth, and in a day or two at farthest I may spare\nnone.\u201d\n\nSo once more Gabriel flew across the Missaguash, and although he could\nhear nothing more of Margot, he at least had the consolation of feeling\nthat he had saved her benefactors, and that there was always hope she\nmight be found at Halifax, whither the party started that same night in\ntheir ox-wagons, driving their milch-cows before them.\n\n\n                              CHAPTER VIII\n\nAnd now followed bitter days indeed. A merciless guide and shepherd\nmight Le Loutre have been, but at least in him the helpless flock had\nfound a leader; he had forsaken them, and like silly sheep they ran\nhither and thither, halting more than ever betwixt two opinions. Looking\nvainly to the French for assistance, they shilly-shallyed too long with\nthe oath of allegiance to the English government, and began to reap the\nterrible harvest accruing from long years of deceit and paltering with\nhonor. It has been written that a man may not serve two masters, and too\nlate the unhappy Acadians realized the truth of these words.\n\nGabriel gave thanks that it was the New England troops that were sent\nout from Beaus\u00e9jour, re-christened Fort Cumberland, to gather in all the\nmale Acadians in the vicinity, since but a small proportion had obeyed\nthe summons to report themselves at the fort. But he rejoiced too soon.\nWinslow was soon ordered to the Basin of Mines, and especially requested\nthat the lieutenant who had distinguished himself during the siege might\naccompany him with a few regulars.\n\nThe entire Basin of Mines, including the village of Grand Pr\u00e9, having\nbeen left comparatively undisturbed by Le Loutre and his \u201clambs,\u201d still\ncontinued to be prosperous Acadian settlements; and it was therefore\nupon them that the storm broke most destructively, and it was there,\nperhaps, that the saddest scenes in this sad history took place. Yet it\nwas here too, that the people had benefited most by the lenient English\nrule, and had shown themselves most unreliable and treacherous; or, to\nspeak more accurately, had yielded with the greatest weakness to the\n_abb\u00e9\u2019s_ instigations, in particular as regarded the disguising of\nthemselves as Indians that they might plunder English settlements. By\nthis means they had saved their own skins, so to speak, and had been\nspared many persecutions at the hands of Le Loutre. And now these\nunhappy peasants, too dull of brain to thoroughly understand what they\nwere bringing upon themselves, refused to sign the oath of allegiance\n\u201cuntil after further consideration.\u201d Already six years of such\n\u201cconsideration\u201d had been granted them by the indulgence of former\ngovernors; and instead of considering, they had been acting,\u2014acting the\npart of traitors. As has been said, the present governors of New England\nand Nova Scotia were in no mood for longer dalliance, even had they been\nable to afford it. If more time were given, the French, whose forces\nwere the stronger, might regain all they had lost. The Acadians were\naware of the superior strength of France, and this knowledge was one of\nthe causes of their suicidal tardiness.\n\nIt was with a gloomy brow, therefore, that Gabriel stood one bright\nSeptember morning at the window of the vicarage at Grand Pr\u00e9, gazing\nforth upon the rich farms and meadowland spread before him, backed by\nthe azure of mountain and water. Winslow was a thorough soldier, if a\nrough man; and, like every officer, regular or colonial, loathed his\ntask, though convinced of its necessity. At Fort Edward, farther inland,\nhe had found both sympathy and good fellowship in the English lieutenant\nstationed there; but sociabilities had to end now, although a friendly\nintercourse was kept up, Winslow and Murray remaining on the best of\nterms throughout their detested work.\n\nThe two officers had decided not to interfere with the farmers until the\ncrops were gathered; but as Winslow\u2019s force was greatly outnumbered by\nthe Acadians, he put up a palisade around the church, graveyard, and\nvicarage, thus making a kind of fort. Before doing so, however, he had\ndirected the Acadians to remove from the church all sacred emblems lest\nthrough the bigotry and fanaticism of the Puritan soldiers these revered\ntreasures should be destroyed.\n\nThe New Englander expressed his own feelings thus, in a letter to his\ncommanding officer: \u201cAlthough it is a disagreeable path of duty we are\nput upon, I am sensible it is a necessary one, and shall endeavor\nstrictly to obey your excellency\u2019s orders.\u201d\n\nWinslow and Murray arranged to summon the habitans at the same day and\nhour, in order that the stunning blow might fall on their respective\ndistricts at once. A natural antipathy, needless to say, existed betwixt\nthe Puritan soldiers of New England and the habitans of Acadia. The\nformer, moreover, were hardened by a life of struggle and difficulty in\na climate and with a soil less genial than that of Acadie; and these\nsoldiers belonged to the same age and race that put to death helpless\nwomen for witchcraft and hanged harmless Quakers for the crime of\nrefusing to leave the colony of Massachusetts. Yet even they must at\ntimes have felt some pity for the unfortunate peasants, driven from\ntheir peaceful homes. Le Loutre, however, had felt none during all the\nyears he had been at the same work.\n\nWhen the hour arrived in which the assembled Acadians were to be told\nthat they were prisoners, Gabriel had begged of Winslow\u2019s clemency that\nhe might be absent from the church; and now, as he stood sadly at the\nwindow of the vicarage parlor, the door of the room was softly pushed\nopen, and Marin stood before him. His little eyes were restless with\nfear, and his naturally crafty countenance was drawn and pale.\n\nGabriel uttered an exclamation, and sprang forward.\n\n\u201cTchut!\u201d The peasant put his finger to his lips. \u201cI was in Halifax, eh,\n_M. le Capitain_?\u201d he whispered. \u201cNay, but here am I at Grand Pr\u00e9\u2014and\nso much the worse for a good Catholic! I said, I have tricked these\nheretics before and I will trick them again. It is a good deed\u2014but this\ntime the holy saints were not with me.\u201d\n\nThe young officer made a gesture of despair and disgust.\n\n\u201cBut, friend Marin, what of thy given word? Didst thou not promise me\nthat if I obtained permission for thee to go to Halifax, thither thou\nwouldst go?\u201d\n\nThe man shrugged his shoulders.\n\n\u201cAssuredly. But what of that? One more or less\u2014what matters it? At\nGrand Pr\u00e9 no foolish oath was then required\u2014at Halifax, yes!\u201d\n\n\u201cBut how didst thou escape from the church?\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, that was not difficult. We were caught, we men, as rats in a trap;\nbut the general yielded to our tears and prayers, and we are to choose\ndaily twenty to go home and console the wives and children. I am among\nthe first lot chosen, and\u2014\u2014\u201d\n\nGabriel interrupted him impatiently.\n\n\u201cBut Louis Herbes, is he also at Grand Pr\u00e9?\u201d\n\n\u201cAlas, no! the wife, she was too strong. They proceeded to Halifax. I\ntoo desire to go thither now if thou, who art of Acadie, wilt aid me.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhen thou needest help before, I was of the hated English,\u201d retorted\nthe young man grimly. \u201cBut be I what I may, English or Acadian, I serve\nhonor first\u2014and so bethink thee!\u201d\n\n\u201cHonor? Assuredly, _M. le Capitain_! Yet listen.\u201d He came nearer,\nlowering his voice to a whisper. \u201cI come not back, hearest thou?\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd what of thy countrymen here? Of a certainty they will be held\nanswerable for thy treachery.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat will be thy part to arrange,\u201d observed Marin coolly.\n\nGabriel, ever quick to act, sprang upon the peasant and seized him by\nthe collar of his blouse. For a moment anger deprived him of the power\nof speech. Then\u2014\n\n\u201cAnd thou wilt make me traitor too!\u201d he cried. \u201cAlmost I could wish that\nno blood of Acadie ran in my veins!\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd Margot\u2014is she not Acadian?\u201d\n\nMarin was quite unabashed, and there was a leer in the small eyes he\nturned up to the young giant who held him as a mastiff holds a rat.\n\nAt the name of Margot, Gabriel loosed the man, covered his eyes with his\nhands and sank into a chair.\n\n\u201cAh, Margot!\u201d he groaned.\n\n\u201cYes, Margot, I say again. Thou wilt let me go, and thou wilt swear that\nthou knowest of a truth that I overstayed my time, and was drowned in\nthe marshes hurrying hither in the darkness of the night, that thou\ndidst strive to save me and failed. The salt marshes receive the dead,\nand cover them kindly. All this thou dost know, and my good character\nalso. Who will doubt the word of a brave soldier?\u201d\n\n\u201cA clumsy plot, indeed, even were I willing to forswear my honor for\nthee!\u201d\n\nGabriel had his friend by the collar again.\n\n\u201cRelease me, or I will not tell thee what I know!\u201d ejaculated Marin\nsullenly.\n\n\u201cTell, and be done!\u201d\n\nThe young man let go of his prisoner so suddenly that the fellow nearly\nfell upon the floor.\n\n\u201cNot so fast, my brave _capitain_!\u201d Marin was eying him now from a safe\ndistance. \u201cNot a word of the _belle cousine_ dost thou win from me until\nI have thy promise to aid me to escape.\u201d\n\n[Illustration: \u201c\u2018And thou wilt make me traitor too,\u2019 he cried.\u201d]\n\nGabriel was silent.\n\n\u201cIt is as I say. I know where Margot is to be found, but\u2014\u2014\u201d Marin\npaused expressively.\n\nGabriel still did not answer. When at last he spoke, his voice was low\nand stern.\n\n\u201cMarin, I owe thee somewhat in that thou didst open thy doors to my\ncousin and her friends in their time of stress. Thou hast said that I am\nAcadian. True! But also am I English, and an English soldier and a\nProtestant. There is my faith and my honor\u2014both forbid a lie. Not even\nfor Margot can I do this thing.\u201d\n\nHis voice broke, and he turned away. Well, he knew the combined\nobstinacy and ignorance of the typical Acadian peasant, such as in some\nsort Marin was, and he hoped nothing. Marin, on the contrary, not\nunderstanding the situation, would not give up, and, in the few\nremaining minutes left uninterrupted, worked his hardest. The temptation\nwas sore indeed, and by the time his tormentor was summoned to accompany\nthe deputies, Gabriel\u2019s young face was pale and drawn with the struggle.\n\n\u201cTell me but one thing,\u201d he said ere they parted, \u201cis it well with her?\u201d\n\n\u201cWell? How know I?\u201d retorted the Acadian, surveying the result of his\nwork with mingled complacency and disgust. \u201cPerhaps!\u201d\n\nBut for the tremendous pressure already being put upon his unhappy\ncommander by the events of this fifth day of September, Gabriel would\nhave gone directly to him, and despite his gratitude to Marin for past\nservices, would have requested that he be detained until he should\nreveal the whereabouts of Margot. But Winslow, New England Puritan\nthough he might be, was finding, in common with his English\nbrother-in-arms at Fort Edward, \u201cthings very heavy on his heart and\nhands\u201d; so Gabriel forebore to trouble him with his own matters.\n\nAnd if his superior\u2019s heart was heavy, how much heavier was his\u2014born\nand reared an Acadian of the Acadians, and now with personal loss and\ngrief added to his other sorrows!\n\nMarin, though crafty and self-seeking, had not the daring to break his\nword, unsheltered as he was by Gabriel from the righteous wrath of his\ncompatriots; so night saw him back within the stockade. He kept his\nsecret, nevertheless, and neither persuasion nor threats prevailed with\nhim. The rest of the prisoners were all strangers to Gabriel, and had\nnever heard of him before; and for reasons of his own, Marin kept their\nprevious acquaintance dark.\n\nAs the days went on, and the prisoners increased in number both at Fort\nEdward and Grand Pr\u00e9, the commanding officers grew uneasy. The\ntransports that were to bear away the Acadian families with their\nhousehold goods were slow in arriving, and it would have been easy for\nthe prisoners, had they been men of courage and resolution, to overpower\ntheir guards and escape. Unfortunately the Acadian character possessed\nnone of those qualities necessary for the preservation of freedom, or\nfor the reclaiming of it if lost. Gabriel\u2019s duties kept him constantly\nwithin the stockade; and the small force having no horses with them, and\nthe village of Grand Pr\u00e9, together with the other settlements,\nstraggling for many miles, he had never been within a league of the\nhouse of Marin or encountered any chance acquaintance. The times were\ntoo strenuous, the crisis too tremendous, to permit of the least\nrelaxation on the part of a loyal officer.\n\nBut although the transports delayed, ships from Boston came and anchored\nin the Basin. Winslow thereupon resolved to place about half of his\nprisoners upon these ships, and keep them there for better security\nuntil the transports should arrive. To Gabriel, because of his complete\nunderstanding of the language and the nature of his fellow-countrymen,\nthe general left the hard task of explaining to the prisoners what was\nrequired of them, and of persuading them to submit quietly.\n\nAll were very silent as they stood in the churchyard guarded by\nsoldiers. Winslow himself kept rather in the background, leaving his\nsubordinate to enact the part of principal in this trying scene. The\ngeneral, though a good soldier and popular with his men, had hitherto\npassed for a person somewhat ignorant and over-much addicted to\nself-satisfaction. But in the last few weeks he had had little\nopportunity for satisfaction even with himself. \u201cThis affair is more\ngrievous to me than any service I was ever employed in!\u201d was his\nconstant lament. And now, as he stood quietly watching Gabriel, he\nobserved for the first time the change in the young man. He was pale and\nwan, and his eyes wore the look of one who is forever seeking and never\nfinding.\n\nIn a low, clear voice he announced the decision of the general, assured\nthem of their perfect safety, and also that the wives and children of\nthe married would soon be restored to them.\n\nFor a while a great murmuring prevailed, which Gabriel was powerless to\nsubdue; it seemed as if, despite every effort, bloodshed must be the\nresult of the manifesto. The New England soldiers, as has been said, had\nlittle sympathy with the \u201cidolaters,\u201d and were ready at a word to make\nshort work of them. But Winslow was reluctant to say that word, and ere\nlong Gabriel had the prisoners once more under control. A given number\nof unmarried men were then selected, these being sent off under guard to\nthe ships; after them were to follow a smaller number of married men.\n\nGabriel stood like a figure carved in stone at the head of his handful\nof soldiers, whilst the commanding officer himself selected the Acadian\nhusbands and fathers. Suddenly, before the guard could interfere, a\nfigure hurled itself out of the chosen group and precipitated itself\nupon Gabriel, while a voice shrieked:\n\n\u201cThou, thou who art an Acadian, thou canst save me! me, who took the\ncousin into my house and fed and sheltered her! Answer, dost hear?\u201d\n\nBut Gabriel was on duty, and made as though he neither heard nor saw.\nShaking Marin from his arm, he motioned to his men to replace him in the\nranks.\n\nWinslow\u2019s curiosity, ever active, was, however, aroused, and seizing his\nopportunity, he drew his subordinate to one side and questioned him.\nGabriel replied with his customary brevity and straightforwardness.\n\n\u201cAnd why did you not come at once to me, sir?\u201d rejoined Winslow, puffing\nand mopping his fat, red face.\n\nThe young man stated his reasons, adding that though Marin might\npossibly know where Margot was, no reliance was to be placed upon the\nword of a man who was concerned only for his own comfort and had no\nrespect for truth.\n\n\u201cThat may be, that may be,\u201d fussed the kind-hearted general. \u201cBut,\nlieutenant, you will now conduct these men to the ships. Their women\nwill of a surety line the way along which you have to pass. Assure them\nof my permission to visit their men-folk daily until this troublesome\njob be at an end\u2014as God grant it may be ere long. Your eyes may be on\nthe women as well as on your duty, eh? You are young, yet I have proven\nyou worthy of trust.\u201d\n\nSo saying, the general bustled off, and shortly after the gates of the\nstockade were again opened and the procession started for the shores of\nthe Basin.\n\nFor one of Gabriel\u2019s years and position the task set him, though kindly\nintentioned, was a heartbreaking one. But a few miles distant, near the\nmouth of the Annapolis River, he and Margot had been born and reared. In\nspite of his manhood, or perhaps because he was so true a man, the hot\ntears rose to his eyes, kept from falling only by the might of his iron\nwill; for all along the wayside toward the water\u2019s edge kneeled or stood\nthe wives and children of the men tramping beside him through the late\nsummer\u2019s dust, gazing as they passed not merely on those wives and\nchildren, but upon the wide and fertile meadows whose harvests they\nshould never gather more.\n\nAt intervals as he walked Gabriel proclaimed the general\u2019s behests and\npromises; and one or two women, who knew now for the first time of his\npresence in the neighborhood and recognized him, pressed forward to\nclasp his hands and cover them with tears, and plead with the man who,\nas a little babe, they had held upon their strong knees and pressed to\ntheir broad Acadian bosoms. Unable longer to endure in silence, on his\nown account he at length called a halt, and in loud, ringing tones spoke\nthese words:\n\n\u201cFellow-countrymen, I serve my general, and him I must obey. But his\nheart, even as my own, is heavy for your sufferings, and again I tell\nyou that your husbands and fathers are not being borne away from you.\nThey will remain on the ships but a short distance from the shore, and\nevery day you can visit them until such time as the transports arrive\nand you all sail away together, you and your children and your household\ngoods. Grieve not, then, for loss which is not yours.\u201d\n\nConcluding his brief address he stepped down from the low mound upon\nwhich he had mounted, and confronted the wife of Marin. Evidently she\nbelonged to the class of women whose indifference had so greatly\nastonished the English lieutenant; for her face was calm, and she smiled\nas she met Gabriel\u2019s eyes. It was impossible for him to pause longer,\nbut although her husband\u2019s malevolent gaze was riveted upon her, Julie\nextended her hand and caught that of the young officer as he swung past\non the march.\n\n\u201cLook for me at the church,\u201d she whispered, \u201cat the hour of vespers.\u201d\n\nGabriel\u2019s impulsive heart leaped within him, and in an instant a\nthousand wild hopes and imaginings were seething in his brain; and the\nwomen, being appeased and many of them hurrying homeward to prepare\nmeals to carry to the ships, he was left unmolested. He concluded his\ntask without further difficulty, and returned to the church.\n\nThe general, relieved from pressing anxiety, was in a mood to satisfy\nhis natural curiosity, and having received his lieutenant\u2019s formal\nreport, began to ply him with questions respecting his personal affairs.\nGabriel answered without reserve.\n\n\u201cMark me, sir!\u201d exclaimed Winslow delightedly, \u201cthe maiden comes hither\nthis night with the woman. Then will we have some romance in these\nmelancholy times.\u201d\n\nAnd forgetting his dignity, he clapped his subordinate violently on the\nshoulder. And Gabriel found nothing to say.\n\n\n                               CHAPTER IX\n\nBut Winslow was in error. The wife of Marin came alone, and Gabriel\u2019s\nyearning eyes traveled in vain beyond the sturdy figure of the Acadian\npeasant woman for the slight one of his cousin.\n\nThe meeting took place in the general\u2019s private parlor.\n\n\u201cAh, you expected _la petite_!\u201d began Julie volubly, \u201cbut that may not\nbe\u2014not yet.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhere is she, friend Julie?\u201d interrupted the young man impatiently.\n\u201cHow did she escape from the priest? Is she well? Is she happy? Does she\nthink of me? Only tell me.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut that is much to tell, my brave boy,\u201d laughed Julie. \u201cListen now to\nme, who am indeed thy friend. Thou shalt see her, and she shall answer\nthose many questions with her own lips, but on one condition: the\nmarriage must be at once\u2014on the instant. Otherwise, Marin\u2014\u2014\u201d she\nshrugged her shoulders expressively. \u201cIt is not well, seest thou, to\nfall out with a husband. Now, Marin is a prisoner, therefore am I a weak\nwoman left alone to deal with a young man of violence, seest thou? Thou\ndost seize thy bride, thou dost carry her to thy priest, who am I? But\nshouldst thou delay, and I bring _la petite_ to visit thee once, twice,\nmany times, Marin, he will say, \u2018Thou, _bonne femme_, wast the guardian\nof this child, and thou didst take her to visit a heretic, allowing her\nalso to neglect the duties she owes thee.\u2019 But once thy wife, _M. le\nCapitain_, and all is over.\u201d\n\nGabriel listened to this harangue with eyes upon the ground and the red\ncolor slowly flushing to his fair face. He continued silent so long that\nthe woman lost patience.\n\n\u201c_Mon Dieu!_\u201d she ejaculated under her breath, \u201cis it the English blood\nthat makes him so dull?\u201d\n\nAt last he spoke hesitatingly:\n\n\u201cGood friend, thou sayest, \u2018Seest thou?\u2019 I reply, \u2018Seest thou not also?\u2019\nThere has been no talk of marriage betwixt Margot and myself. Truly do I\ndesire it,\u201d his eyes flashed, and he raised his head. \u201cI desire it with\nall the strength that is in me, but with Margot, the maiden, it may be\notherwise.\u201d\n\nAgain the wife of Marin laughed. So loudly did she laugh that the\ngeneral, pacing the vicarage garden, paused at the open window to\nacquaint himself with the cause of her mirth.\n\n\u201cIt is the brave _gar\u00e7on_, my general. He knows nothing. Let him but\narrange for the marriage, and I, even I, Julie, will answer for the\nmaiden.\u201d\n\nThen, on being questioned by Winslow, she went over her tale once more,\nand the two gossips would have promptly settled the whole affair out of\nhand had not one of the principals interposed.\n\n\u201cLet me but see her once\u2014only once\u2014first,\u201d implored Gabriel.\n\nThe general, promptly won over to the side of Julie, hesitated, in such\nhaste was he for the pleasurable excitement of a wedding; but finally it\nwas resolved that the young lover should go the following morning to\nJulie\u2019s little cabin, and there win his fair young bride for himself.\n\nAs Julie drew on her hood preparatory to departure, Winslow inquired of\nher how it fared with the women, remarking that she herself seemed to\nbear her fate with much cheer.\n\n\u201cFor the others\u2014well, while many lament, all do not. For myself I care\nnot. I weary of the French rule and the fighting and wandering and the\nsavage Indians. Anywhere I go willingly where there is peace, and the\nsoil is fruitful\u2014_v\u2019 l\u00e0 tout!_\u201d\n\nSo she went; and the early sun was glistening on meadows yet dewy when\nGabriel, forgetful for the moment of the sorrows around him and his own\ndistasteful duties, strode along the same dusty road he had traversed\nthe previous day, arriving in the course of an hour or so at the small\nhut inhabited by the Marins. Julie, hastening forth to milk, greeted him\nwith a broad smile, and waved to him to enter.\n\nEnter he did, and in a second, neither knew how, he held Margot close to\nhis heart.\n\nIt was long before a word was spoken. It was enough that they were\ntogether; and when at length Gabriel found voice, it was at first only\nfor expressions of pity and endearment for the frail little creature who\nseemed lost within his large embrace.\n\n[Illustration: \u201cThey sat down side by side . . . before the empty\n  hearth.\u201d]\n\n\u201cBut I am not so frail, _mon cousin_,\u201d she protested. \u201cI can work and\nendure, ah, thou knowest not how much!\u201d\n\n\u201cBut never again, _ch\u00e9rie_!\u201d was Gabriel\u2019s reply; and grown strangely\nand suddenly bold, he added: \u201cand remember, it must be \u2018_mon cousin_\u2019 no\nlonger, for from this very day there shall be an end of \u2018_cousin_\u2019\u2014it\nwill be \u2018wife\u2019 and \u2018husband.\u2019 Hearest thou?\u201d\n\nYes, Margot heard, but had nothing to say. Finally she remarked in a low\nvoice:\n\n\u201cI would be baptized into thy faith first.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat?\u201d cried Gabriel joyfully. \u201cIs that really so, my Margot? What glad\nnews! Now is all indeed well with us! There is a chaplain at Fort\nEdward; he will baptize thee, and marry us.\u201d\n\nThey sat down side by side upon the rude bench before the empty hearth,\nand talked and made plans as lovers have done since lovers first began.\nGabriel\u2019s mind, as we know, worked quickly, and he soon had beautiful\nschemes mapped out for being transferred to Washington\u2019s command in\nVirginia, that rising young general having been recently appointed\ncommander-in-chief of the army there.\n\n\u201cMy noble captain is now stationed at Winchester,\u201d he concluded, \u201cand\nwith him is that grand old soldier Fairfax, the lord lieutenant of the\ncounty. They are engaged in subduing the Indians. At Winchester we will\nlive, and then shall I be ever at hand to protect my wife.\u201d\n\nNews traveled slowly in those days, and Gabriel had heard nothing of the\npanic at Winchester, and with the confidence and faith of youth believed\nthat his hero, George Washington, could accomplish even the impossible.\n\nBut duty called, and Julie returned, and Gabriel had to depart; yet not\nbefore it was arranged that, with Winslow\u2019s permission, assured in\nadvance, Julie should bring Margot that evening to the church, there to\nmeet the chaplain from Fort Edward, who would perform the two sacraments\nof baptism and marriage.\n\nWinslow, naturally of a cheerful disposition, rejoiced in this break in\nthe monotony of misery, hastily dispatched a messenger to Fort Edward,\nand but for Gabriel\u2019s entreaties would have made the marriage as jovial\nan affair as Puritanical principles admitted of. Discipline forbade that\na woman could be received as an inmate of a fortified camp, neither\ncould Gabriel be spared often from duties destined to become daily more\nonerous and troublesome; but to the two, scarcely more than boy and\ngirl, who stood that evening with bowed heads before the chaplain, there\nwas more than common comfort in the solemn words: \u201cThose whom God hath\njoined together let no man put asunder.\u201d\n\nJoy and thankfulness, deep and unutterable, swelled the heart of the\nyoung husband as, from the gate in the stockade, he watched the slight\nform of his girl-wife disappear into the gathering shades of night. She\nwas his now\u2014his to claim, to protect, to have and to hold till death\ndid them part.\n\nIn the excitement and rapture of meeting, Gabriel had hardly bethought\nhim to ask her how she had escaped from Le Loutre. The fact that she had\nescaped, that she was alive and well and with him, filled his mental\nhorizon. The tale, however, was short. The priest, hard pressed, had\nbeen compelled to give her up to a party of fugitives hastening to\nHalifax to take the oath. This party had come upon the Marins, and\nthinking they also were bound for Halifax, Margot had willingly joined\nthem, finding out when it was too late Marin\u2019s change of view.\n\nIn those last sad days for her country-people Margot showed of what\nstuff she was made. Consoling, upholding, encouraging, she seemed to\nhave arrived suddenly at a noble womanhood. This, however, was not the\ncase. She had been growing toward it slowly but surely through years of\nadversity.\n\nThe continued delay in the coming of the transports bred trouble betwixt\nthe soldiers and the Acadians. \u201cThe soldiers,\u201d we are told, \u201cdisliked\nand despised them,\u201d the Acadians, and the general found it necessary not\nonly to enforce discipline more sternly among his troops, but to\nadminister the lash also on occasion.\n\nAt last, one October day, Winslow had four transports at his disposal.\nOrders and counter-orders, lamentation and weeping, disturbed the clear,\nstill air. Villages had to be arranged to go together in the same\ntransport as well as families; and this, with so few troops at his\ncommand, was no easy task for the general, who naturally was possessed\nof very little experience as regarded organization. Gabriel, who while\nunder Washington had received of necessity some training, was his right\nhand man. The male prisoners were removed from the ships to land while\nthe mustering went forward.\n\nAs the women filed past the spot where for a moment the harassed general\nand his subordinate had come together, and the pair gazed upon the\nmelancholy confusion of young and old, and household belongings in\ncarts, Winslow groaned: \u201cI know they deserve all and more than they\nfeel; yet it hurts me to hear their weeping and wailing and gnashing of\nteeth!\u201d\n\nAt Fort Edward, as well as at many other places in the province, the\nsame terrible scenes were being enacted\u2014those in command, without one\nsingle authentic exception, carrying out the stern decree as mercifully\nas possible. Beside the long train of women walked the priest of each\nvillage, encouraging and upholding his flock. A few of these priests\naccompanied the exiles, but most of them returned to Canada.\n\nNot all the women, however, were \u201cweeping and wailing.\u201d Some, as has\nbeen remarked, appeared to be wholly undisturbed. Among these latter was\nJulie, in the cart with whom was Margot, bound to see the last of her\nbenefactress. As they passed, both women waved their hands to the two\nofficers, Julie calling gayly to Gabriel:\n\n\u201cIt is well, _M. le mari_! Our ship goes to Virginia, where we shall\nagain meet. Is it not so?\u201d\n\nFor weary weeks the misery was prolonged, and it was the close of the\nyear before Winslow\u2019s and Murray\u2019s bitter task about the Basin of the\nMines was completed. But improved organization rendered even difficult\nthings easier, and by the last of October the general was able to part,\nthough with extreme reluctance, with his most efficient subordinate.\nGabriel, promoted to a captaincy, set sail with his wife on one of the\ntransports for Virginia.\n\nThe poor exiles, with comparatively few exceptions, were scattered\naround in the various States from Massachusetts southward, meeting with\nno cruelty certainly, but also with no welcome from the struggling\ncolonials, and only in Louisiana thriving and becoming a permanent\ncolony. Canada, and even France and England, were also forced to receive\nthem, and in Canada, among the people of their own faith, their lot was\nthe hardest. Help in their own church they found none, and indeed in\nmany instances implored to be taken back to the English Colonies, where\nat least they were not treated with actual inhumanity. The war at last\nat an end, many, the Herbes amongst the number, found their way back to\ntheir own country. A large portion of the fertile province lay waste,\nhowever, for years, the New England soldier-farmers refusing either part\nor lot in it, and English settlers finally being brought from over sea.\n\nIt is doubtful if the Acadians ever learned the fate of their leader and\ntyrant. Captured on the ocean by the English, Le Loutre died in prison,\nafter having been nearly assassinated by one of the soldiers of the\nguard, who swore that the holy father had once in Acadie tried to take\nhis scalp!\n\nAnd Gabriel and Margot? Their lives were happy, although the pain of\nseparation was sometimes theirs, and they were often exposed to perils\nand dangers. As an officer under Washington through stirring times, both\nin the Indian wars and the war of the Revolution, Gabriel\u2019s could not be\nother than the life of sacrifice and self-devotion demanded by the life\nof a true patriot. Margot seconded him bravely, cheering him on at the\ntrumpet-call of duty and never restraining him by selfish fears and\ninterests. She kept around her a few of her country people; and there in\nVirginia she reared a family of brave boys to follow in their father\u2019s\nsteps.\n\n                 *        *        *        *        *\n\nTranscriber\u2019s Notes:\n\nList of Illustrations for _Gabriel the Acadian_ was moved from the front\nof the book to the start of the novel.\n\nA few obvious punctuation and typesetting errors have been corrected\nwithout note.\n\nA cover has been created for this ebook and is placed in the public\ndomain.\n\n[End of _The Angel of His Presence_ by G.L. Hill and _Gabriel the\nAcadian_ by E.M.N. Bowyer]","title":"The angel of his presence; and Gabriel the Acadian","tradition":"scripture-revelation","translated_text":null,"word_count":51437}