The prisoner of Mademoiselle, a love story

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o^demoisetie

Xkartes ^.^^hherts

Stlfata, JStta @ark

W. A. Hammond

Cornell University Library
PR9298.R64P9 1904

The prisoner of IVIademoiselle, a love stor

3 1924 013 515 006

B Cornell University
3 Library

The original of tliis book is in
the Cornell University Library.

There are no known copyright restrictions in
the United States on the use of the text.

http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924013515006

The Prisoner of Mademoiselle

A Love Story

The Complete WotU of

Charles G. D. Roberts

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PUBLISHED BY

L. C PAGE & COMPANY
Boston, Mass.

HELD IT OUT ACROSS THE RIPPLING WATER "

i See /.age 22)

The Prisoner
of Mademoiselle

A Love Story

By . ,A^'=^^

Charles G. D. Roberts

Author of T^e Watchers of the Trails, The Kindred of

the Wild, The Heart of the Ancient Wood,

Barbara Ladd, Poems, etc.

WITH A FRONTISPIECE BV
Frank T. Merrill

Boston

L. C. Page & Company

1904

Copyright, ig04
By L. C. Page & Company

(incorporated)

All rights reserved

Published October, 1904

COLONIAL PRESS

Electroiyped and Printed iy C. H. Simonds &^ Co.

Boston, Mass., U,S,A.

Contents

CHAPTER

I. The Fog

II. The Lady of the Footprints

III. In the Unknown Wood .

IV. The Blockhouse in the Clearing
V. The Furtive Visitors

VI. Mademoiselle Anne . . . .

VII. My Lady Difficult . . . .

VIII. The Word from the Blockhouse

IX. The Mission of Lizette .

X. Spells and Counter Spells .

XI. Father Labillois Plays His Part

XII. The Prisoner of Mademoiselle .

XIII. Mademoiselle and Her Prisoner

XIV. The Plight of Gil ....

XV. The Managing of His Excellency

XVI. Confidences

XVII. Father Labillois Is Troubled

XVIII. His Excellency Obliges His Niece
XIX. How Gil Is Made to Understand
XX. The Ghost in the Loft .
XXI. How Zachary Is Made to Under-
stand

XXI I. The Sanctuary of the Sunrise .

PAGE

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12

25
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52
64

75

92

106

119

130
142

IS3
159
173
187
198
204
220

229
250

The
Prisoner of Mademoiselle

CHAPTER I.

THE FOG

BY a sudden sharp pitchingf of the boat
Lieutenant Zachary Cowles was awa-
kened from his uncomfortable sleep.
Clutching- at the damp gunwales, he sat up
between the thwarts, whither he had slipped
down in his weariness during the night. Star-
ing about him' with the sleep yet thick in
his brain, he shouted twice, but with an air
of little expecting an answer.

As he grew well awake, it seemed to him
that the fog which shut him in on every side
was sticking in his throat, or even that his

2 The Prisoner of Mademoiselle

voice, however vigorously he shouted, de-
clined to venture away through the white,
enshrouding vapours. The whimsical notion
took him that his calls, terrified at the ghostly
obscurity, did no more than slip over the boat-
side to cling beneath the dipping And slid-
ing gunwales. Then, slapping a handful of
water into his face to clear his brain of such
fantasies, he sat up upon the thwart, and
laughed aloud at his folly in taking the trouble
to call. He knew that his ship might like
enough by this time be two score leagues
away.

A little before noon of the day preceding,
his ship then lying becalmed in Fundy mouth
about half a mile off the northwest corner of
the coast of Acadie, Lieutenant Cowles had
taken the gig and rowed alone toward shore.
Strange as it may seem, the shore he sought
being a hostile one, it was with the captain's
leave that he had started on his solitary en-
terprise. The ship was the God's Providence,
a sturdy, five-gun brig of Boston. The ship's
company, for the most part, was made up
of a band of Massachusetts sailor-traders, who
had set out to make reprisals on the trouble-

The Fog 3

some French settlement of Port Royal, and
incidentally to gather such trophies as might
come their way. To every man of the com-
pany it was known that at this time much
treasure of fur and plate was rumoured to be
hidden behind the sodded ramparts of Port
Royal; and this rumour, be it said, had done
not a little to fire the avenging ardour of their
patriotism. But to the captain, one Master
Nathaniel Seery, of Plymouth, there had come
by devious ways a tale of gold and amethyst
and malachite, to be found on a certain distant
corner of the northwest coast of Acadie. This
tale he had conveyed, under pledge of silence,
to his friend Lieutenant Zachary Cowles, whom
he knew to be at the same time adventurous
and prudent, a loyal gentleman and, though
of great estate, not too proud to take further
profit of fortune's favour. On this occasion,
then, when calm sea and full tide were found
conspiring to hold the God's Providence just
off the point where, as Captain Seery con-
jectured, the treasures might most reasonably
be sought, it was judged well that Master
Cowles should make his expedition unattended.
" There'll be more gold there, Zachary, than

4 The Prisoner of Mademoiselle

we have any reason to look for," said Captain
Nathaniel, " if there's more than enough for
just the two of us." And with this sentiment
Zachary Cowles had found himself in laugh-
ing accord. There was no more rashness than
fitted with his spirit in going ashore alone,
seeing that that coast for miles about was
known to be desolate, and they were yet some
hours' sailing from the hornet's nest of Port
Royal, which it was their desire to smoke out.
Had the company of the God's Providence
been better acquainted with those Acadian
waters. Lieutenant Cowles might have set out
less hardily on his venture. He would have
known that two perils might beset him, either
one liable to tax his resources to the utmost.
He had never experienced the incredibly swift
turns of the Fundy tides, whose drifts and
cross-currents gave anxiety to the wariest
Acadian pilots ; and he had never even dreamed
of the suddenness of the Acadian fogs. When
he left the ship it was slack tide, and she lay
idly swinging in water too deep for anchorage.
A clear sun cheerfully flooded her trim spars
and rigging and white decks, and gleamed on
the long brass swivel mounted in her bows.

The Fog 5

The shore, a Hne of broken gray and purple
rocks surmounted by dark-green forest, wore
a countenance of encouragement in the cordial
light; and to Lieutenant Zachary it seemed
an easy thing which he had set himself to do
that sunny noonday. As a matter of fact, he
was even then on his way to the learning of
a lesson which nature loves to teach to the
gay and confident, that mischief brews most
briskly behind a mask of cheer.

Rowing a strong and eager stroke, the ad-
venturer had covered perhaps two-thirds of
the space between ship and shore, when his
keel was caught in the grip of a tearing cur-
rent, and over his shoulder he saw the rocks
slip past at a marvellous speed. Next he noted
that the ship was smoothly moving away in
an opposite direction; and from this he con-
cluded that the tide had changed, leaving him
in the clutch of a strong shore eddy. Not
greatly disturbed by this, he nevertheless made
note of it with some care, considering how it
might affect his return to the ship. Then he
scanned the shore for a landing-place, the boat
being by this time swept far past the little
inlet for whose mouth he had been steering.

6 The Prisoner of Mademoiselle

Observing no point quite practicable, he set
himself with mighty strokes to stem the exas-
perating eddy arid work back to the inlet. A
very few minutes of such rowing as made the
veins stand out on his forehead proved the
futility of this effort, and, resting on his oars,
he turned to look at the ship.

There she lay, trim, beautiful, and familiar
in the clear light, though, to be sure, some-
what startlingly farther off than he had ex-
pected. But as he looked the distinctness
of her outlines was dimmed. It was as if a
veil had been cast over her. He rubbed his
eyes, thinking that the shine of the water had
perhaps dazzled them. Then, in a second, bank
on bank of white clouds, thinly ragged along
their upper edges, closed about the ship and
engulfed her. For a moment or two the tops
of her masts showed above the rolling vapour.
Then these also vanished. It was as if she
had been blotted from the face of the sea.

For a moment or two it was more in wonder
than in apprehension that Master Zachary
watched this ghostly oncoming of the cloud.
In every direction the surface of the tide, now
grown on a sudden gray green and oily, was

The Fog 7

vanishing under the thick white pall. There
was an indescribable menace in the soft celerity,
the insidious silence, the impenetrable whiteness
of its approach. In a second or two the shore
itself began to fade. This aroused the solitary-
oarsman to a sense of his peril, and, wheeling
the boat sharply, he began rowing with all
his strength toward the point where, as he
guessed, he had seen the God's Providence
disappear.

The next moment the fog closed thick about
him, and he felt himself alone with silence
made visible. Not two boat-lengths from the
stern could he see, and a certain chill crept
in upon his confident spirit. Feeling very sure
of his course, however, this but lent the more
vigour to his oarstroke, and he dashed on,
with set lips and heavy breathing, till he con-
cluded that he must be near the ship, or at
least within hailing-distance. He stopped
rowing, and was gathering breath for a mighty
" Ahoy," when heavily through the fog came
the boom of a cannon.

His jaw dropped with amazement and dis-
may. The sound, instead of coming over his
bow, distinct and close at hand, was directly

8 The Prisoner of Mademoiselle

astern and bewilderingly remote. He knew the
sound right well as the voice of the long swivel
in the bows of the God's Providence. He knew
that the ship was signalling for his guidance
through the fog. But how was it possible that
he should be so completely turned about?
There was something very daunting to his
spirit in the fact that all his vehement striving
had served but to carry him the farther from
his goal, the deeper into the peril of which he
now began to realize the full significance. With
painstaking calculation he turned the boat
square about, paused to assure himself (with
absolutely no means of assurance) that he was
right, and then resumed his rowing with an
energy more violent than judicious. So violent
was it, indeed, that within half a dozen strokes
he smashed a thole-pin, and fell backward
sprawling.

As he fell, he struck his head on the thwart
behind him. It was a rude buffet. He got
up half-stunned, with a singing in his ears,
and so confused that he quite forgot to allow
for the change in his course which such an
accident would cause. Hastily putting in a
new thole-pin, he fell to rowing again with

The Fog 9

undiminished confidence, till suddenly the
summons from the ship came once more thun-
dering thickly through the fog, and he stopped
with oars hanging in mid-air. The sound, this
time, was even more distant than before, and
seemed to be on his extreme left. Even of
this, however, he felt uncertain, the moment the
ponderous reverberations ceased. The blow
and the fog together had completed his con-
fusion ; and it was now with distinct hesitancy
that he once more attempted to set his course.
Nevertheless, as soon as he had done so, it
was not in his nature to hesitate. Committing
himself fully to the hazard, he rowed for some
minutes at top speed, — and when the gun
called to him again through the white gloom
the sound was not only faint with distance,
but apparently on his starboard quarter. Then
he realized that he was lost.

Even so, however, he preferred doing to
waiting. For a minute or two he experimented
cautiously, turning the boat this way and that
to determine the drift of that sinister, leaden-
coloured current which was all that he could
see beyond his gunwales. Then, having satis-
fied himself that he was at last going with the

lo The Prisoner of Mademoiselle

current, and therefore accomplishing some-
thing, whatever that something might be, he
settled down to a bout of dogged rowing. His
brows were knit, his jaws were grimly set. He
was bent upon arriving somewhere.

By this time all signals from the ship had
ceased, from which he properly concluded that
either the drift or his misapplied energies had
carried him beyond ear-shot of even the long
brass swivel. By and b)^ he noticed a change
in the light which filtered through the pall of
the fog, and realized that the afternoon was
wearing to an end. He kept on rowing, how-
ever, till at last the darkness shut down upon
him. This, to his impatiently angry nerves,
was an actual relief, as it made the fog invis-
ible. Mere darkness, however thick, was
something he knew, and felt at home in; but
the white impenetrability of the fog had chilled
him by its strangeness.

For some time after nightfall he kept on
rowing. Once he came within ' sound of
breakers, and his trained ear recognized the
voice of a menacing coast whereon it would be
impossible to make a landing in the dark.
After considering till the loud threat sounded

The Fog 1 1

close under his bow, he turned about and rowed
hard till it had faded to no more than the
ghost of a memory. Then, having hauled in
the oars that he might ponder awhile upon his
most strange and disquieting situation, he was
so heedlessly weary as to fall asleep, forgetful
of every peril of reef or tide.

CHAPTER II.

THE LADY OF THE FOOTPRINTS

OF his awakening the story has been told.
As he came completely back to the pos-
session of his wits, he felt that, cold,
drenched, cramped, and hungry though he was,
he was fortunate to have slept through a night
which must otherwise have bored him so in-
tolerably. Of the perils through which he had
come safely he thought little, having had ex-
perience in many an uncertain bivouac. He
had come safely through them, and he there-
fore cast them behind, forgotten. Now, how-
ever, he set his numbed hands briskly to the
oars, having caught the sound of breakers on
either side.

From the pitching of the boat and the near-
ness of the sound, he knew that he was in a
narrow, tumultuous tideway, presumably be-
tween an island and the mainland; and he

The Lady of the Footprints 13

made such shift as he could, with no guidance
but that of his ears, to hold a course midway
between. In a few minutes the noise of the
breakers receded, and he emerged into silence
and smooth water.

For a time, now, he was content to drift,
trusting to the tides to solve his riddle for him.
He tried to smoke, but found his tobacco wet.
Then, for an hour or thereabouts, he rowed at
haphazard, to set his chill blood flowing; but
presently he desisted and laid down the oars
with a slam, on reflecting that this stimulating
exercise would add fuel to the vain hunger for
breakfast which was by now consuming him.

For an hour or two he drifted. Then his
heart leaped at the sound of light waves lap-
ping on a kindly beach. He seized the oars
and pushed forward eagerly. In a moment
or two the gentle and welcoming noise was all
about him, and he judged himself to be within
the arms of a little bay. All at once a darkness
rose up through the blank fog. This darkness
resolved itself into comfortable masses of
leafage. He saw, close under his prow, a line
of red and foam-fringed beach; and with im-
petuous strokes he ran the boat far up upon the

14 The Prisoner of Mademoiselle

sand. Not pausing to drag it to a safe dis-
tance from the clutch of the tide, he ran eagerly
up the beach and shouted. Friend or foe, as
he might chance to evoke, he was seeking
humanity, and breakfast.

No voice replied to him ; but, as if disturbed
by his calls, the fog magically lifted and with-
drew. It seemed as if it were being sucked
up and exhaled away to seaward; and there,
within so scant a time as takes to tell it,
was the good sun shining down from a clear
blue heaven, upon as pleasant a landscape as
one could wish to see. The shores, richly
wooded with birch, maple, ash, and dark-green,
pointed fir, came down about a sheltered bay
whose waters gleamed tranquilly in the sun-
shine. Ofifshore, the blue green, quivering
levels were dotted with islands, wooded and
fair.

Hapless indeed seemed his case, alone in the
land of his enemies; yet he drew himself to
his full six feet of stature, filled his lungs with
the sweet air, adjusted the wet ribbon that
knotted his brown queue, and felt boyishly in-
terested in whatever fate might befall. Even
though he was hungry, life was good. Quest-

The Lady of the Footprints 15

ing along the skirts of the woodland, he came
on a raspberry thicket in full fruit, whereat he
eased his appetite for the moment. Then he
looked to his pistols, bethinking himself that
all this fairness of prospect might hide foes.
Withdrawing the sodden charges, he reached
for his powder-horn and prepared to reload.
To his disgust all the powder was wet. The
brine had soaked in through the stopper. He
had no weapon left him but his sword.

He shrugged his shoulders and took this
calamity with composure, having more incli-
nation to the steel than to the dirty explosive.
Thrusting the useless pistols back into his belt,
he turned his face inland, having a mind to
try his fortune without further delay. As he
turned, he fancied that he caught sight of a
slim form vanishing among the trees. He
sprang forward eagerly; but, failing to get
another glimpse of the alluring apparition, he
concluded that what he had seen was but the
illusion of a fasting brain. The next moment
he quitted the broad sunlight of the beach,
and found himself in the solemn, vaulted
glooms of the ancient forest.

A few minutes later, as he was pushing his

1 6 The Prisoner of Mademoiselle

way through a tangle of underbrush, the smell
of the bruised stems sweet in his sea-weary
nostrils, he caught the distinct sound of a keel
grating on the beach. Rushing back at full
speed, he burst out upon the shore. To his
amazed dismay the boat was gone.

It was gone; but not far. It was floating
about a rod from shore; and in it, lightly
balancing the oars and scrutinizing him with
a disconcerting brilliancy of great eyes, sat a
slim, dark-faced girl.

" Stop! Stop! " he shouted, angrily, jump-
ing to the conclusion that she proposed to take
away the boat.

" I am stopping. Sir Englishman," she an-
swered in French, a little derisive smile upon
her lips.

" Bring back my boat, madame I " he de-
manded, in her own tongue, forgetting his
manners in the urgency of his case.

" Oh, but no, indeed, monsieur, I assure
you ! " she replied ; and with a couple of ex-
pert strokes she sent the boat shooting sea-
ward.

A moment ago he had hated the little craft
heartily enough; but now it seemed to him a

The Lady of the Footprints 17

treasure beyond all price, his only hope of ever
returning to his own country. Thinking to in-
timidate the saucy chit, he snatched a pistol
from his belt and levelled it.

" Bring back my boat ! " he thundered,

The girl laughed, — a merry peal of mock-
ery, and very musical, as his ears could not
but perceive for all his fuming.

" You would not shoot a woman, monsieur,"
she protested, " even though you are a Baston-
nais!"

Now, as Lieutenant Zachary Cowles very
well knew, he could not have drawn trigger
on the maid had a crown and a kingdom been
at stake; but he feared to let her see this.

" By God, madame, I would," he swore,
— " under some circumstances."

" But these, now, are not the circumstances,
are they, monsieur?" He looked at her in
silence for a long minute, considering. What
a bewitching gipsy she was! The small, nut-
brown thin face, long-oval and fine-cut, the
mouth not small but unspeakably scarlet, the
eyes dark and full of a dancing gleam, making
a miracle of radiance that went near to dazzling
him into instant subjection. She wore a beaded

i8 The Prisoner of Mademoiselle

Indian jacket and short skirt of fine white
dressed deerskin; and on her hair, which
curved in thick, rebellious masses on either side
of her face, half-hiding her small ears, was an
audacious little cap of scarlet cloth.

Now Master Zachary Cowles, though in his
way he had dallied with love some half-score
fleeting times, had yet made shift, in the face
of public disapproval, to remain a bachelor up
to five and thirty years. Never before, how-
ever, had his eyes fallen upon anything in
woman's shape that so stirred his imagination
as did this slim, mocking girl. He threw down
his pistol on the sand, repudiating it. What
use in pretending to be a ruffian when those
clear eyes so easily looked him through.

" No, madame," he confessed, " these are, in
truth, not the circumstances. I certainly could
not fire upon you, though my life, and many
a life besides, depended on it ! "

" Not even if it did not chance that your
powder is wet ? " she asked. And from this
he knew that, behind the safe screen of the
woods, she had been watching him since his
landing.

The Lady of the Footprints 19

" I throw myself upon your mercy ! " said he.
"I am a — "

" You had better, indeed, monsieur ! " she
flashed out, interrupting him without ceremony.
And she Hfted a small, richly inlaid musket
which lay on the thwarts beside her.

Lieutenant Zachary bowed low, acknowledg-
ing the strategic dominance of her position.

" The brave and the powerful can afiford to
be generous, madame ! " he protested. " I am
alone in the land of my enemies. And I am
amazingly hungry. I appeal to you for pro-
tection."

In spite of his surrender, there was an
amused confidence in his tone. The situation,
for him, had taken on a certain piquancy.
But at his last words the girl's gaze grew
suddenly grave and cold. She had suffered
herself to play with him, for a few moments,
velvet-pawed; but now she felt it was time to
let him feel her claws.

" I think you hardly realize your own pre-
sumption. Master Englishman ! " she said,
slowly. " Whose fault is it that you are in
the land of your enemies? How dare you
so lightly claim protection from a daughter of

ao The Prisoner of Mademoiselle

this land which you have come to harry with
sword and flame? What are you so much
better than a pirate? Is it hospitality, or a
halter, that you deserve, monsieur? "

Having nothing to the point to reply, he
cast down his eyes dejectedly, — though, in-
deed, they were finding it a fair occupation
to watch the play of her countenance. After
a moment's silence he looked up again, and
questioned her face. It was inscrutable, and
far from encouraging,

" Faith, madame, you have me on the hip! "
he confessed, ruefully. " It is true, I came
as an enemy, — but, I protest, as an open
enemy, who plays fair the rude but noble game
of war. Surely I am become harmless enough,
as fortune has willed it. Would you see a
helpless enemy starve? "

He spoke now earnestly, almost passion-
ately, for, whatever his failure to appreciate
the full peril. of his situation, his craving for
breakfast had become a matter of grave mo-
ment in his eyes. But as he looked at the slim
tyrant, and considered how his seasoned wits
and courage were at the mercy of the girl, his
mood underwent another change.

The Lady of the Footprints 21

" Indeed," he went on, seeing that she made
no immediate answer. " I am already growing
repentant, madame! It repents me, not that
I have come to this lovely, though naturally
inhospitable land, but that it is as an enemy I
have come to it ! "

Her brows drew together and her scarlet
lips closed firmly. It was plain that if there
was to be any touch of raillery in this inter-
view, it was not Master Zachary Cowles that
should be permitted to indulge in it.

" It pleases you to be pleasant," she said,
severely. " Let me remind you that at this
moment the guns of your piratical ship may be
shattering the homes of my people in Port
Royal."

" I pray God that no kinsman of yours be
within range of those good guns ! " he cried,
with a sincerity that was transparently per-
sonal.

There was a faint ring of scorn in her young
voice as she answered, " They are no kin of
mine, monsieur, the good folk of Port Royal.
I am niece of the governor. But, such as they
are, they are my fellow countrymen. And

22 The Prisoner of Mademoiselle

their enemies are my enemies. I must ask
you to consider yourself my prisoner."

" I might consider many a fate worse,
madame!" he answered, with alacrity. This,
in fact, was exactly what he desired, conceiv-
ing that it would secure to him three most
excellent things, — her presence, fair proven-
der, and a mild captivity. When a healthy
man has not within twenty-four hours broken
fast, the impatience of his appetite is prone to
make itself felt even through the most thrilling
of conditions. Bowing low, he drew his
sword, and, taking it by the point, held it out
across the space of rippling water.

" I am much honoured to surrender my
sword into such lovely, if not all gentle,
little hands. But, in truth, fair lady, I know
not how to surrender it, unless you will conde-
scend to come and take it. I swim but in-
differently well in these stiff clothes."

The severity of her lips relaxed ever so
little. Then a mocking smile flashed over
them, and she dipped her oars doubtfully.
This relenting, however, was but for an in-
stant. Her face grew cold again with swift
distrust.

The Lady of the Footprints 23

"No," she said, curtly. "Why should I
trust a Bastonnais? They are all crafty and
perfidious. Toss your sword to me here, and
I will catch it!"

Zachary's face flushed red under the insult.
For a moment he stood silent. Strangely
enough, he felt no less hurt than angry. The
affront was peculiarly bitter coming from her,
who, as he had flattered himself, might have
discerned his't>reeding. At length, gathering
his wits, he thrust the sword back into its
scabbard.

" Thank you, madame, for your courtesy,"
said he, bowing stiffly. " I shall keep my
sword for the present, and surrender it, when
I do so, to one who understands the point
of honour!"

Turning on his heel, he stalked up the
beach, hot with his indignation.

" Are you English, then, so nice on the
point of honour? " he heard her ask behind his
affronted back. " Pray pardon me if I wronged
you. I counsel you to return and surrender
to me, lest you fall into less generous hands."

Now, because her eyes had so wrought mis-
chief in his brain, Zachary was obstinate to the

24 The Prisoner of Mademoiselle

verge of childishness in his wounded pride.
His manners, nevertheless, forbade him to
quite ignore her speech. He faced about,
therefore, and bowed hurriedly, very low ; but
answered never a word. Then he marched,
with his fine head held high, straight away
into the woods. And, when sea and shore were
shut from view, still before his eyes shone
the vision of that slim figure in the boat, con-
fusing him.

CHAPTER III.

IN THE UNKNOWN WOOD

AS the green shadows engulfed him, he
heard a sharp whistle from the direction
of the boat. He jumped to the conclu-
sion that this was a signal from his would-be
captor, and likely to result in his being trailed
and taken. This, however, should it conie
about through her agency, was a fate which
he would be at no great pains to avoid. That
he must be captured, or starve, he knew. And
he was already repenting the fit of temper
which had driven him from that piquant in-
terview. Since captivity, in some form, was
inevitable, he desired it in a form which seemed
to promise certain alleviations. For a moment
he wavered, half-minded to turn back. Then
pride and petulance determined him, and he

25

i6 The Prisoner of Mademoiselle

pushed forward, loudly trampling down the
underbrush. The trail he left through fern
and herbage was such as no pursuer could fail
to find.

Having penetrated perhaps a couple of hun-
dred yards into the forest, he turned to the left
and followed what he took to be the direction
of the shore, trusting that, in case the lady
of the boat should prove so cruelly careless as
to neglect his capture, he might come upon the
seaward path from some settlement. In the
deep woods he found no more berries; but
from time to time he would stop and tantalize
his appetite with the sweetish scrapings from
the inner bark of a young fir-tree. Reminding
himself of the enthusiasm with which, in his
childish days, he had regarded this insipid deli-
cacy, he tried to make believe it satisfied him.
Nevertheless, as he went on, his interest in
the mocking maid of the boat and her disas-
trous eyes was more and more obscured by
wistful musings upon the broiled fish and hot
griddle-cakes with which, as he hoped, it might
be the kindly custom of the Acadian peasants
to regale their prisoners of war.

For all his petulance upon a petty point of

In the Unknown Wood 27

honour, however, for all his healthy concern
about his breakfast, and for all his susceptibil-
ity to a red mouth and a pair of wonderful
eyes, Zachary Cowles was now, as always, a
good woodsman. He had no intention of los-
ing himself and leaving it to others to find
him. In a very few minutes he was on the
alert to note, though half-unconsciously, every
forest sign and intimation. He knew very
well that the Acadian settlements were small
and scattered, the Acadian forests vast, track-
less, and unpeopled ; and though on this benign
June morning the solitudes breathed him wel-
come from every airy bloom, and sap-sweet
bough, and green, pulsating shadow, he had
no mind to put himself at their mercy. In his
pursuit of woodcraft, his following and out-
witting and overmastering of the wild crea-
tures, he had learned things that made him
something more than a great hunter. Mixed
with the gay confidence and zest of his
blood were veins of incongruous subtilty
learned from his victims, and patches of philo-
sophic wisdom which his spirit had acquired in
the great stillnesses. Among the things he
knew, which seemed just now pertinent to his

28 The Prisoner of Mademoiselle

case, was the fact that nature, who to some
moods can be the most sympathetic of com-
rades, is apt to be, in the hour of need, the most
derisively merciless of tyrants. In this pinch,
he would choose to trust the certain and com-
prehensible unfriendliness of man rather than
the uncertain and never wholly comprehensible
friendliness of nature. And it would have been
reasonable to agree (had he permitted him-
self to consider this point at all) that within
the imperious jurisdiction of the lady who had
stolen his boat, no rival tyrant save nature her-
self wlas likely to be tolerated.

When one treads, knee-deep to waist-deep,
the juicy, scented undergrowth of June, one
travels not far without tiring. The sweet re-
sistance conquers. Within a short tinUe Mas-
ter Zachary gave up, cast a glance at the sun
through the tree-tops, and turned his steps back
toward the beach, thinking to follow the easy
way of the sands till some fishermen's landing-
place should come in sight. No sooner had
he yielded, however, acknowledging himself
worsted by opposing brake and tangle, than
brake and tangle, not to be outdone in gracious-
ness, yielded in turn to him; and he stumbled

In the Unknown Wood 29

into a little foot-path, which went secretly,
threading the undergrowth as a shy brook
threads a deep-grassed meadow.

In the soft black mould of the path the
wanderer found certain foot-marks, the light
prints of very small, moccasined feet, so slen-
der and fine that their ownership was most
readily inferred. This tempting trail he eyed
for a moment shrewdly, with a smile about his
lips. The small footsteps led toward the shore,
and none came back. He cast an irresolute
glance both ways, muttered, " A wildcat's trail
were safer to follow," then turned and followed
eagerly toward the sea. In five minutes or less
he emerged into the glare of the open beach,
and peered about him hopefully, shading his
eyes. Neither boat nor lady was anywhere
to be seen. His face fell, and he turned
abruptly to follow the path back.

" Where she came from," he muttered, the
disappointment in his face changing to a smile
of amusement, " may be a good enough place
for me to go to."

Under ordinary circumstances. Lieutenant
Zachary Cowles, in following a strange trail
through an enemy's country, would have gone

30 The Prisoner of Mademoiselle

like an Indian, furtively, soundlessly, and with
a conscious feeling about the roots of his scalp.
But these Acadians, as he conceived, were
Christians in their way, though to be sure their
way was one not highly regarded in the Mas-
sachusetts Colony. He went openly, therefore,
in the hope of disarming hostility by frank-
ness. Well he knew that when craft is useless
it is very much worse than useless. Presently,
at a distance of perhaps half a mile back from
the shore, this furtive trail ran at right angles
into a broader and more trodden path. He
stooped and carefully examined the soft ground,
till he was satisfied that the prints of little moc-
casins had come from the left. To the left,
therefore, he turned, and hastened forward con-
fidently. He had not gone above three hundred
yards, when the dense shadow of the woods
thinned away suddenly before him, and he
came out upon a ragged, untilled clearing,
studded with gray stumps and vivid green
thickets. In the centre of the clearing stood
a small, square, squat building of the semblance
of a blockhouse. At the militant suggestion
of this little wilderness post, the soldier in
Zachary made him pause to reconnoitre before

In the Unknown Wood 3 1

venturing within range. As he halted, a
musket-shot rang out from down the trail be-
hind him, and a bullet hummed viciously past
his ear.

CHAPTER IV.

THE BLOCKHOUSE IN THE CLEARING

ON the instant Zachary Cowles sprang
aside into the shelter of a thicket, and
whipped out his ready sword. A sec-
ond later two burly ruffians, with a seagoing
awkwardness in their gait, rushed upon him.
The foremost brandished a huge, broad-bladed
cutlass of a foreign pattern, which even at that
exciting moment caught Lieutenant Zachary's
eye. The other swun^ his smoking musket
as if it were a club.

As we have seen, it had been the wanderer's
purpose to surrender at the first decent oppor-
tunity, for who was he to withstand a whole
viceroyalty? But that traitorous shot from
behind had banished all thought of surrender;
and the truculent demeanour of these two
scoundrels stirred up his wrath. Plainly it
32

The Blockhouse in the Clearing 33

was no prisoner they wanted, but plunder, or
perhaps revenge for some fishing-boat or shad-
nets destroyed by New England raiders. Their
swart faces, beneath dirty caps of blue woollen,
wore a set and yellow-toothed grin of vindic-
tiveness as they came on like mad bulls.

The New Englander set his back to a tree,
as if he would oppose madness to madness
and singly withstand their rush. And thus
they were led on to their fate. His slender
sword would have availed but little to stay their
clownish impetus; but, even as they thought
the affair as good as ended, he stepped nimbly
aside, parrying a wild sweep of the cutlass.
They were not nimble, these heavy-booted fish-
ermen. As they stumbled, clumsily checking
their rush, the New Englander made a light-
ning thrust ; and he of the cutlass, who seemed
the more dangerous of the two, pitched for-
ward with an unpleasant, gurgling sigh.

From policy no less than from inclination,
Zachary would fain have spared his second
assailant, and, springing back, he dropped his
point, at the same time lifting his left hand
with a gesture of protest. But the rascal now
saw red, and rushed in with a sort of wordless

34 The Prisoner of Mademoiselle

bellow. He had his wits about himi, however,
for he shortened his grip on his musket, tak-
ing it mid-length, and so making of it a speedy
and dangerous weapon, such as no sword could
hope to parry. There was nothing for it but
to avoid those flail-like strokes ; and, with some
difficulty (for the fellow was quick on his
feet), as well as with a growing anger, Master
Zachary avoided. It galled him to be so kept
moving, and by such an antagonist. Twice
his point darted in, bright and swift as a snake
tongue, drawing blood from arm and shoulder,
but twice at least his own head escaped by no
more than a hairbreadth. It was cloddish
work, and shame swelled in the soldier's heart
at what he held an ignoble situation. Yet he
saw well that he would be worsted if he should
relax but for a second, so he put the best of
his cunning into the combat, and thanked his
good fortune that he was no way scant of
wind. At last, however, his chance came.
His thrust went under, instead of into, the
opposing arm; and no second thrust was
needed. After a momentary thrill of savage
exultation, he looked down with something of
regret at the huddled, sturdy figure where it

The Blockhouse in the Clearing 35

lay among the green brakes, so still now, and
but a heart-beat back so threatening and so
furious. Then thoughtfully he dried his blade
with a handful of leaves, and went on slowly
toward the blockhouse, satisfied that, having
manifested no interest in the late disagreement,
it must be quite empty of life.

The massive door of the structure stood in-
vitingly ajar. He knocked respectfully, then
imperatively, and, getting no answer, walked
in. The place was empty. But a broad bunk
in one comer, half-filled with hay and a heap
of blue and yellow blankets, proclaimed that
it was not always lacking an occupant. The
floor was roughly boarded over along the side
where stood the bunk, but the rest of it was
bare earth. Opposite the bunk was a rough
but massive fireplace, where, from a heap of
ashes, a thin blue stream of smoke curled up
about the blackened bottom of a copper pot
hanging from the crane. With a sudden eager
moisture in his mouth, Zachary peered into the
pot, hoping for somle rich soup or stew, and
turned away in angry disappointment when he
found only water. Beside the fireplace was a
clumsy wooden settle, with a black and white

36 The Prisoner of Mademoiselle

dressed cowhide thrown over it; and next to
the settle a rude table bearing two wooden plat-
ters. One of these platters was quite empty
and clean. But the other bore the hard, meagre
heel of a dark loaf, either of rye or buckwheat.

Hard though it was, the vigorous white teeth
of Master Zachary made short work of the
crust, which merely whetted his appetite. Es-
pying a cupboard in the nook behind the chim-
ney, he laid an impatient hand upon the door,
which was tightly closed. It came open with
a squeak, and at the same instant the big door
behind him closed with a bang.

Zachary was across the room with a bound,
and wrenching furiously at the solid planking.
But in vain. It was securely fastened on the
outside.

" Trapped ! " he growled. Then turned, set
his back against the door, and eyed the win-
dows apprehensively, expecting attack in some
form. There was no immediate demonstra-
tion, however. Then he muttered, savagely:

" If I can't get out, no one else shall get
in ! " and shot the heavy wooden bar which
served as bolt. He was resolved that his
prison should be also his fortress. This done.

The Blockhouse in the Clearing 37

he stole to one of the narrow windows to look
out. Just as he reached it, however, a creeping
sensation at the back of his neck made him
turn his head quickly, and he found the muzzle
of a musket confronting him in the window
opposite.

Behind the musket was the mocking face
of the lady of the boat. Her eyes, at this
moment, were rather disquietingly cool, and
her red mouth set firmly. The prisoner, how-
ever, felt a sudden comfort at her coming, an
absurd sense of her being, although an enemy,
yet not a stranger. At the same time a cer-
tain resentment at being trapped surged up
foolishly within him.

" I am at your service, madame," he said,
bowing stiffly.

A flicker of amusement passed over her face
at this. Then her mouth hardened again.

" If that is the case, will you give up your
sword now, monsieur ? " she asked.

" By your leave, madame," replied Zachary,
remtembering his slight, and once more forget-
ful of his eagerness to surrender, " I will con-
tinue to retain it. I am no more worthy of
trust now than I was an hour gone ! "

38 The Prisoner of Mademoiselle

" Pardon me, monsieur," retorted the girl,
crisply, " but you are now entirely worthy of
my confidence, being securely shut up, and
quite harmless. In truth, I have a desire for
your sword, and will accept it now directly
from your hand."

With the last words, her voice grew less
austere, and Zachary hesitated.

" Had I given it up an hour back, madame,"
said he, irresolutely, " I know not where my
soul might have been by now, but this poor
body would have been food for the crows."

The girl laughed whimsically.

" To care for your soul were all too heavy
a care for me, monsieur," she answered, " but
as for the poor body, it would have been under
my protection, as my prisoner ! "

" What an ass I have been, to be sure,"
thought Zachary. Aloud he said:

" I should have been quite safe, of course,
under the protection of — of whom, madame,
may I be permitted to ask ? "

" Never mind my name, monsieur," replied
the girl, almost rudely. " But you would have
been comparatively safe, at least for the time.

The Blockhouse in the Clearing 39

if the outrages of your countrymen have not
enraged our people beyond endurance."

" As for my countrymen," protested Zach-
ary, stoutly, " I'll wager that they have not
transgressed beyond the harsh customs of war.
But as for myself, I am proud to be in your
debt for my safety, m)adanie. My captivity
has this incalculable compensation, that I could
not be more completely prisoner, though shut
in these four walls, than, having once seen
you, I should always be, though free to wander
over all the world ! " And, with this fine
speech, he passed his hilt through the window.

To the compliment the lady paid no heed,
but she lowered her musket, and silently, with
lips pursed as one who weighs a problem, ac-
cepted the sword. After examining it care-
fully, and poising it as one familiar with such
weapons, to the New Englander's astonish-
ment she handed it back through the window.

" Keep it for me, monsieur," she said, with
a certain raillery in her voice. " I have no
immediate use for it. And pray polish it well,
for I like not those marks upon it."

Before Zachary had sufficiently recovered
himself to make rejoinder, she was gone, and

40 The Prisoner of Mademoiselle

seemed to take with her half the brilliancy of
the June day. So almost gracious had been
her voice in those last few words that Zachary
sat down and stared, unseeing, about the walls
of his prison. A pleased smile lightened his
face, and for the moment he forgot he was a
prisoner. He even, for half a moment, for-
got he was hungry. Then he remembered,
and the boyish satisfaction left his face. He
sprang to the door and tried it. It was still
securely fastened on the outside. He was still
a prisoner, that was sure, for all Mademoiselle's
brief gleam of graciousness. Somewhat sourly,
he resumed his interrupted exploration of the
cupboard. There was nothing there but a hard
and mouldy rind of cheese, which he ate with
relish, a leathern pouch containing gunpowder,
and a bar of lead for bullets. These muni-
tions of war he patted with delight. There
was no bullet-mould to be found anywhere,
but beside the fireplace was a box containing
flint and steel and tinder, and an iron ladle,
which had evidently been used for melting lead,
as its inner surface was streaked with silvery
metal. Zachary knew he could get along well
enough without a bullet-mould.

The Blockhouse in the Clearing 4 1

He was by this time thirsty as well as hun-
gry, but on this point he felt no longer anx-
ious. Being now the prisoner of Mademoi-
selle, with full confidence and as much patience
as he could muster he relinquished responsi-
bility to her. In one respect, however, he felt
that he must look out for himself. The nar-
row, unglazed openings which served the block-
house for windows were so situated as to com-
mand a view of every corner of the interior.
He had no liking for the idea that hostile eyes
might peer in upon him while he slept.
Wrenching up some of the heavy hewn planks
which formed the floor of his prison, he dis-
posed them about his bunk so as to make it
a place of complete concealment and shelter.
While engaged in this task, he noticed how soft
the earth was underneath the floor, and real-
ized, though with no adequate thrill of joy,
that, if need should arise, he would be able to
burrow an exit to the outer world.

As Zachary stood back to approve his handi-
work, he heard a scratching sound behind him,
and wheeled with a start. Those open loop-
holes were a strain upon the nerves. Sure
enough, as might have been expected where

42 The Prisoner of Mademoiselle

there were loopholes to invite, the muzzle of a
musket was just intruding itself. The menace
of its aspect, however, was effectually softened
by the fact that it bore a brown jug and a little
wicker basket. These Zachary hastened to ac-
cept. Whereupon the musket was as hastily
withdrawn; and Zachary found himself bow-
ing elaborate gratitude to the space of empty
green beyond the window. Behind the mus-
ket he had seen nothing more than a hand, —
white, indeed, and well kept, but large, and
assuredly not the hand of Mademoiselle. A
man's hand, beyond peradventure.

" May I not know the name of one to whom
I am so indebted ? " begged Zachary, staring
at the vacant window. There was no answer,
except the far-off whistle of a whitethroat
from a fir-tree across the clearing. Then,
drawn by an irresistible fragrance from the
basket, he turned eagerly to learn Mademoi-
selle's idea of how a prisoner of hers should
fare.

The contents of the basket, whatever they
were, were so fastidiously covered with the
finest of white napery, that Zachary felt him-
self greatly complimented at the outset.

The Blockhouse in the Clearing 43

Though his appetite was ravenous, he held
himself in restraint, like a wise child about
to open a gift, willing to prolong the delight
of anticipation. He took time to look at the
crest embroidered daintily on the corner of
the napkin. Then, uncovering a roasted
chicken, a generous cut of cold meat pasty,
a small barley loaf, a pat of golden butter,
and a little bowl of some red-coloured fruit
conserve which he did not recognize, he con-
gratulated himself on having fallen captive
to one who had no less appreciation of his ap-
petite than of his breeding. The jug he found
to contain a very excellent, if somewhat fiery
Spanish wine, much to his taste. Having
made a most comforting meal, his desires
turned to his pipe, which he found safe in his
pocket. But as for his tobacco — Alas, his
pouch was soaked in salt water, where he had
lain upon it all night in the bottom of the boat.
With pensive disgust he surveyed the sodden
mess, then spread it unhopefully in the sunniest
of the port-holes to dry. Though it would,
without doubt, be sorry stuff to smoke, he re-
flected that the experimenting with it, even
the proving of its demerits, might serve to wile

44 The Prisoner of Mademoiselle

away Some monotonous hours. Just then, by
some caprice, he chanced to look again into the
basket ; and there at the bottom, under a nap-
kin, he found a little carved wooden pipe, and
a coarse twist of tobacco. On this latter he
pounced eagerly; and as he sniffed its rather
crude aroma he glanced around the room with
a foolish, irrepressible grin of satisfaction.

The pipe which he found in the basket was
exquisitely carved, and Zachary eyed it with
approval. Nevertheless it was his own well-
tried consoler of many a toilsome vigil that
he chose to fill and light. By this choice he
showed himself yet heart-whole, for all the
bewildering eyeshots of his inscrutable and
imperious captor. In fact, the lady who had
so unexpectedly, and it seemed effectually, as-
sumed control of his destinies, was just now no
more than a radiant but elusive thread woven
into the tissue of his dreams. Unquestion-
ably, he was alone, helpless, a prisoner among
foes from whom he or his countrymen could
expect small mercy. Yet as he lay on his back
in the bunk, and blew long clouds of the rough
Acadian tobacco, he felt ridiculously at ease,
and content with this latest whim of fate. He

The Blockhouse in the Clearing 45

had none at home in Boston town to fret over-
much on his behalf. He was not worrying
greatly as to the enterprise of his comrades on
shipboard, whom he held very well able to
take care of themselves. With wealth and
leisure to command, adventure was the spur
to all his action, and here he had fallen
promptly upon abundant adventure from the
hour of leaving the ship. Mystery was the
lure of his longings; and mystery was surely
all about him. It had enshrouded him in the
fog upon the bay. It seemed to peer in upon
him now from every little loophole with its
shaft of light. He was well housed, — for
which he cared not a jot. He was well fed,
for which he cared emphatically. He had his
sword, for which he cared more than words
could tell. And though everything was so
quiet about the blockhouse that he could hear
distinctly the crisp fluttering of poplar-leaves
outside, the stillness was of that nature which
hints of interesting things to happen. How-
ever, none of these interesting things were
happening at the moment, so, very composedly.
Lieutenant Zachary Cowles fell asleep.

CHAPTER V.

THE FURTIVE VISITORS

THE afternoon sun rolled down the sky,
and dropped in splendour behind the
serried black crests of the fir woods.
As the fiery gold died away to a broad wash
of amber crossed by two level lines of crim-
son, and the upper sky bloomed softly into
pale tones of lilac and aerial green, the hermit-
thrushes in the woods all about the clearing
began to chant their tranquilly ecstatic re-
sponses, — slow, thrilling phrases from golden
flutes and silver bells inextricably involved.
The cadenced enchantment stole in through
the loopholes with the dusk and the dewy
evening scents; but the tired prisoner slept
on, only dreaming the more pleasantly for these
influences. Then the hermits stopped, and the
night-hawks, swooping in the pale dome of
46

The Furtive Visitors 47

sky, began their twanging of high, myste-
rious strings. And the forest night closed
down softly about the old blockhouse.

Presently on the glimmering edge of the
clearing a huge, dark shape appeared, slouch-
ing and sniffing. After keeping close to "the
trees for a few moments, it started noiselessly
across the open toward the blockhouse. From
those dark, silent loopholes came a savour
most appealing to the bear's nostrils, the savour
of roast chicken. Twice he circled the struc-
ture slowly, sniffing along the foundations for
an opening. His big flat feet moved without
a sound, as shod in velvet. At length the door
attracted his attention, and he leaned his whole
weight against it. But the massive timbers
never even yielded him the recognition of a
creak. Disappointed, he resumed his silent
prowling along the foundations. Then, chanc-
ing to look up, one of the loopholes excited
his curiosity, and he rose on his great haunches
to investigate it. As the chance of the wild
would have it, this particular loophole was just
over the sleeper's head. As the bear sniffed
eagerly, seeking that aroma of roast chicken,
his confiding nostrils caught instead the

48 The Prisoner of Mademoiselle

dreaded scent of man. A look of abashed
alarm came into his small, cunning eyes, and,
dropping on all fours, he went scurrying back
across the open to the shelter of his woods.

As the darkness grew denser, the blockhouse
grew less solitary, though not less silent. The
furtive life of the wilds began to centre about
it. Here and there a softly hurried rustling
in the grasses betrayed the wary diligence of
the mice and shrews. Presently a fox ap-
peared, his brush of a tail floating behind him.
He drifted swiftly hither and thither, a darker
shadow among the shadows, and had snapped
up two overconfident or unlucky shrews before
he reached the blockhouse. As he passed close
to the door the man-scent on the threshold
arrested him. He sniffed cautiously, wrinkling
his long, thin nose in aversion. Then he trotted
off into the woods again. He would have no
more of hunting with so feared and hated a
foe in the neighbourhood.

The fox had not been gone above ten minutes
when there was a desperate rush in the low
bushes across the clearing, and a rabbit ap-
peared, stretched straight out like a coursing
greyhound, and fleeing for its life. Once

The Furtive Visitors 49

before this same rabbit had escaped by dart-
ing in through the open door of the block-
house, whither its more crafty and more sus-
picious pursuer had refused to follow. A few
yards behind came a weasel, hot on the blood
quest. The rabbit reached the blockhouse, —
but there was no door open to it. Around
the dark building it ran, its heart thumping
with terror; and just before the barred thresh-
old it met the weasel face to face. Paralyzed
on the brink, it stood stock-still, quivering.
The weasel, springing upon its throat, dragged
it down, and began sucking its blood.

Just at this moment, when the silent horror
and soundless struggle had sunk to stillness,
another visitor came to the blockhouse. It
was the turn of the air to send some of its
wandering kindreds. A pair of wide, un-
rustling wings floated swiftly down and across
from the tree-tops. Two round, fixedly star-
ing eyes flamed down upon the weasel and the
rabbit. Two sets of talons, long, keen-edged,
inexorable as steel, shot down from the fluff
of feathers below those wide wings, — and
the weasel felt himself clutched, at the small
pf the back and just behind the head, in the

50 The Prisoner of Mademoiselle

very grip of death. One fierce writhe he made,
striving impotently to twist his head around
and fix his keen fangs in his captor's thigh.
Then rage and pain and fear alike faded into
blackness.

The owl, after staring about him deliberately
for half a minute, began to make his meal, tear-
ing the victim, and bolting the fragments in
big, spasmodic gulps. While he was thus com-
fortably occupied, a tall, gray figure of a man
in habitant homespun and buckskin leggings,
came striding silently along the trail and up
to the door of the blockhouse. At his approach
the owl snapped his beak angrily, then rose
with his prey in his talons, and winnowed off
to some dead tree in the forest.

The newcomer seemed surprised to find the
door of the blockhouse closed. He was still
more surprised to find it fastened on the out-
side. After some quiet considering he un-
barred it, and attempted to push it open.
When it resisted his vigorous but noiseless
efforts his astonishment was unbounded. For
some seconds he stood pondering the enigma.
Then, having replaced the outer bar just as
he had found it, he went around to the loop-

The Furtive Visitors 51

hole just over the bunk. Here he listened
intently for several minutes. His alert ear
told him it was a man whose deep, regular
breathing he heard so plainly. Also, it was
but one man. Satisfied on this point, he went
away as silently as he had come, and continued
up the trail into the woods.

CHAPTER VI.

MADEMOISELLE ANNE

THE manor-house of the Seigniory of
Cheticamp was a wide, low, irregular
wooden structure, with high-pitched
gables and narrow, pointed dormer-windows
in its roofs, and overhanging eaves. Its white
walls gleamed through the light green of apple
and cherry-trees, which billowed softly around
it. About its lower windows thronged pink
roses, and stately blue larkspur, and creamy-
bloomed syringa, and honeysuckle. From its
wide front door an avenue of stiff, steeple-
like Lombardy poplars led down a gentle slope
to the Port Royal road.

Through an open bedroom window, framed
in honeysuckle, blew in a flower-sweet air,
fresh with the first cool of evening, and flut-
tered the white silk dressing-gown which lay
52

Mademoiselle Anne 53

back loosely from Mademoiselle's glimmering
shoulders. They were very perfect shoulders
in their slim way, firmly and finely modelled,
with neither dimple nor meagreness, girlish
yet strong, the skin satin-soft, white, yet with
a suggestion of the sun in its whiteness. Anne
de Biencourt approved of her shoulders, and
suffered her maid Lizette to praise them un-
stintingly while dressing her thick, rebellious
hair. To-night, however, she only half heard
Lizette's accustomed adulations.

All through the toilet she was observing her
own face intently in the big oval mirror, seek-
ing counsel from^ the dark eyes which looked
back into hers with no longer mirth or mockery
in their gaze. On the preceding night a mo-
mentous problem had been suddenly thrust
upon her for solution. And now, while she
pondered it anxiously, the frank face of her
English captive in the blockhouse kept flitting
between her fancy and her reason. Oddly
enough, the counsel which she got from^ those
enigmatic eyes in the glass seemed in some
way helpful to her, or at least not distasteful.
When, at length, the shadows of the apple-
trees fell so thickly in the room that the eyes

54 The Prisoner of Mademoiselle

in the glass no longer spoke to her clearly, she
would not put up with the dimness for a mo-
ment. The hair-dressing paused. The cur-
tains were drawn, and candles lighted on either
side of the mirror. Then, the companionship
of her semblance in the glass restored to her,
and its sympathetic comprehension fully as-
sured, she found herself ready to lend more
attentive ear to Lizette's chatter.

The maid, a spoiled favourite and more or
less deep in her mistress's confidence, imagined
that she understood Mademoiselle's air of un-
happy abstraction. She was far from sym-
pathizing with it; but with all her privileges
she was not quite so rash as to obtrude her
difference of opinion upon Mademoiselle Anne.
During her three years of attendance on Made-
moiselle, one year in Quebec and two here in
Acadie, she had learned that her liberty of
speech lay chiefly along the lines of intelligent
and enthusiastic agreement with her mistress
at every point. She liked Quebec, with its
crowded and hill-climbing houses, its smart
soldiers, its massive ramparts, its gaieties, its
air of a metropolis in little. The country she
found dull, and Cheticamp village stupid be-

Mademoiselle Anne 55

yond all conception of dulness. The roses
and hollyhocks of Cheticamp manor were only
less uninteresting to her than the tiresome
woods wherein her mistress was so fond of
wandering, and where, she felt sure, one must
be in constant peril of snakes, and bears, and
caterpillars. She could not believe that Made-
moiselle's cheerful acceptance of this Acadian
exile with her irascible old guardian, the
governor, her enthusiastic interest in Cheti-
camp and the dreadful, silent woods, were
anything more than a mask assumed for a
purpose which that imperious little lady would
some day permit her to penetrate. Meanwhile,
discretion, as well as devotion to her mistress,
impelled her to wear a mask herself, modelled
as closely as possible on that of Mademoiselle.
At this moment, while her deft, brown fingers
lingered lovingly in the dark masses of Anne's
hair, she was trembling with an eager hope
that Anne would solve her problem in the
simple way of yielding to her guardian's com-
mands, which would speedily restore them
both, mistress and maid, to the distractions of
the fortress city on the St. Lawrence. Of

56 The Prisoner of Mademoiselle

what was in her heart, however, she let her
lips tell nothing.

It had been late that afternoon when Anne
returned from her hunting, and, being tired
from the excitement of having brought down
such unusual and unexpected gamie, she had
gone at once to her room to sleep. For more
reasons than her fatigue she had excused her-
self from dinner; and now, while Lizette was
dressing her for the ball which the governor
was giving that night in honour of Monsieur
de Viron's arrival, she was ready, in a pre-
occupied fashion, to hear the news of the day.
Behind her preoccupation, however, was a solic-
itude which she did not comprehend, or even
realize. Could she have been told that her
real interest in such news as Lizette might have
to tell was dependent upon the degree to which
they might touch the captive in the blockhouse,
she would have repudiated the implication
sharply. Yet she might well have drawn
startling conclusions from the intentness which
spoke to her from those dark eyes in her
mirror whenever Lizette's words bore even
remotely upon matters of concern to Master

Mademoiselle Anne 57

Zachary Cowles within his four walls of gray
wood.

" Monsieur will be none too well pleased to
be packed off to Port Royal so speedily," sug-
gested Lizette, after a few moments of silence
broken only by the caressing whisper of the
brush upon Mademoiselle's recalcitrant hair.

"To Port Royal? Impossible! What do
you mean ? " cried Anne, sitting up with sud-
den apprehension. Then, realizing her mis-
take, she sank back again in her chair, and
asked, indifferently:

" But what monsieur, child ? And why is
he to be packed off so speedily?"

A wiser brain than Lizette's might have mis-
interpreted that start, that upleaping of alarm
in the mirrored eyes.

" Oh, mademoiselle, what monsieur can
there be but Monsieur de Viron? " she pro-
tested archly, delighted with her misinterpre-
tation, delighted with herself for having, as
she thought, succeeded in ambuscading the
heart of her inscrutable mistress.

" Who knows ? " replied Anne, crisply, her
lips closing to a scarlet line. " But why
shouldn't Monsieur de Viron go at once to

58 The Prisoner of Mademoiselle

Port Royal ? And why does he go if he doesn't
want to? I've been asleep, you know, child,
and I have no idea what momentous events
may have been upsetting Cheticamp during the
last few hours."

" Why, mademoiselle, haven't you heard ?
Why, the dreadful Bastonnais, though they had
but one ship, landed a party almost under the
guns of Port Royal, and burned St. Clement's,
and killed several of the poor villagers who
fought them, and got away to their ship again
without the loss of a mian. And they stole
everything they could find, — even the sacred
vessels and the candlesticks from the church.
But Father Labillois says the candlesticks at
St. Clement's were only plated ! "

" And what can Monsieur de Viron do about
it ? " inquired Anne, with a faint suggestion
of scorn in her voice, which Lizette quite failed
to appreciate.

" He can help the garrison drive them oflf
or capture them," answered Lizette, with en-
thusiasm. " He can fire our soldiers with his
own noble courage. In any case, he has to
go, for his Excellency insists upon sending him
in his own place. His Excellency is in a ter-

Mademoiselle Anne 59

rible rage because he can't go himself. And
his foot is very bad. It is truly dangerous,
mademoiselle, to go near him to-day. But
he swears the ball shall go on just the same
as if there was not a Bastonnais this side of
hell. He said those very words, mademoiselle,
he really did."

" My poor uncle ! " murmured Mademoiselle
Anne.

" Yes, indeed, mademoiselle ! " went on Liz-
ette. " And he swears that every Englishman
that he can catch he will hang to the tallest
trees around Port Royal, for they are nothing
better than pirates, he says! And at this he
grows quite amiable ! "

Mademoiselle de Biencourt's face paled
slightly, as she thought of Lieutenant Zach-
ary's boyish and confident face in the fatal
noose; and she decided that a more secret
prison than the blockhouse must be found the
first thing on the morrow. She knew not what
curious travellers might go down to the water
by that trail, and she felt sure that her captive
would never have the discretion to keep hidden
unless he should chance to be asleep. All this
passed through her mind in a few seconds,

6o The Prisoner of Mademoiselle

while the eyes in the mirror answered her with
darkenings, dilations, contractions, as resolve
followed upon alarm. Then she spoke in tem-
pered deprecation] of his Excellency's threats.

" My dear uncle has a short memory, I fear,
Lizette. When our Acadian privateers make a
raid on the coast villages of New England,
don't we, also, steal and burn and kill? And
we don't call ourselves pirates, do we?"

" But, mademoiselle, it is surely different ! "
cried Lizette, warmly. " Our soldiers are
noble, brave, good. These Bastonnais are sav^
ages, barbarians. Surely, every one knows
that!"

Mademoiselle de Biencourt shrugged her
shoulders with a smile of tolerance. Lizette's
prejudices formed one of her scanty sources of
diversion in the unfruitful atmosphere of Cheti-
camp, and she prized them too highly to run
risk of correcting them. The element of the
reformer was absolutely lacking in her
make-up.

" Even the great Monsieur de Viron can
hardly get at these terrible Bastonnais of yours
without ships," she suggested presently, letting
Lizette's contention win by default. " I under-

Mademoiselle Anne 6i

stand there's not one of our ships now at Port
Royal. Monsieur de Viron, it seems to me,
would have shown more sagacity if he had
sent around to La Heve for two or three ships,
that he might fight these English on the sea,
and take back the stolen treasure. Oh, Lizette,
I believe we women could teach these conceited
men something in the art of war ! But perhaps
I am hasty. No doubt the great De Viron
intends to swim ! "

At this mockery, so inconsistent with the
solicitous concern revealed a few minutes be-
fore, Lizette was bewildered. She chose, how-
ever, to answer only Mademoiselle's paren-
thesis, where she felt her feet on safe ground.

" Indeed, yes, mademoiselle," she agreed,
gaily, " beyond question we could teach them
much in the art of war. Do we not teach
them all the little they know of the art of love,
the stupids, — ' an art so much more difficult
than that of war?"

" I wash Monsieur de Viron the same degree
of success in the one as in the other ! " mur-
mured Mademoiselle Anne, enigmatically.

The tone of her voice, however, was not so
ambiguous as her words; and Lizette looked

62 The Prisoner of Mademoiselle

with quick, searching inquiry straight into the
dark eyes of the mirror. These eyes looked
back with mocking defiance, and Lizette was
baffled. She forgot to prattle, but fell to won-
dering if there could, by any chance, be an-
other man. At this thought her heart sank
for a moment, and her visions of la belle Que-
bec grew dim. When she thought a little fur-
ther, however, and considered that whether
Mademoiselle loved Monsieur de Viron or not,
she was certainly betrothed to him, her spirit
rose again. Monsieur de Viron was not a man
to easily relinquish what he wanted, and there
was no doubt that he wanted Mademoiselle
herself no less than the rich estates which she
would bring to him. And then — his Excel-
lency!

Who was Mademoiselle, with all her sweet
imperiousness and will to have her own way,
that she should think of opposing that man of
iron and fire? His Excellency, in his way,
loved Mademoiselle, — as who did not ! — and
he knew best what was for her happiness. In
this, Lizette felt proudly, there was a bond of
understanding between herself and his Excel-
lency, though that arrogant old man might not

Mademoiselle Anne 6;^

know it. She, too, adored Mademoiselle; and
she, too, like his Excellency, knew better what
was for Mademoiselle's good than that wilful
and incomprehensible lady could possibly know
for herself.

Occupied with these meditations, Lizette
held an imwonted silence while she finished the
elaborate structure of Anne's hair, and gowned
her in a low-cut gown of cream brocade. The
girl's silence was lost upon her mistress, who,
having learned all the news of the day which
closely concerned her, was once more absorbed
in shadowy, indeterminate dreams, out of
which but one truth stood sharp and definite,
namely, that a new prison must be found at
once for the frank-faced captive of the block-
house.

Meanwhile, as Anne dreamed thus before
her mirror, heedless alike of Lizette's deft
fingers and of the cool garden scents which
drew in through the open window, far off in
his rude bunk in the blockhouse the captive
lay sleeping the sleep of a tired, unanxious boy ;
and the night-hawks were swooping with the
sound of smitten chords in the dome of sky
above the lonely clearing.

CHAPTER VII.

MY LADY DIFFICULT

THE mansion-house of Cheticamp was one
of the oldest in Acadie, built with high
gables, but wide, low-ceiled rooms. In
the ballroom the ceiling seemed to come pecul-
iarly low, almost upon the heads of the dan-
cers, because of the amplitude of the room in
length and breadth. Its floor was of polished
maple, which reflected the soft radiance of the
candles in their sconces along the wall. The
company which had gathered here at the gov-
ernor's sumlmons, to celebrate the betrothal of
his niece and ward to Monsieur le Comte de
Viron, of Quebec, was small, though all west-
em Acadie from La Heve on the south to Pizi-
quid and Shubenacadie on the north, had con-
tributed. The gentlefolk of Acadie were few,
but these few, though sometimes, from their

My Lady Difficult 65

long isolation, perhaps a trifle homespun in
their breeding, were for the most part choice
in blood, and kin to some of the most illus-
trious houses of Old France. All the women
were dressed richly, some in the style of the
day, others in the style of the day before.
Of the men, all but a couple of priests, and the
governor's physician, and a thin-lipped, grave-
eyed old judge from Port Royal, were in full
uniform and wore an air of imminent depar-
ture. The men, indeed, were few as compared
with the women, all the officers of the garri-
son except one of the governor's aides being
on duty, and the gentry of the coast seigniories
along Fundy and Port Royal Basin being on
guard, lest the audacious and elusive New
Englanders might make a descent upon their
villages. It was the governor's orders only
that kept any men at the ball, for every hand
that answered to a sword-hilt was fretting for
action. Every hand, that is, but one. The
Count de Viron had no great enthusiasm for
departure. The long, tedious, and difficult
voyage from Quebec he had taken for desire of
Mademoiselle Anne, and he had no mind to
be dismissed from her side within twenty-four

66 The Prisoner of Mademoiselle

hours of his arrival. The raiding of one small
New England brig upon a few Acadian vil-
lagers seemed to him a small matter where
his personal desires were concerned. Hirriself
a veteran of the Spanish wars, with more than
one achievement in the Low Countries to his
credit, he had no concern to prove his prow-
ess here in Acadie, and moreover he had a
shrewd suspicion that no glory was to be won
off the crafty New Englanders. The governor,
however, in selecting him as his personal repre-
sentative at Port Royal, had left him no choice ;
and in a very bad humour, therefore, he was
to set out at daybreak.

The count's ill-humour was by no means
soothed by the fact that up to the moment of
opening the ball, which she was to do with his
assistance. Mademoiselle Anne had cleverly
managed to avoid any approach to a tete-d,-
tete with him. All the morning, since his ap-
pearance, she had been absent from Cheticamp.
Upon her return she had been sleeping.
Through dinner, and afterward, she had been
dressing. And since her arrival in the draw-
ing-room to receive the guests she had kept
obstinately beside her uncle's chair. To her

My Lady Difficult 67

uncle, who was obliged to receive his guests
sitting because his ancient enemy, the gout,
was just then assailing him in force, she had
made herself so indispensable and so enchant-
ing that the old gentleman grew selfish and
quite forgot it was his place to play into De
Viron's hands. The latter, indeed, was not
allowed to feel himself slighted. Mademoi-
selle de Biencourt was not heedless of the
duties of hospitality. Though sweetly obtuse
when the count would seek to manoeuvre for
a private word with her, though disdainfully
uncomprehending when he would strive to
establish a claim to intimate understanding,
though delicately and bewilderingly derisive
when he would endeavour to besiege her ear
with discreet tendernesses, she never let him go
away with his discontent. Whether that she
remembered her duty, and had compunctions,
or that she dreaded his enterprise and thought
best to keep him in sight, she herself could
not have told. Truth was, however, that every
little while, from the safe vantage of his Ex-
cellency's side, she would send him a glance
from deep, inexplicable eyes, and back he
would come in haste, thrilled and subdued.

68 The Prisoner of Mademoiselle

" What is it? What is the matter, my lady? "
he had once been so misguided as to ask.
But Anne's blank look of incomprehension, so
plainly assumed, had effectually discouraged
him.

When, at last, it was time for him to claim
the small, arrogant figure, and lead her to the
head of the dance that was forming, he was
in no frame of mind to do himself credit in
Mademoiselle's eyes. Under such conditions
the most experienced man of the world may
throw away all his advantages, and become
as imbecile as the greenest boy in the madness
of a first passion. The Count de Viron was
not fortunate. He was certainly very distin-
guished-looking, however, as Anne acknowl-
edged to herself; and the sullen fire of wrath
in his face made him almost handsome. She
had no very positive objection to him, indeed,
except as a lover, and particularly as a lover
not of her own choosing. She had no desire
to be any more disagreeable to him than should
prove absolutely necessary.

But De Viron was not politic. When he
should have been devoting himself to the in-
tricacies of the figure, he was staring at his

My Lady Difficult 69

partner, and making mistakes which put out
the other dancers. This annoyed Anne, who
liked the thing in hand done well. Whatever
the game she chanced to play, whether great
or little, she was apt to play it with absorption ;
and just now her game was the dance. When,
therefore, De Viron almost stopped her to
mutter, half in pleading, half in demand:
" When am I to see you for a minute alone,
Anne ? " she could not keep a note of impa-
tience from her reply.

" I don't know, monsieur, really. As host-
ess, I have duties."

There was no time for more at the moment,
but presently he was again beside her.

" Am I the only one toward whom you have
no durfiy ? " he demanded, tactlessly enough.

Mademoiselle's dark face flashed at him
with sudden, radiant mockery.

" I should have thought that, toward you,
monsieur, you would have it my pleasure, not
my duty ! "

Upon this he had some moments to ponder
before the chance came to reply. It was a
speech which left opening for gracious and
persuasive replies, moreover ; but Monsieur de

70 The Prisoner of Mademoiselle

Viron, as we have seen, was not in the mood
to make right use of his opportunities. He
blundered scornfully through his steps, and,
as he returned to Madempiselle's side, followed
by vexed glances from the other dancers, he
returned also, doggedly, to his first demand.

" But whether as your duty or your pleas-
ure, Anne, I want you to give me a little of
your company," he urged. " When shall it
be, my Lady Difficult? I am leaving for Port
Royal at daybreak."

" So soon ! " exclaimed Anne, innocently.
" Why, you only arrived this afternoon ! "

" I arrived early this morning," corrected
De Viron, in an injured voice, diverted for
the moment from his point. " And you know
well enough that your good uncle has insisted
on my rushing off this way. He seems to
think it will require all Acadie to upset this
handful of psalm-singing Boston pirates ! "

" They seem to be very brave. I don't be-
lieve you can do anything with them, mon-
sieur," said Anne, purposing to irritate him
into further discussion of matters safely im-
personal. But this time she touched too heav-
ily, doing injustice to his discernment. For

My Lady Difficult

a moment he stared at her wiith angry ama;
ment. Was it possible that Anne de Bi«
court, daughter of ten generations of Fren
soldiers, could have so poor an opinion of i
soldiers of France? Then he understood 1
tactics, and laughed with unwilling apprec
tion.

" You've cleverly turned my flank, Anm
said he. " But I am not routed. Tell me, de
when am I to see you ? "

" When you return from thrashing th(
English — perhaps," laughed Mademoiselle,

This discouraging answer drove De Vir
to bluntness. The dance had just ended, a
Mademoiselle was turning with decision to
sume her place beside her uncle's chair,
the pause, she felt that every eye in the ro(
was fixed upon herself and her partner. S
saw that De Viron's face was dark.

" There will be no ' perhaps ' then, my de
est lady," he declared, quietly.

" Why not ? " demanded Anne, resentful
this tone of confident authority. She felt tl
her face had gone suddenly aflame, and inst(
of continuing down the room toward her un<
she turned toward the nearest wall, where stc

72 The Prisoner of Mademoiselle

a tallish, round-faced priest, with mirthful,
childlike blue eyes and a mouth of mingled
subtlety and tenderness.

Feeling himself now on sure ground, while
Mademoiselle's weapons were trembling in her
grasp, De Viron recovered his composure and
grew more considerate. He did not reply till
she had reached the shelter of her confessor's
side, where she turned with an air of defiant
apprehension.

De Viron gave her one ardent look, then
dropped his eyes to her small, brown, shapely
hands.

" Because," said he, softly, " I have to go
back to Quebec next week, — in four days,
— ^and — his Excellency has promised that I
am not to go alone ! "

Anne's colour faded out like a sinking flame,
and she glanced from one side to the other,
as if looking for an escape from the cage that
was about to close upon her. Instinctively
she caught the priest's arm, and was brought
back to her self-possession by a glimpse of his
clear eyes smiling down upon her with com-
prehension and sympathy and veiled warning.
Back into her own eyes leaped the old mocking

My Lady Difficult 73

light, and she dropped De Viron a sweeping
curtsey.

" Indeed, monsieur, you do me too much
honour ! " she said.

" It is I who am honoured, my dearest lady,"
responded De Viron, gravely.

" Pardon me if I seemed, in my surprise, to
value too poorly my good fortune," continued
Anne, her eyes cast down. " I had not
dreamed that I should be asked to assume the
fetters so soon ! " Her voice sounded strange
in her own ears. She had not, in very truth,
guessed for an instant that her fate was so
imminent. And till that moment she had never
fully realized how all her soul and body re-
belled against that fate. Her helplessness con-
fronted her unmasked. There was no way out.
There was no excuse for questioning her
uncle's choice, — and his authority was su-
preme. Monsieur de Viron was well born, rich,
intelligent, good to look upon, quite sufficiently
young, — and now she knew, too late, that she
hated him. Her heart sickened and sank ; but,
as it sank, her spirits rose as if to a great
emergency. Her colour came back till her lips

74 The Prisoner of Mademoiselle

were intensest scarlet, and her eyes danced
bewilderingly.

This sudden caprice reduced De Viron to
instant besottedness.

" Indeed, sweet lady," he murmured, leaning
over her, quite forgetful of the priest's guile-
less eyes fixed upon him, " you shall feel no
fetters in my love ! "

Mademoiselle's clasp tightened on Father
Labillois's arm, and she flashed up at De
Viron's face a wicked challenge.

" No fetters, monsieur ? " she laughed,
softly. " Oh, but courage was always the
birthright of the De Virons ! "

Somewhat taken aback, the count hesitated
for a reply. And while he hesitated, Anne
gaily waved her fan at him and slipped off
with another partner.

CHAPTER VIII.

THE WORD FROM THE BLOCKHOUSE

NEVER had Mademoiselle, since her
coming to Cheticamp two years before,
been so gracious and so gay as on this
night of her betrothal ball. The men who had
of old found her distant, to-night found her
so sympathetic that they were in danger of
losing their heads. More than one, seeing won-
ders of tenderness in lips which had formerly
but mocked them with their scarlet curves,
seeing deeps of gentle understanding in dark
eyes which had of old but daunted them with
their dangerous and laughing light, began to
dream mad dreams and look vindictively upon
De Viron.

The latter, meanwhile, was not happy.
Under one pretext or another, Mademoiselle
succeeded in eluding him, save for an occa-
75

76 The Prisoner of Mademoiselle

sional swift and passing interchange of phrase,
till far into the night. At last, when he was
beginning to plan some punishment for this
merciless display of coquetry, the governor
came tardily to his aid.

Anne was standing by his Excellency's chair,
squandering her gayest wit and brightest
glances upon Father Labillois, who listened
with something of solicitude behind the frank
affection of his eyes. As De Viron hastened
up, resolute rather than hopeful, she made as
if to dart away on some too long neglected
duty. But his Excellency laid a hand upon her
arm.

" It is time you rested a little, cherie," he
said, looking at her radiant face with admira-
tion. " You have been doing the utmost of
your duty to-night. But now Monsieur the
Count may surely claim a share of your atten-
tion."

" I have found him inclined to claim; it all.
One has to be almost severe with him," laughed
Mademoiselle. But at the same time she cast
an appealing look at Father Labillois, as if
calling upon him to rescue her. De Viron
caught the look. The words would have

The Word from the Blockhouse 77

pleased him well enough, but that imploring
glance baffled and chilled him. He eyed the
priest with an instant and fierce antagonism,
which the latter accepted benignly. His Ex-
cellency looked from one to the other with an
air of puzzled impatience. It had never oc-
curred to him, nor did it occur to him now,
that Anne could have the slightest dissatisfac-
tion with the choice he had made for her. In-
deed, if such an idea had occurred to him, it
would have troubled him not in the least. But
just at this moment his foot gave a twinge,
and he felt that the moment was ill chosen for
lovers' tiffs.

" I wouldn't be too severe with him now,
Anne, or he might take it into his head to be
severe with you after next Wednesday," he
growled, raising an admonitory finger. Then
the twinge loosed its grip, the bristling brushes
of his eyebrows drew apart again, and his
voice softened. " Run away now and make
up while you have a good chance," he com-
manded.

Seeing no way out of it, Mademoiselle laid
her finger-tips in De Viron's ready arm, and
was ^bout to let him lead her away in tri-

78 The Prisoner of Mademoiselle

umph to the library, where she felt that she
would have some difficult and dangerous fenc-
ing to do. But just at this moment a young
officer came up to his Excellency, leaned over
his chair, and told him something in a low
voice. Anne caught the word " blockhouse,"
and a spasm of terror took her in the throat.
" Wait ! " she cried, abruptly, and drew her
escort back without ceremony. Then, seeing
a look of surprise on his face, she pulled her-
self together in a second, and laughed up at
him in a manner to disarm resentment and
make him forget surprise.

" Just one moment, monsieur," she sug-
gested. " This may be some news from the
seat of war. My uncle looks interested."

" Oh," said his Excellency, answering her
glance of eager question, " it's only that some
one has got some one shut up hard and fast
in the old blockhouse down on the Vardeau
trail."

Anne swallowed a strange dryness in her
throat.

" Why, I came past the old blockhouse this
very morning ! " she remarked, incredulously.

The Word from the Blockhouse 79

" I shot a partridge just on the edge of the
clearing. The door was wide open."

" That was twelve hours ago, — fourteen
hours ago, child," answered his Excellency,
indulgently. " The whole course of a life may
be changed in twelve hours."

" But how do you know there is some one
shut up in the blockhouse ? " persisted Anne,
feeling that she must find out everything, and
that without delay.

" Why," interposed the young officer, eager
to talk to Mademoiselle, " it appears that
Gil Beaudy — one of our coureurs des hois,
you know — has just come in by the trail.
As he passed the blockhouse, he remembered a
pipe he had left there last week, and stopped
to get it. He found the door securely barred
on the outside. Surprised at this unusual cir-
cumstance, he undid the bar and tried to enter.
To his infinitely greater astonishment, the door
was equally secured upon the inside also. Nat-
urally, he cast about for an explanation. Steal-
ing noiselessly around, he listened beneath each
of the loopholes. At length he heard the sound
of deep, regular breathing. It was just where
he knew the bunk was situated. Plainly, a

8o The Prisoner of Mademoiselle

man was imprisoned in the blockhouse, and
asleep in the bunk. Plainly, too, he had reason
to fear some violence from without, as he had
taken pains to fasten the door on the inside.
It was further manifest that he was coura-
geous, or he would never have had the compo-
sure of mind to sleep under such conditions ! "

The youngf officer paused triumphant, elated
beyond measure at having so marvellously suc-
ceeded in holding the rapt attention of Made-
moiselle de Biencourt, hitherto almost uncon-
scious of his existence. He paused to let his
words have due effect, but he had distinctly the
manner of holding something important in
reserve. By this time a glittering crowd had
gathered about him, hanging on his words.

But Monsieur de Viron was impatient, and
altogether incredulous as to the importance of
his news.

" All this excitement about some habitcmt
rivalry ! " said he, scornfully. " No doubt Jean
has trapped Jacques, and got him locked up
to keep him aWay from little stub-fingered
Josephte. And no doubt Jacques has bolted
the door on the inside, lest Jean should come
back and cudgel him when Josephte proves un-

The Word from the Blockhouse 8i

responsive. And this is what delays his Ex-
cellency's festivities ! "

For this clever interpretation of the circum-
stances, De Viron had his instant reward, for
Anne permitted herself to squeeze his arm
shyly, in a way that made the blood run trem-
bling through his veins. Every one looked
superciliously at the young officer as at one
who had appropriated their consideration under
false pretences. And his Excellency said:
" Well, we'll find out all about it in the morn-
ing. Meanwhile, it is certainly nothing to
divert such a company as this from its amuse-
ment."

But the young officer had his forces in re-
serve. He was a tactician, with a future ahead
of him.

" Your pardon for one momlent, your Ex-
cellency," he interposed, hastily, with an air of
confidence which checked the scattering crowd.
" There is an English boat pulled up in the
creek not half a mile from the blockhouse.
The oars are in it. The name God's Provi-
dence is on the stern, so it has evidently come
from that accursed ship of the Bastonnais
which is now harrying our shores. No empty

82 The Prisoner of Mademoiselle

boat could have drifted all the way around
through the islands and up here. Is it not
probable that the mysterious prisoner is some
one who has got lost from the English ship? "
Drawing himself to his full height, the speaker
proudly surveyed his audience.

" H'm-m-m ! " muttered De Viron, grudg-
ingly; but, before he could attack this hypoth-
esis, the young man continued:

" Whoever he is, he seems to be a gentleman,
for he carries a small sword; and he seems
to have protested against his capture, for there
are two of those thieving rascal fishermen
from the island lying dead in the bushes. It
must have been a pretty fight." The governor
slapped his well leg joyously, and cried :

" Of course, miy boy ! That explains it all.
Some of the good fishermen down there have
captured the scoundrel, and caged him, in order
that they may bring him to me in the morning
and get a reward. And they shall have it, too.
But meanwhile, we might get him up here that
you may take a look at him before you leave,
De Viron. He won't be much to look at when
you get back ! " And his Excellency laughed
with savage satisfaction. The burning of St.

The Word from the Blockhouse 83

Clement's had combined with the gout to make
him merciless.

Anne shivered, and looked at the speaker
with eyes of horror. She was about to pro-
test, — to say she knew not what, — when
De Viron's voice interfered.

" Perhaps, your Excellency, I had better go
and fetch him myself," he said, with angry
irony. " I don't seem to be particularly
needed here."

Anne had not looked at him for some time.

Now, however, she awoke to the instant
needs of the situation. She pressed his arm
and turned upon him a glance of melting re-
proach.

" I think you have an engagement with me,
have you not, monsieur ? " she whispered,
leaning up to his shoulder with intimate con-
fidence.

" Do you really want me to stay ? " he asked
in reply, as foolishly and as fervently as if he
had never in all his life before put such a
question.

" I don't want you to go, monsieur ! " re-
sponded Anne, with an altogether convincing
note in her voice.

84 The Prisoner of Mademoiselle

" After all, your Excellency," spoke up the
conciliated gentleman, " what is the use of dis-
turbing ourselves to-night? Why not leave
Master Pirate to his bad dreams till morning?
It is clear from Beaudy's report that he is well
secured. For my own part, I can exist without
seeing him; and I have no messages to send to
the devil by his hand ! "

Anne gave him a look of bright approval,
and took a step or two as if with the intention
of leading him away. Then, with a gesture of
deprecation, she turned again to hear what
more his Excellency had to say.

" Well, that's all right for you, De Viron,
seeing that you have so much more interesting
fish to fry ! " said the old soldier. " No doubt
the rascal is shut up fast enough, and safe
where he is for the present. But who come so
mysteriously may go just as mysteriously.
I'll have Beaudy go back and keep an eye on
the place till morning. Then we'll look into it.
If my confounded foot will let me get that far,
I'll ride down mlyself. This inaction is most
damaging to my temper ! " And the governor
looked quite cheerful at the prospect of having
an Englishman to hang in the morning. " Be

The Word from the Blockhouse 85

good enough to send Beaudy off at once," he
added, turning to the young officer.

Mademoiselle had heard all that it was
necessary for her to hear. She realized that
whatever was to be done had to be done at
once. Yet for a second or two her brain re-
fused to work. Then she turned to De Viron
with a little laugh.

" Are you quite sure, m)onsieur, that you
want to come and talk to me in the library,
instead of rushing off to bag that unhappy
Englishman for his Excellency?"

As she was speaking, however, and moving
away, she cast a significant look at Father
Labillois. It was both imperative and implor-
ing; and behind it the wise old priest caught
a gleam of actual terror. Quick always to
understand, and his wits in this case sharpened
by his fervent affection for the girl, he presently
started after her in a careless fashion. It
was he, of course, who had carried Mademoi-
selle's basket to the blockhouse that afternoon ;
and not only because it was her whim, but
out of his own compassion, he sympathized
with her anxiety to shield the prisoner from a
brutal death. But he was beginning to be

86 The Prisoner of Mademoiselle

troubled by the ardour of her soHcitude. With
his childhke simplicity went much worldly in-
sight and understanding of the human heart,
and he began to tremble for the wayward and
hitherto unthwarted girl.

Within the library, Mademoiselle paused,
and for a fraction of a second laid both hands
on De Viron's arm. " Wait for me here just
two minutes, monsieur," she commanded, as
imperious as ever, but with a difference that
made the very imperiousness of her words an
intimacy. This difference was not lost on an
experienced courtier like De Viron. Neverthe-
less, with a quick suspicion born of her pre-
vious coquetries, his face clouded and he hesi-
tated with his reply.

" Why do you leave me — I mean — I beg
your pardon; you will certainly come back
to me at once? " he demanded, somewhat con-
fusedly.

Anne's face grew grave.

" I will certainly return at once, monsieur,
— that is, within five minutes at the most,"
she answered. " I have to speak to my maid.
Then I will come back to you here."

The Word from the Blockhouse 87

Neither her words nor her look permitted
further question, and De Viron was satisfied.

" I will wait here for you, dearest lady,"
he answered, with a brightening face. " Only
remember, please, that each separate minute
will seem to me an hour."

Anne sped from the room trippingly, like
a child. Just outside the door she ran into
Father Labillois. The laughter died from her
face, and her fear looked out frankly from her
eyes, which had grown wide and black.

" Come with me ! " she entreated, and ran
down the passage. And the priest followed
her obediently.

Just around a turn of the passage, where
stairs ran up to Lizette's little room, Anne
stopped.

" We must save him at once ! They will
hang him to-morrow ! " she panted.

" What can we do, dear child ? " asked the
priest.

" There is only one quite safe place, — in
the storeroom in the ell, — ■ over my apart-
ments. I keep the key myself. You know the
way in, through the garden, and by my door."

The old priest shook his head doubtfully,

88 The Prisoner of Mademoiselle

not seeing how to carry out so audacious and
dangerous a scheme. But Anne took the ges-
ture for one of refusal, and grew excited.

" Oh, you must ! Surely you will not desert
me ! " she cried, clutching his firm, white hands.
" Surely you are not a savage like these others.
Oh, I implore you on my knees. If they catch
him, I am for ever dishonoured, because he
trusted me, and gave up his sword to me, —
and I will be unable to protect him."

" But what am I to do? " asked the priest,
who could not at the moment see how to ac-
complish Anne's purpose.

Anne kissed the hands she was grasping so
fiercely.

" Thank you," she murmured, calmed at
once by this implied acquiescence. " Just take
a cassock and a hat of your own. You are
nearly as tall as he. You will know better than
any one how to manage, — you who are so
clever as well as so kind ! "

Father Labillois smiled, both at her flattery,
which he knew to be sincere, and at her readi-
ness of resource.

" But Gil Beaudy will be there ahead of

The Word from the Blockhouse 89

me," he objected, making further demand upon
her resourcefulness.

" I will see to that at once," answered Anne.
" I will have Lizette, whom he adores, detain
him awhile. Oh, go, go! "

" I am gone ! Be at ease ! " said Father
Labillois. He slipped swiftly down the pas-
sage and disappeared.

Mademoiselle ran up to Lizette's room,
whither she knew that much ennuied maiden
had betaken herself a little while before to He
down and wait till it should be time for her
to undress her mistress. There was really no
one at Cheticamp whom she could associate
with.

" Come, child," ordered Anne, impetuously,
" jump up and run down-stairs and find Gil
Beaudy, and keep him for a whole hour with-
out letting hinn out of your sight ! "

Lizette sprang up, obedient but pouting.
Gil's wordless devotion bored her unspeak-
ably.

" But what — but why, mademoiselle? " she
questioned, hastily putting her hands to her
hair and glancing into her glass. She saw that
Mademoiselle de Biencourt was in earnest.

90 The Prisoner of Mademoiselle

" Because I wish it ; it is of importance to
me, Lizette," said Anne, with emphasis.

But Lizette had the persistence of a proved
favourite. Moreover, she had justice on her
side, for how could she hope to serve Mademoi-
selle effectively unless she held some clue to
the situation?

" Yes, mademoiselle. Of course. What-
ever you wish. But tell me what you want me
to do."

" Don't talk, but go, child ! " cried Mademoi-
selle. " Keep Beaudy occupied for an hour,
that's all. His Excellency is sending him on
an errand which will do me injury. He mustn't
go for an hour. You can make him forget
even his fear of the governor, — can't you,
Lizette ? It is for me, child. Go, — there's no
time for explanation ! Only run, run, run ! "

And Lizette, her face one eager question, but
elated with her mission, confident in her power,
and delighted to aid in thwarting the governor,
ran from the room with a laugh that was a
studied copy of Anne's own.

" Trust me, mademoiselle ! " she cried, as
she vanished. Then, with a wonderful light
in her face, an expression such as might well

The Word from the Blockhouse 91

make the most diffident of lovers hard to man-
age, she ran back to keep her tryst with De
Viron in the library. She had been away more
than the allotted five minutes, but when De-
Viron looked at her he forgot it.

CHAPTER IX.

THE MISSION OF LIZETTE

WHILE Mademoiselle, in the library
with Monsieur de Viron, was opening
her difficult but undeniably stimulat-
ing game of allurements and reserves, Lizette
was in the servants' quarters looking for Gil
Beaudy. Inquiry developed the fact that
Gil had just been sent away by the gover-
nor's orders, on some wild-goose chase or
other. They said in the kitchen that he would
not divulge his errand, but that he cursed very
bitterly, and went like a laggard, from which
they inferred it was not greatly to his liking.
Lizette sped after him, — and overtook him
just at the mouth of the lane beyond the gar-
den. He was slouching along sullenly and
slowly, so engrossed in his ill-temper that he
failed to hear the light feet tripping up behind

93

The Mission of Lizette g;^

him. But when a soft voice, low but merry,
murmured, " Why, Gil ! " just at his ear,
and a small hand plucked his sleeve, he
straightened up with an inarticulate sound of
delight and astonishment, — a sound that was
almost a sob, — and caught the adventurous
little hand before it could make good its escape.

" Lizette ! " was all he could say. Was it
possible she had come out to look for him ? He
did not dare to let himself think anything so
wonderful as that. Nevertheless he kept fast
hold of her hand, while he cudgelled his brain
for the right thing to say to her.

" You mustn't keep hold of my hand that
way, Gil ! " said Lizette, presently, feeling
that with this particular lover the silent method
was likely to prove difficult and dangerous.
Then, in the simplicity and strength of the
glimmering night, she became dimly conscious,
for the first time, of a force akin to nature
itself in this large-limbed, awkwai^d-looking
man, who, indeed, had only seemed awkward
when striving to make love to her. She re-
membered that when he came in with gun and
game, striding vigorously and fronting the

94 The Prisoner of Mademoiselle

world with the woodsman's dear eye, he had
not seemed awkward at all.

Gil wondered why she said he must not
hold her hand, if it were really he whom she
had wished to speak to. If it were some one
else she was looking for, then it was natural
she should protest. He realized that she was
trying (he did not realize how feebly she was
trying) to draw her hand away. He let it
fall as if it had burned him.

" It was some one else, then, that you were
looking for, Lizette? Forgive me!" And
he turned away.

" You stupid ! " retorted the girl, touching
his arm again ever so lightly, then stepping
aside from the road and leaning against the
fence, where the scented syringa blossoms
made a whiteness against the dark of the gar-
den-trees. As Gil did not instantly follow,
she added, " It was you I wanted, Gil ! "

He was at her side in an instant, towering
over her, reverential, diffident, yet with a cer-
tain confidence which she had not found in him
before, — as if here in the open and the night
he was on his own domain, and felt the right

The Mission of Lizette 95

to protect her. For the moment, he had ut-
terly forgotten his Excellency's commission.

" What was it you wanted of me, Lizette? "
he asked, gently. " I know I am too dull and
rough for you to want my company. But what
service can I do you ? "

Lizette, recovering her hand, and putting
both of them behind her back, laughed up at
him wickedly.

" You certainly are rough, Gil. But I don't
know that you are altogether dull. Only
a little silly about me, perhaps, so that the
others laugh. But really — "

Here the woodsman interrupted her. The
idea that the house-servants, whom he despised,
had been laughing at his adoration for Lizette,
was new to him, and filled him with scornful
wrath. Even in that dim light Lizette could
see how his face grew stem and masterful.
"I will see to it that they stop laughing!"
he said, quietly. And it happened, strangely
enough, that from a certain ring in his voice
Lizette believed him, — believed that he could
make good his words. Hitherto she had seen
him at a hopeless disadvantage; but now he
was himself, with Nature his willing and ap-

96 The Prisoner of Mademoiselle

proving ally; and the girl was amazed to find
how little she was bored by the task which
her mistress had thrust upon her. At the same
moment she felt, for the first time, a doubt
of her own ability to carry out her part. This
was not just the kind of man she had started
out so confidently to manage. Could she hold
him a whole hour from his duty?

She was just about to speak, when her quick
ears caught the sound of footsteps hurrying
down the road. Gil, of course, had heard
them, but was unconcerned. Lizette, however,
did not wish to be seen. She came close up,
and sheltered herself behind Gil's tall figure,
holding on to him with both hands as she
might have used the trunk of a tree, and peer-
ing cautiously under his arm to see who the
hurried wayfarer was.

It was Father Labillois, with a bundle under
his arm. He did not seem to observe the
shadowy forms by the fence; but from the
corner of his eye he saw and noted, and was
satisfied.

" Anne is a clever little general ! " he mut-
tered to himself. " She knows how to use us
all in order to carry her point. But I fear the

The Mission of Lizette 97

child is getting into deep water now, in this
business." Then he hurried on the faster,
determined that, in any case, it should not be
through him that she might fail. As his black
form faded up the road, Gil whispered to
Lizette, " It is the good father. He goes with
comfort to some one sick in the village. He
is never too tired, if any one needs him."

" Yes, it is Father Labillois. How he loves
Mademoiselle ! " murmured the girl. And as
she spoke it flashed upon her intuition that the
good priest was bound upon no churchly mis-
sion, but upon some errand of Mademoiselle's.
In his intent haste she seemed to detect her
mistress's impetuous hand. Then, it appeared,
she and Father Labillois, and this big woods-
man against whom she found herself still lean-
ing with no discontent, were all involved in
some great mystery, vital to Mademoiselle's
happiness. She was now more consumed with
curiosity than ever; but being a loyal little
soul, she resolved, as Father Labillois had
resolved a few seconds earlier, that whatever
Mademoiselle's inscrutable purpose might be,
it should not fail through her.

Lizette was dying to ask Gil the nature

98 The Prisoner of Mademoiselle

of the errand upon which his Excellency had
hurried him off at such an hour. This, she
felt sure, would afford her an adequate clue
to the situation. But she restrained herself
heroically, lest any display of curiosity at this
step should weaken her position. Moreover,
she was afraid to remind Gil of his duty,
lest he should drag himself off, however re-
luctantly, to perform it. From several hun-
dred yards away, through the trees of the
orchard and the garden, miraculously confused
with dewy garden fragrances, came faint,
sweet cadences of music from the ballroom.
These sounds did not break or jar the still
solitude and wonder of the night, but were
absorbed by it, and only added a further magic
to its vast enchantment. Lizette felt a strange
spell creeping over her, which it took all her
resolution to withstand. She felt herself grow-
ing sick of littlenesses and emptinesses. She
had an impulse to be earnest with this strong
and simple man, whom she had just discovered.
It was hard for her to restrain herself from
playing her part too seriously.

" Tell me, Lizette, what it is you want of

The Mission of Lizette 99

me ! " persisted Gil, after a few moments of
expectant silence.

" Why," asked Lizette, sparring for time,
because she felt herself lacking her usual readi-
ness, " are you in a hurry to be gone, Gil ? "
She heard her own words with dismay, realiz-
ing that they forced him to remember his er-
rand ; and hastily she continued, " Isn't it good
just to be here ? I didn't know the nights down
here at Cheticamp could be so beautiful. What
is that great star over there? I suppose you
have to know the stars, to be able to find your
way in the woods at night! That seems so
wonderful to me, Gil, to be able to find your
way by the stars."

When she paused, groping in her brain for
something more to say about the stars, Gil
spoke.

" It is so good to be here, Lizette," he said,
with a little thrill in his quiet, slow voice, " that
never in all my life before have I been so happy.
But I have to go, because I am on his Excel-
lency's business. I want to know before I go
what it is I can do for you, Lizette. That will
give me something to think of while I'm gone."

" There was something I wanted you to do

lOO The Prisoner of Mademoiselle

for me ! " answered Lizette, with unfeigned
earnestness in her voice. " And there was
something I had to tell you, too ! But we won't
bother about it if you have to rush right off
that way, just when I want you. I never did
want you before, Gil, you know that well
enough. And if you're going to rush away
now, I'll never want you again ! "

In her anxiety, in her sudden apprehension
of something too strong and unyielding for her
petty resources, she caught his arm with both
hands.

At that light but eager clasp, at the childlike
appeal in her voice, the woodsman's face
burned, and the blood sang in his ears. For
nearly a year he had been hopelessly in love
with this merry, dainty girl, so different from
all the other women he knew. She had seemed
to scorn him. She had held herself so loftily
aloof that he had never dared to hope even
for a little kindness. Yet here she was, sud-
denly, wanting his help, wanting his presence,
apparently even liking him. It seemed to him
like an intoxicating dream. He shivered with
the longing to catch her to his heart, to pour
out wild words of devotion, to vow heroic

The Mission of Lizette loi

deeds that might make him less unworthy of
her. And instead of this, all he could say to
her was that he must leave her the first time
she needed him, — and risk losing her for ever !
As these thoughts tumbled confusedly through
his brain, his ecstasy died away into a dull
despair. He had undertaken his Excellency's
errand. He was on duty, — on his honour,
in a certain sense; and he was unable to im-
agine himself failing in that duty for any
personal happiness or advantage. It was not
fear of the consequences that moved him, but
the sense that a trust had been committed to
him. His large hands — sinewy, but not thick
and calloused like those of the field-worker —
caught both of Lizette's, and held them^ help-
less.

" I knew it could not last, Lizette ! " he
managed to say presently. " I knew it was only
a dream. But I must go, for the governor has
ordered it. When there is an enemy in the
land, a man just obeys orders, without letting
himself think of life or of love, Lizette. He
just has to. But I'll be back in a few hours, —
why, before you open your beautiful eyes from

102 The Prisoner of Mademoiselle

sleep, sweet one. But tell me, tell me now
before I go ! "

Lizette snatched her hands petulantly from
his grasp, and turned away. As he did not
follow her, however, but remained standing
where he was, she did not go far.

" At least you owe it to me to tell me what
it is, this so important business of the gover-
nor's, that will not let you stay one little half-
hour with me ! " she demanded.

" Surely," answered Gil, " there is no rea-
son I may not tell you, though I would not
tell those chatterers in the kitchen. There is
an English prisoner shut up in the old block-
house down the Vardeau trail, — I've no no-
tion who it is, — and the governor has sent
me to keep watch that no one lets him out
before morning. I am on guard, you see!
So I must go ! "

This, to Lizette, threw no new light upon
the situation in which they were involved.
She could not in any way connect the prisoner
with Mademoiselle de Biencourt.

" You are afraid of the governor ! " she re-
torted, with a disdainful toss of her head.

Gil laughed, quietly, a little bitterly.

The Mission of Lizette 103

" Why should I be so afraid of his Excel-
lency?" he asked. "He could, of course,
hang me for disobedience, — if he caught me !
But the world is a wide place, for us woods-
men ! And his Excellency's arm is not so very
long! No, it's not that! Oh, Lizette, can't
you understand? Now, tell me. For I must
go!"

" I understand well enough, that you care
more for that ugly old man's orders than you
do for me ! " said Lizette, hanging her head.
She felt that she was making poor play, that
her resources were fast failing, and that in an-
other minute the tall woodsman would be gone.

Her clumsy device was effective enough,
however, for Gil's guileless heart. He was at
her side again in an instant. His hands just
touched her arms, then drew away again rever-
ently.

" I love you, Lizette, more than life. There
is nothing in the world, I think, but you. And
you are so beautiful, so dainty fine, like a young
doe of the first year. And you are sweeter
than the first blossoms of the arbutus under
the leaves."

Lizette could have listened indefinitely to

I04 The Prisoner of Mademoiselle

this sort of thing. She had had compliments
before, but never any that quite so well suited
her taste. When he stopped, she could not
very well urge him to go on in the same strain ;
so, after a discreet pause, to make sure she
was not interrupting, she retorted :

" And yet, you are going to leave me, —
now ! "

The words began in a tone of reproach, but
ended with an indescribable allurement, which
made Gil's head swim and his breath come
quickly.

" Oh, — I have to ! " he muttered, unstead-
ily. " Cant you see — " And he was blun-
dering on manlike into further unconvincing
attempt at explanation, when Lizette inter-
rupted.

" And I," she said quietly, playing her
trump-card in desperation, " am going away,
going away from Acadie ! "

Gil's vast, stable, well-balanced world
seemed to reel about him.

" Going away — from Acadie? " he echoed,
dully.

" I am expecting to return to Quebec within
a week!" she continued, not untruthfully.

The Mission of Lizette 105

She felt certain that De Viron would carry
Mademoiselle off right after the marriage.

Gil stood stunned. His new and wild hopes
— hopes which had not, indeed, been ad-
mitted into his brain, but had thronged irre-
sistibly into his heart under the spell of
Lizette's strange interest — were suddenly
drowned in blackness. This, perhaps, was his
one chance to win a hold upon her. Could he
let it go? He felt himself wavering. His
orders began to look utterly insignificant. But
no, he must fulfil his duty, and trust to the
morrow for his own affairs. With a groan
that was much like a sob he turned away, and
strode resolutely up the road toward the Var-
deau trail.

CHAPTER X.

SPELLS AND COUNTER SPELLS

LIZETTE stood motionless, expecting him
to relent, or at least look back. But
Gil dared not trust himself to turn
his head. The girl waited till his tall figure
was just vanishing in the shadows, then gath-
ered her skirts in one hand and sped noise-
lessly after him, keeping him just in sight.
Absorbed in his emotions, which were a hope-
less tangle of ecstasy, pain, astonishment, and
intoxication, the woodsman was less alert than
usual, and did not hear the light feet following
him.

When she started after this unmanageable
lover, Lizette had no clear plan of action. But
as she followed, taking care not to overtake
him and praying now that he might not look
back, a scheme began to take shape. As it
ic6

Spells and Counter Spells 107

developed in her little head she was delighted
with it, and felt sure of its success. Her
anxiety on this point thus allayed, arid her
dread of failing her mistress reassured, she
had time to wonder at the caprice of her own
heart. Here she was following that shadowy
figure with an eagerness too keen to be alto-
gether the result of zeal in her mistress's serv-
ice. She had been conscious of a little thrill
when Gil's strong hands had held her. She
was conscious of wanting him to touch her
again, to hold her fast. She felt that she must
have him at her feet, — and she refused to
look any farther. But to her amazement she
found herself glorying in the fact that he had
proved too strong for her to manage. He was
her first failure, — arid she found herself
actually proud of having failed,

" The night, and all this mystery that's
afoot, have surely got into my brain," she
thought to herself, as she flitted along the
grassy edge of the road, her light slippers
soaked with the dew.

For perhaps a quarter of a mile the lonely
road ran through fields, and was fringed at
intervals with erect and steeplelike Lombardy

io8 The Prisoner of Mademoiselle

poplars. Then it ran into a partly cleared re-
gion, with patches of wood, and thickets, arid
open glades. The patches of wood were very
black, and, as she traversed them, her heart
thumping with excitement and apprehension,
she hurried so as to catch up a little on that
strong, reassuring figure which strode ahead.
She was now looking anxiously for a spot just
suited to her purpose. There was danger,
every moment, that Gil might look back and
discover her too soon.

At length the road led close along the edge
of a steep gully, its sides dotted with dense,
cushiony clumps of young spruce and juniper.
This was just the sort of spot she wanted, a
spot where one might seem to have fallen with-
out consequences too overwhelmingly serious.
She let herself down to the first juniper thicket,
then gave a piercing shriek, and fell into the
bushes with a crash. It was well managed;
but the juniper had more hard, uncompromis-
ing stems than she had imagined, and she hurt
herself much more than she had intended.
Moreover, the juniper prickles scratched her
smartly, which frightened her; so that as she

Spells and Counter Spells 109

lay there moaning and sobbing her distress was
not wholly dramatic.

Gil had jumped at that scream, as if a
knife had gone through him. His heart knew
instantly that the voice was Lizette's, and his
blood ran cold. His amazement that she
should be out there in the woods was swallowed
up in terror. It seemed to Lizette that not
five seconds had elapsed since her fall, and here
he was already bending over her, imploring
her to speak. He started to lift her out of
the bush, but this she thought best not to
allow for the present.

" No, not yet ! " she protested, brokenly. " I
don't think I'm much hurt, — but wait a min-
ute, Gil. Oh, how did I come to be so care-
less? My foot slipped — on the edge!"

" Where — where does it hurt you, sweet ? "
stammered Gil, in desperate fear. He had
possessed himself of both her hands, and she
returned his pressure gently.

" I knew you would come," she murmured.

But the woodsman could not leave her in
what seemed to him such an uncomfortable
position.

no The Prisoner of Mademoiselle

"I must lift you, Lizette," he whispered.
" Stop me if it hurts too much."

Feeling like a tiny child in his arms as he
raised her, she stopped sobbing and with dif-
ficulty checked a sigh of content. He carried
her up the slope, across the road, and over to
a mossy hillock beside the fence. There he
paused, holding her on his broad breast as
one carries a baby, and uncertain just what
ought to be done.

" I think I am all right, really," said Lizette,
feeling at last that the game was well in hand.
" Most likely I was just frightened to death
at falling that way into the dark. Oh, that
was terrible! I thought I was going to fall
for ever, Gil." And her hands, which were
resting on his great shoulders, clutched him
shiveringly. For reply he held her a little
tighter, still at a loss. So she continued:

" I think you had better put me down, now,
please, and let me see if I can stand alone."

Reluctantly, and very gently, Gil set her
on her feet. Glad enough he was that he had
been so slow about it; for the moment she
touched the ground she cried out sharply, and

Spells and Counter Spells 1 1 1

would have fallen in a heap had he not frantic-
ally gathered her up again.

" Oh, it hurts ! " she sobbed, her lips very
close to his ear.

" What is it, sweet? " he asked, bending his '
rugged face over hers, and speaking with a
croon, as a mother speaks over a sick child.
"Is it your foot?"

Her willingness to try to stand and her
ease when he carried her had given immeas-
urable relief to his fears, assuring him that she
had suffered no serious internal hurt. A
sprain or a broken bone he knew how to treat,
with crude but effective backwoods surgery.

" I think it's only that I've sprained my
ankle," replied Lizette. " That's nothing at
all to what it might have been, is it? But it
hurts, terribly. I suppose you think me a
perfect baby, Gil. But, really, if I were not
pretty brave I'd be crying hard right now.
Why, at home I'd be crying with half the pain
I'm suffering now. But you're so strong and
brave, Gil, I'm ashamed to be a baby before
you."

Tears of sympathy came into Gil's eyes.
" I know well enough how it hurts, sweet.

112 The Prisoner of Mademoiselle

You are very brave to stand it so," said he,
with such depth of understanding and tender-
ness in his voice that Lizette felt a flush of
shame burn over her.

" But I'm not going to let you suffer so,"
he continued, seating her gently on the hillock
with her back against the fence.

Before Lizette could protest, — which she
was afraid to do ^oo vehemently, — he had her
drenched little shoe off, and her wet, dusty
stocking, and was rubbing skilfully and firmly
at the supposed-to-be-injured ankle. This
Lizette had not counted upon, but, being fairly
caught, she played the part through cleverly,
wincing now and then, and moaning a little,
and winning golden opinions from Gil for
her pluck in enduring so stoically a treatment
which he knew was very painful. For fully
fifteen minutes he kneaded and rubbed the
instep, and the ankle-joint, and the cords be-
hind the ankle, till Lizette could not help
wondering if she would have any foot left.
[Then, before she could stop him, he bent over
and kissed the instep.

" It was dreadful to have to hurt you so,"
he muttered, hastily, with a little catch in his

spells and Counter Spells 113

breath ; " but if I hadn't you would be having
a terrible time with it to-morrow, and perhaps
for weeks. Now it won't swell up much at
all, or trouble you for more than a day or
two."

" I'm sure it won't," asserted Lizette, hypo-
critically, " unless," she added, with downcast
eyes, " because of the very strange way you
have treated it."

Confused at this sally, for which he had
no reply, Gil laid her foot gently down on the
grass, and got up.

" Now don't stir," he commanded. " I'm
going to get something to put on it that will
keep down the fever."

" But it's better already," objected Lizette.
Gil laughed incredulously, and moved ofif.

" Don't go away," she protested, in genuine
alarm. " If you go away I'll get up and run
after you, no matter what it does to the old
foot."

" I'm not going away, sweet," responded
Gil, positively. " I'm not going twenty steps
away. Now keep quite still."

He was groping about the roots of some
bushes a few yards up the road. In two or

1 14 The Prisoner of Mademoiselle

three minutes he returned with some large
leaves drenched with dew. Then he scooped
some cool, moist earth from under the moss,
and with the aid of the large leaves wrapped
the ankle in a generous earth poultice.

" Do you think that is absolutely neces-
sary?" asked the patient, eyeing the poultice
with disfavour.

" Absolutely ! " answered Gil, in a tone that
left no room for argument.

When the leaves were all applied and
bound on to his satisfaction, Gil stuffed the
wet stocking and slipper into the front of his
homespun shirt. Then he arose, picked Lizette
once more up in his arms like a baby, and strode
off in the direction of Cheticamp. Lizette
closed her eyes with mingled triumph and con-
tent. How had she ever been so blind to the
attraction of such a man as this ?

Suddenly she put her lips close to Gil's ear.

"What about his Excellency, Gil?" she
whispered, audacious now that she was safe.

The tall woodsman set his teeth doggedly.
As he saw his duty, it was first of all to
Lizette, in her real hour of need.

" His Excellency's errand will have to wait

Spells and Counter Spells 115

till I get you safe home with your poor foot,"
said he.

Lizette was holding her foot stuck straight
out, as befitted a member so seriously injured.
She craned up her head and gazed at it. How
utterly ridiculous it looked, bundled up in
green leaves till the ankle was as thick as a
post. As she stared at it she began to laugh
hysterically.

"Lizette — what is the matter?" pleaded
Gil, surprised and puzzled by this untimely
outbreak, which seemed to shock the solemn
stillness of the night.

" Oh, Gil, it looks so funny ! And, oh,
Gil, you're so funny ! " She flung both arms
tight around his sturdy neck, and her laugh-
ter broke into sobs against his cheek. The
night had been a terrific strain; and at the
cost of strange enlightenment had she con-
quered; and she felt that an honest little cry
was now no more than her fair privilege.
As for Gil, though her laugh and her tears
were equally incomprehensible, her mouth
against his cheek was something he could very
well understand. He spoke not a word, but
crushed her to his great chest and strode on,

Ii6 The Prisoner of Mademoiselle

while his heart sang within him; and the
hopes which had come so timorously into his
breast now trooped boldly into his brain and
took possession.

Lizette had nothing more to say, so there
was silence, and the binding spell of such a si-
lence, till the lighted windows of the seigniory
came into view. Then the girl whispered :

" Take me in through the little back gar-
den, to the door of Mademoiselle's room,
Gil, dear."

As they went up the narrow, dewy, scented
walks and reached the door, and the man was
about to set his burden down, Lizette took his
rugged face in both hands and turned it fairly
to her own, — and then he kissed her on the
lips.

She told him to seat her on the door-step,
and go at once before any one came to answer
her knock.

" And when ■ — " began the man, lingering
as if his feet would not endure to take him
away.

" At sundown, here, I will thank you for all
your goodness, Gil. Go away, now, please."

But, even as he turned, Anne herself opened

Spells and Counter Spells 117

the door and looked out anxiously. Recog-
nizing Gil's figure, her face brightened, as
she saw that Lizette had succeeded in her part.
Then she stared down in wonder at the girl's
bare foot and marvellously bandaged ankle.

" Will mademoiselle be so kind as to help
me in?" spoke up Lizette, in a voice that
Gil must hear. " I have sprained my ankle."

" My poor Lizette," began Mademoiselle, in
a voice of deep concern, slipping an arm about
her waist and holding her up carefully. But
the moment the door was closed Lizette broke
away, went hopping on her bandaged foot into
Anne's room, and flung herself down on the
rug by the bed. She gazed up at her mistress
with a strange light in her eyes, such as Anne
had never seen there before.

" What in the world is the matter, child ? "
asked Anne, eager to hear ever)rthing, because
everything bore on what was nearest her heart.
" You had hard work managing Gil ? But
you succeeded, that's clear, I shall never for-
get it, Lizette! "

" Nor shall I, mademoiselle," answered the
girl, her lips astonishingly red as she sat there
on the rug and patted that wonderful leaf-

ii8 The Prisoner of Mademoiselle

bandage on her foot. " Oh, yes, I did ma:
age Gil at last! But I think he managed n
the most, mademoiselle. He is so — differe
from what I thought him." And, jumping u
she ran and caught her mistress's hands, ar
fell to kissing them rather wildly.

Anne looked at her for a moment in son
bewilderment. Then a sudden light, born <
her own emotions, flashed in upon her, and
sudden thrill of sympathy led her to put h(
arm around the girl's waist and kiss her. 1
that moment mistress and maid were just tw
ardent women together, face to face with tr
mendous impulses which neither fully unde
stood. But before anything could be said b^
tween them Father Labillois's knock was heai
at the outer door, and, with her heart in h(
throat, Anne ran to answer it.

CHAPTER XI.

FATHER LABILLOIS PLAYS HIS PART

ONCE out of sight and hearing of the
seigniory, and of the whispering couple
beside the fence, Father Labillois had
girded up his cassock and broken into a run.
Strong and agile, he had kept up this pace al-
most all the way to the blockhouse, except
in places where the Vardeau trail was too rough
for running in the dark. Arrived at the clear-
ing, he found the blockhouse door securely
fastened on the outside as he had left it in the
afternoon. Taking down the bar, he tried
the door. It was fastened on the inside also.
Hearing no stir within, he went around to the
loophole which he guessed to be nearest the
bunk, and there listened attentively. The
sound of deep, regular breathing came to his
ear.

"9

I20 The Prisoner of Mademoiselle

" He sleeps the sleep of good faith and a
clear conscience, this Englishman," said the
priest to himself. Then he went back and
knocked lightly.

Lieutenant Zachary Cowles was awake and
out of his bunk in an instant, — but noiselessly
as a cat. He made no reply to the summons.
It was for the visitor, not for him, to show his
hand.

Father Labillois knocked again, and still
no answer.

" Lieutenant Cowles," he called softly, be-
side the nearest loophole, " please open the
door at once. There is no time to lose, for the
governor has found out there is a prisoner
here and is looking forward to the pleasure of
stringing you up to a tree the first thing in
the morning. We must find a safer hiding-
place for you before the soldiers come!"

" You are very kind to consider my feel-
ings in this matter," answered Zachary. " But
please tell me, first, who are we?"

" I am Pere Labillois,-Mademoiselle de Bien-
court's confessor," answered the priest, quickly,
growing a little impatient over the New Eng-
lander's wise wariness. " Mademoiselle de

Father Labillois Plays His Part lai

Biencourt has sent me to save you, if possible,
conceiving that it lies upon her honour to pro-
tect you, since to her you gave up your
sword. But his Excellency will certainly hang
you if he gets hold of you, — hang you for a
pirate, because peace was declared between
France and England more than a month ago,
and, technically, you and your ship's company
are pirates."

Zachary gave a low whistle, drawing in his
breath, and felt his way across to the door.

" That would be inconvenient," he re-
marked, coolly. " It seems to me that Made-
moiselle, whom I am bound to obey, told me
expressly that I was not to open the door for
any one but herself. But I trust your voice,
monsieur, and open the door. If I am wrong,
Mademoiselle's displeasure be upon your de-
voted head. I think she is a very dangerous
young person to trifle with. Gad, I can see
those eyes of hers shining right here in the
dark!"

As he finished speaking, his bars came down,
the door swung inward, and he stepped out into
the comparative light of the open. His head
bent forward and his brows knit, he scru-

122 The Prisoner of Mademoiselle

tinized the priest's face composedly and
searchingly. It was a face which no one with
any knowledge of humanity could fail to trust ;
and Zachary's expression of reserve broke into
a frank, boyish smile. He stretched out his
hand, exclaiming:

" Mademoiselle de Biencourt does herself
honour in her choice of messengers, monsieur."

But Father Labillois, though he, too, had
been scrutinizing his vis-d-vis, and had found
the result not unsatisfactory, refrained from
meeting Zachary's boyish advance. With a
kindly smile, which robbed the action of its
sting, he put his right hand behind his back.

" You forget, my son," said he, " that you
are an avowed enemy to my people, — and
with appearances, moreover, much against you,
on the charge of common piracy. It is for
Mademoiselle de Biencourt, not for you, that
I am taking so much trouble."

Zachary flushed deeply, and some new ideas
ran through his brain.

" Pardon me, monsieur," he begged, throw-
ing off his confident and debonair manner as
he realized, with sudden shame, how inappro-
priate it was to the situation. " It was dis-

Father Labillois Plays His Part 123

tinctly presumptuous of me to expect you to
shake hands with me. I confess I have been
taking matters much too lightly, as we soldiers
are unfortunately apt to do."

The priest smiled upon him still more kindly
for this speech, and handed him the spare
cassock and hat which he had brought.

" Put these on, my son," said he, gently,
" and then, with your excellent French, we
can meet any chance wayfarer without excit-
ing suspicion."

But Zachary eyed the disguise with open
disapproval.

" It seems to me, monsieur, that with my
excellent French, and in this garb, I stand a
good chance of being taken for a spy."

" It is necessary — and it is Mademoiselle's
orders ! " rejoined Father Labillois. " More-
over, I will guarantee you personally against
any such misjudgment. I can't guarantee you
personally against being hung for a pirate,
but I can against being hung for a spy."

" It is sufficient," laughed Zachary, pro-
ceeding to struggle with the cassock, while
Father Labillois closed and barred the block-
house door again. A few minutes later they

124 The Prisoner of Mademoiselle

had crossed the dim clearing, leaving the squat
black bulk of the blockhouse behind them, and
had plunged into the aromatic darkness of the
trail.

For some time Lieutenant Zachary, clumsily
clutching at the long skirt of his cassock and
feeling as if his legs were tied together, was
hard put to it to keep up with this nimble and
sure-footed guide. He was burning with
questions, but would not speak lest he should
betray that he was out of breath. So he oc-
cupied himself in picking his way, avoiding
mud-holes, and noting, as fully as he could,
by the keen night smells and the tree-tops out-
lined against the sky, the character of the
woods he was passing through. When, at
last, the trail came out upon the highway, the
first faint grayness foretelling dawn was just
beginning to lighten the east.

" We must hurry," urged Father Labillois,
glancing back.

Zachary grinned assent, and ranged up
alongside, but did not trust himself to speak
for a few moments. Then, finding it no trouble
whatever to hold his own on the smooth road,

Father Labillois Plays His Part 125

and having learned how to hold up his skirt
so it no longer hampered himi, he said, heartily :

" You have lungs and legs like a deer, and
eyes like a cat, monsieur."

" Not bad for sixty," assented Father
Labillois, pleased at the tribute.

Zachary was about to take advantage of his
amiability to ask some questions, but just then
there came a confused sound of hoof-beats
along the road. In an instant he was seized
by the arm and dragged into a dense hemlock
thicket.

He did not need that iron pressure on his
arm to convince him of the advisability of
silence, but it convinced him that the priest
was every inch a man. A moment later three
horsemen went galloping by. When they were
gone, Zachary laughed quietly.

" Did you think this disguise might prove
inadequate, after all ? " he asked.

" I am taking no risks till I deliver you
safe and sound into the hands of Mademoiselle
de Biencourt," answered his guide. " Those
were guests from his Excellency's ball, hurry-
ing home early to get ready to start for Fort

126 The Prisoner of Mademoiselle '

Royal, where they hope to have a hand in the
capture of your comrades-in-arms."

"Don't they wish they may catch them?"
laughed Zachary.

" It will be short shrift for any who may
be caught, my son," said Father Labillois.
" The governor is in a fury over this raid, —
you probably don't know that your good friends
have burned St. Clement's, and robbed the
church there, almost under the guns of Port
Royal. Technically, this is piracy, so long
after peace had been declared. And the gov-
ernor will avail himself of the technicality, if
he can, to even up some old scores."

Zachary had no idea what sort of a place
St. Clement's was, and he feared it might
sound hypocritical if he were to express a polite
regret. So he discreetly changed the subject.

" I seem to have got myself into a tight
place," he murmured, rather cheerfully. " But,
'pon my honour, monsieur, when I think what
small brown hands hold the noose into which
I have slipped my head, I can't manage to be
as depressed as the case requires. Please try
to forgive my high spirits, and tell where I am
going."

Father Labillois Plays His Part 127

" Well," answered Father Labillois, " I
am taking you straight into the lion's jaws,
which is perhaps the one and only place where
your presence will not be looked for."

" That's interesting — but not illuminating,"
said Zachary.

" We are going straight to the governor's
house at Cheticamp. There is a ball there
to-night."

" Nothing I like better than a ball," asserted
Zachary, cordially.

" You are not invited, my son," retorted
Father Labillois. " And pardon me if I sug-
gest that your attire is not such as would grace
the occasion."

" I'll wear a mask, and call myself a ship-
wrecked English officer," suggested Zachary.

" The only drawback to that," said the
priest, falling into his humour, " is that his
Excellency would be so enthusiastic over the
disguise that he would insist on your retain-
ing it for his amusement to-morrow."

By this time, making utmost haste, they
came in sight of the lights of Cheticamp
Manor-house. A moment later a tall figure

128 The Prisoner of Mademoiselle

went loping by them, doffing his cap to the
two priests as he passed.

" That is a guard sent down by his Excel-
lency to keep watch on the blockhouse and
make sure you do not escape," whispered
Father Labillois, with a little chuckle of
triumph.

"He's rather late, is he not?" inquired
Zachary, with gentle interest.

" The governor sent him two hours ago.
But Mademoiselle saw to that," answered the
priest.

" God bless her ! " muttered Zachary. An
unwonted wave of humility rushed over him.
" What have I done to deserve such care and
thought from her?"

" No man could deserve such favour from
Anne de Biencourt," exclaimed the priest, with
a quiet passion of enthusiasm, which told
Zachary more about the girl than he had
reached through his own perception. He made
no reply, however; and by this time, avoid-
ing the main approach, they were come to the
little back gate of the garden.

" Now, silence," whispered Father Labillois.
" The noose hangs very near your neck." And

Father Labillois Plays His Part 129

Zachary, treading like a cat, followed him
close through the ranks of wet, white-bloomed
syringas to the shaded door in the corner by
Anne's window.

CHAPTER XII.

THE PRISONER OF MADEMOISELLE

THE door Opened impetuously, — and
Zachary stood face to face with Made-
moiselle de Biencourt. He remembered
later that it was his own eyes, not those of
Father Labillois, which the girl's eyes sought
first. At this moment he noticed above all
the difference in her face. As he recalled her
appearance, she had been alternately gay and
severe, but always imperious, half-scornful,
almost arrogantly sure of herself, her small,
dark face radiant with light and colour. Now,
though in rich and splendid dress, with the
sheen of jewels on her bare, exquisite throat
and round, slim arms, she seemed nevertheless
in every way tenderer and more human. Her
face was pale. Her great eyes were dark with

solicitude and apprehension. Her lips were
130

The Prisoner of Mademoiselle 131

somewhat less dazzlingly scarlet. Her voice,
before so mocking, was low and anxious. As
he noted the change, Zachary's heart burned
toward her, and he felt a sort of adoration
stirring within him. The rush and strangeness
of events had created an electric atmosphere,
in which emotions sprang tO' ripeness rapidly.
He had had a gallant speech all ready for this
meeting, — but now he simply gazed, with-
out Opening his lips. In the light of the two
candles on the wall just inside the door Anne's
eyes met the full ardour of his look, and a flush
came slowly over her pallor. She dropped her
long lashes, and turned to Father Labillois.

" God bless you, father. What loyal and
true friends I have ! " she whispered, fervently,
grasping his hand. Her fervour, indeed, was
so frank that the sagacious priest began to fear
she had perhaps more than a point of honour
at stake in his success.

But Anne gave him no time to speak.

" My guests are just leaving, and I must go
instantly," she continued, thrusting a key into
his hand. " Will you continue your kindness
by taking Monsieur Cowles to his room, — and

132 The Prisoner of Mademoiselle

locking him in safely, and bringing back the
key to me ? "

Here a ghost of the old laughter came back
to her lips.

" Monsieur will pardon the poor accom-
modation, for the present. We were hardly
prepared for distinguished prisoners ! " she
added, curtseying to both men with mske-
believe ceremony ere she slipped away down
the passage. Both men stared after her till
the last flutter of her skirts disappeared. Then
Father Labillois turned with a troubled sigh,
laid his finger on his lips, and led the way up
a narrow and crooked flight of stairs.

The room into which Zachary was conducted
was a spacious, low loft under the eaves. The
grayness of dawn coming in through a win-
dow at the eastern end showed that the room
was littered with boxes of every size and shape.
A pile of rugs on one of these boxes showed
that the prisoner's comfort had not been quite
overlooked.

" I will bid you adieu for the present, mon-
sieur," said the priest, his hand on the door.
" I will come back later in the morning ; and
I have no doubt that the prisoner of Made-

The Prisoner of Mademoiselle 133

moiselle de Biencourt will find all his needs
well cared for."

" It is enough to be her prisoner," said
Zachary, impulsively. " I don't think I have
any other needs."

Father Labillois was just closing the door,
but at these words he opened it again, looked
at the young officer with troubled eyes, and
seemed about to make some pertinent reply.
He changed his mind, however, and merely
said:

" Perhaps you had better give me back my
hat and cassock, monsieur. They will be at
your service again, if necessary. But, in the
meantime, in case of accident, they might pos-
sibly prove compromising."

" Thank you a thousand times," said
Zachary, handing them over, " and thank you
more than words can say for all you have done
for me. I realize perfectly now that I owe my
life to you."

" Don't thank me, my son. It is Made-
moiselle de Biencourt only to whom your grat-
itude is due," answered the priest, once more
pausing' in the doorway. " And," he added,
meaningly, but with some hesitation, " do not

134 The Prisoner of Mademoiselle

forget that it is for the point of honour that
she takes such pains. The point of honour, my
son." And he noiselessly closed the door be-
fore Zachary could carry the conversation
farther. Zachary heard the key turn in the
lock, then flung himself down on the heap of
rugs, rubbed his eyes, and tried to collect his
thoughts.

The sound of the key turning in the lock,
and shutting him securely into the house of
his enemy, where the most ignominious of
deaths was lying in wait for him, gave him no
emotion of fear or even of depression. On the
contrary, he had been conscious of a strange
thrill of elation at the ominous sound. The only
thing that seemed of vital consequence to him
was that the key was going into the hands of
that girl who had looked into his soul with
such wonderful, troubled, tender, arid unfath-
omable eyes as he had never before seen even
in dream; At the blockhouse this wilful and
most mutable of maids had dazzled him,
charmed him, amused him. His admiration
she had conquered unreservedly. But this
proud girl rushing anxiously from the glitter
of the ballroom to let him in by the little,

The Prisoner of Mademoiselle 135

hidden door, — this disdainful girl pale from
care about his peril, — this was different. He
could think of nothing else than that thrilling
look in her eyes. It seemed to him as if that
look had given him somie portion of herself,
as if on the instant, and with uncalculating
trust, she had admitted him to the presence of
her real self. At the same time, somewhere
in that look, as it dwelt before him, he seemed
to discern an appeal of some sort, almost a
cry for help. This haunted and harassed him,
till he craved passionately to answer it. No
price in the world, he felt, would be too great
to pay for the privilege of responding to that
appeal, of rendering that help. But he could
conceive of no possible way in which she might
need him. How could she, with all her world
at her feet, be needing anything which an un-
known and helpless prisoner could give her ? If
only she were in his own country — but at
this he laughed shortly, impatient with such
vain visions, and got up to stretch his long
legs. Then he stole cautiously to the window
to look out at the oncoming of the dawn.

The window overlooked a portion of the
stable-yard; and he started back hastily, for

136 The Prisoner of Mademoiselle

there he saw a little company of gentlemen,
mounting their horses. Standing back at a
safe distance, where the growing light did not
strike him, he watched them with keen interest,
and decided that they were setting out for Port
Royal to organize more efficient defence against
the raidings of the God's Providence. Of the
leader of the party he took particular note,
regarding with a soldier's approval his air
of competent authority, his firm seat, and his
smlart uniform, which he recognized as belong-
ing to one of the crack regiments of France.
As they started off, they all turned toward the
house and saluted some one whom Zachary
judged to be standing immediately below his
window. But a few paces farther on, just as
they wheeled into the roadway, the leader
turned half around in his saddle, doffed his
cap again, and waved a longer and more de-
vout farewell. A pang of fierce jealousy shot
through Zachary's heart, as he realized that
the object of such' farewell could be no other
than Mademoiselle de Biencourt herself. The
troop disappeared. The pounding of the
horses' hoofs died away. And Zachary stood
Immovable, with his eyes fixed upon the tides

The Prisoner of Mademoiselle 137

of airy pink and saffron now flooding up the
sky. Dyes of thin pink made wonderful the
roofs, and added to the wonder of the shimmer-
ing orchards, the spreading fields of young
barley. As the light grew, the colours of blos-
soms began to come out clear in a shadowy
corner of the garden down to the right. But
little of all this beauty reached Zachary's per-
ception, for he was thinking of a look in Made-
moiselle's eyes.

In such a reverie Zachary stood for a time
motionless. Then, reminding himself that s.
soldier ought to sleep whenever there was
nothing better to do, the better to go without
on fitting occasion, he spread the rugs on the
floor and resolutely settled himself for another
nap. At first, sleep was far from his eyes;
but soon his thoughts of his jailor's eyes be-
came confused, and he imagined he had her
with him in the boat, drifting through an im-
penetrable but miraculously sunlit fog. Pres-
ently the roar of breakers sounded all about
them, on every side and close ahead, and he
sprang and flung his left arm about her waist,
feeling sure that he could save her. Then he

138 The Prisoner of Mademoiselle

woke up, with the loft full of level sunlight,
and a sound of heavy wheels in his ears.

He crept to the window, and peered out
with the utmost caution. In a heavy, lumber-
ing, open coach, drawn by three horses, two
abreast and one ahead, sat a stately, white-
moustached, savage-looking old ofificer, with
his foot on a cushion on the seat in front of
him. He was in undress uniform, and
Zachary recognized himi as unmistakably the
governor. Half a dozen soldiers and several
grooms hurried about, and beside the carriage
fretted a superb black horse, saddled and
bridled, and held by an orderly.

" His Excellency is going to fetch me from
the blockhouse," said Zachary to himself. " li
that fiine mount is intended for me to ride back
on, I take it as mighty civil of the old chap."

In this whimsical assumption Master
Zachary was very far astray, for his Excel-
lency was not in the mood to waste time on
courtesies to his intended victim. Sleepless
from the combined strains of inactivity and
pain, he had determined to go himself to fetch
the prisoner from the blockhouse. The pre-
tence of a trial, and then the well-deserved

The Prisoner of Mademoiselle 139

punishment, would wile away the whole morn-
ing, at least, and then perhaps he might be able
to get some sleep. He had tried the saddle
first, but promptly realized that he could not
stand the torment of letting his foot hang down
for so long a ride. He had ordered out his
great carriage, therefore; but, knowing that
the last mile of the way would be impassable
for wheels, he was having his saddle-horse led
alongside, to be mounted at the branching of
the trail.

Just as the expedition was about to start,
it seemed that the cushion under his Excel-
lency's foot required some readjusting. He
pointed to it, with a gesture as if his forefinger
were a rod of chastisement. Two soldiers
jumped forward to do his bidding, but, in some
way, as was evident to Zachary, they did it
wrong, or they hurt him. He roared at them,
one brief word which the watcher in the win-
dow could not catch, and the two soldiers
jumped back terrified.

"Verily," thought Zachary, "he hath a
right angry eye, his Excellency. He's just
spoiling to hang somebody this morning. I'm
glad it won't be me."

140 The Prisoner of Mademoiselle

At this momeiat Zachary's heart leaped
within him, for a slight little figure all in white
ran forward to the side of the carriage.

As Mademoiselle's hands arranged the
cushion under the aching foot, it was evident
to the watcher that her touch had magic in
it, for his Excellency's ferocious scowl relaxed
into a smile. His heavy hand patted the dark
head that was bending over him so tenderly.
When the cushion was just right, Anne looked
up, kissed her finger-tips to him laughingly,
and slipped back. He swept his hat to her
grandly as the deliberate procession moved
away.

" She is too clever for them all," thought
Zachary, with swelling pride, and heedlessly,
for a moment, pressed his face to the window,
trying to see more of her. He recovered his
wits instantly, however, and sprang back, con-
fident that no one had observed him; and in
a moment more the yard was empty of all
life, save for three black hens, who were dili-
gently dusting themselves in a bright corner.

Zachary returned to his rugs and stood
looking down at them. Could he, by any
amount of wise resolution, compel himself to

The Prisoner of Mademoiselle 141

any more sleep? No, he could not. There
was a certain excitement in knowing that there
was a man-hunt going on, and himself the
object of it. But even this soon lost interest,
and he found himself studying the elusiveness
of Mademoiselle's smile.

From this engrossing study he was aroused
by a lig-ht tap on the door.

CHAPTER XIII.

MADEMOISELLE AND HER PRISONER

IT was an incredible folly for an old soldier
to be guilty of, but Zachary trusted the
leap of his pulse which answered to that
summons. He sprang to the door, and tried
to open it, without waiting for any sign to
justify such confidence. He knew well enough
that it was Mademoiselle who stood on the
other side. The next moment the key turned
in the lock, the door opened, and Anne slipped
in, closing the door behind her.

She was dressed now in a white gown of
some soft, silky material, which clung to her
slender figure, and she looked scarcely more
than a child. Zachary eagerly held out his
hands, but she put both of hers behind her back,
and looked at him severely.

" How could you be so mad as to answer
142

Mademoiselle and Her Prisoner 143

my knock that way? " she demanded. " You
must be crazy. It might have been some one
else. You knew I had the key ! "

" I knew it was you ! " he answered, dog-
gedly. " And I forgot you had the key ! I
forgot everything, except that it was you ! "

The excuse seemed to Anne adequate,
though she would not acknowledge the fact.
But as she observed the way Zachary gazed
at her, with a light in his eyes that was very
different from the cheerful and boyish admi-
ration he had manifested at their first meet-
ing, she began to recover some of the poise
which the strain of the night had broken down.
Her face took a warmer colour, her mouth a
richer scarlet; and the old imperious gaiety
flashed back into her eyes.

" I had no idea, monsieur, when I accepted
your surrender and your sword, that one simple
prisoner could be such a care to me. If I had
had any conception of the responsibility, I
should have given you back your freedom with-
out delay."

" You could not give me back my freedom
now, mademoiselle," said Zachary. " I can
never be free again."

144 The Prisoner of Mademoiselle

A shade more colour in Anne's gaze sug-
gested that she did not wholly miss Zadiary'l
meaning; but she chose to misunderstands

" No, I suppose not," she answeted, siftiply.
" Having got you into such a position ai this,
through your trust in me, the least I eari d4
is to justify your confidence. But do ftot be
so despairing, monsieur. I really think I caii
get you away safely sometime soon. Mead-
while— "

But Zachary was rude enough td interrupt
her.

" I don't think you can, madettidiselle," said
he, with a transparent attempt at lightiiesSi

" You must not undervalue my powers $©
far as that," she retorted, " just because I arti
not able to openly override the g-6vemor's will.
My unde is very dear and kind-hearted in
many ways, — at times; but I found that he
had quite set his heart on hanging you this
morning, as an example and encouragement
to your compatriots. So I was compelled to
change your prison cell. I fear his Excellency
will be a dangerous neighbour to his attendants
wheti he opens the blockhouse and finds it
empty. He was up nearly all night entertain-

Mademoiselle and Her Prisoner 145

ing his guests, and he is a bit impulsive this
morning. Oh, monsieur, you have no idea how
he wants you ! "

" Yes, I have a faint idea ! " laughed Zach-
ary, softly. " I saw his face as he set out a
few minutes ago, and I felt so glad I was not to
have the honour of meeting him just at pres-
ent."

"You saw his face?" exclaimed Anne,
with trepidation. " You were surely not so
foolish as to show your face at the window, —
Oh, surely not ! "

She wrung her small, brown fingers in
despair.

Zachary was filled with contrition.

" I kept well back," he declared, " so no one
could possibly see me. But please forgive
me, if it has worried you. And I'll promise
not to go near the window again unless in the
dark."

"Are you sure no one saw you?" ques-
tioned Anne.

" Quite sure, most puissant lady," answered
Zachary, with confidence. He had quite for-
gotten his first moment of heedlessness.

Thus reassured, Anne relented.

146 The Prisoner of Mademoiselle

" Well, monsieur, as there will be little to
occupy you here except looking out of the
window, I will have a transparent screen placed
before it, through which you can safely see
everything without any risk of being seen.
But I must ask, I must demand, that you be
most careful all the time, both as to the win-
dow and as to any sound or motion that might
betray you to any one passing outside this door.
I'm afraid you are rash and headlong, a little,
monsieur ; and if you won't be careful on your
own account, please don't forget how — em-
barrassing it would be for me if you should be
discovered."

" I shall not forget, believe me, mademoi-
selle," replied Zachary. " I say it with the
more confidence, because I can't think of any-
thing at all but you."

" It is only fair to say," went on Mademoi-
selle, rather hastily, "that I am considered
somewhat eccentric as it is, because I choose
to wander around the woods with my little
musket (which was made in Paris especially
for me) instead of sitting in the house or in
the garden, working embroidery all day long.
I should die, trying to live that way. You

Mademoiselle and Her Prisoner 147

must have thought me rather pecuHar, — and,
in a way, — bold, monsieur."

Zachary's face glowed with delight as he
watched her.

" I thought you a miracle, a miracle of
everything that was bewildering and enchant-
ing," he vowed, having already reached the
stage when he believed himself to have fallen
hopelessly in love with her the instant his eyes
fell upon her face.

" Yes, a miracle, — a freak," retorted Anne,
with a flash of mockery. " I knew you thought
me queer. Monsieur Cowles. Well, the point
I am anxious to impress upon you is this, that
at present my supposed eccentricity is consid-
ered harmless. I am not, I fear, regarded as a
good exemplar for the daughters of Acadie;
but being the governor's niece, — and, well,
supposed to be somebody on my own account,
in New France or in Old, — I can do as I like
up to a certain point."

It was little Zachary cared whether she were
princess or peasant, so long as she was what
he found her.

" If you were of the blood royal, mademoi-
selle," he said, gravely, not as one tenders a

148 The Prisoner of Mademoiselle

compliment, but as one states a pregnant truth,
" you could not be more sovereign than you
are, — nor less so, if your father had sprung
from the hovels."

This speech interested Anne, confirming an
impression which had been borne in upon her
from the first by the New Englander's air and
bearing. " He is of good blood himself," she
thought, " or he could not be so indifferent
on the subject. Truly, he has a most lordly
confidence. If I were a duchess he would not
think me beyond his reach; and if I were a
peasant he would think himself well-born
enough for both." And she laughed a little
half-indulgent, half-approving laugh, which
Zachary strove in vain to interpret. He could
not see anything in his speech to amuse her.
He gazed at her with a puzzled expression.

Anne made a gesture with her hands as if
laying aside an unimportant subject. Then she
continued from where she had left off speaking.

" Up to a certain point, monsieur, as I was
saying. And up to that point, my uncle, who
is extremely individual himself, likes to see
me going my own way, which chances to har-
monize with his. When his foot will permit.

Mademoiselle and Her Prisoner 149

he and I go hunting together, — and he doesn't
see any sense in working embroideries, at any
time. But if it should appear that in my soli-
tary wanderings I was given to capturing
strange gentlemen, and keeping them locked
up in blockhouses and lofts, I think his Excel-
lency's views would change, and the tongues
of the good ladies of Acadie would find dear
occupation."

At this suggestion, at the idea of Mademoi-
selle being criticized, Zachary's face flushed
with anger.

" They would not dare to take liberties with
your name, surely," he protested. Then the
anger faded into solicitude, as he realized that
it was he who was putting her in such jeopardy.

" Oh, I cannot have it that you should run
such risks for me ! " he cried, in great dis-
tress. " I must not stay here. I must get away
at once. I can hide in the woods, — and wait,
and just wait, till you can come and see me for
a moment."

" That is nonsense," said Anne, decisively.
" You would be tracked, and caught, and killed,
within twenty-four hours. No, monsieur, your
part is to curb your rashness, and strictly obey

150 The Prisoner of Mademoiselle

fne. Then I shall not be exposed to criticism.
Do you understand ? "

" I shall be a model of obedience," answered
Zachary.

" And now, after these little necessary ex-
planations," said Anne, with a businesslike air,
suddenly forsaking her post at the door, and
flitting about the room, " I must consider what
is necessary for you here. It is a wretched
place, and shames my hospitality" (she had
forgotten that he was a mere prisoner), "but
Father Labillois and I can manage to make
it possible for you to live in. Don't expect
elegance, however, monsieur," she added,
laughingly. " It may be hot, — oh, it is hot,
— here under the roof. The window must be
kept open." And she ran and opened it, let-
ting in a breath of sweet, mild air. " But you
must not go near to shut it, even in a storm,
mind. Of course, if you should come to dis-
trust my protection, you could escape by climb-
ing down the vine from the window, for you
are not on parole, — as I remember ? "

She looked at him inquiringly.

" Yes, indeed, I am, mademoiselle ! " he
declared, with conviction.

Mademoiselle and Her Prisoner 151

" Well, I accept your parole, anyway,"
pursued Anne. " We cannot have a divided
responsibility; and you could never hope to
get away by yourself. So you will please con-
sider that that window is securely barred."

" Yes," said Zachary, ambiguously, " there
is no escape for me except by your will. Never
was prisoner more fast fettered."

" That is well, monsieur," she answered,
civilly unconscious of his meaning. " And
now you must be nearly starved to death. I
will ask Father Labillois to bring you some-
thing at once." And she laid her hand on the
door.

" Ton my word, I had forgotten all about
breakfast," exclaimed Zachary, with unas-
sumed surprise. " And truly, I am not hun-
gry, — not a bit. Please don't go yet. There
are so many things, — so many questions I
want to ask you. I remember them when I
am alone, and they seem vitally important.
But when I see you I forget — everything."

But Anne would not linger. Shaking her
head, and laying one finger on her lip, she
resolutely opened the door, and passed out.

Then, with the door half-closed, she whis-

152 The Prisoner of Mademoiselle

pered, smilingly, " Be patient. I will see you
again, perhaps, some day," and disappeared.
Zachary listened to the key as it turned in the
lock.

" In very truth, I am her prisoner indeed,"
he muttered to himself.

CHAPTER XIV.

THE PLIGHT OF GIL

AS far as the beginning of the Vardeau
trail, his Excellency had made the jour-
ney with comparative comfort. But
when he got into the saddle, and his foot into
the stirrup, then his trouble began. He set
his teeth, and bore the torment without a mur-
mur. But his followers noted that he was
growing paler and paler as he rode; and they
wondered uneasily what direction his energy
would take when anything should occur to
loose his pent-up feelings. All went well, how-
ever, till the blockhouse was reached. With
most cautious assistance, he dismounted, and
stretched himself full length on the sward for
a few minutes. Then, when the wonted colour
had come back to his grim old face, he was
helped up. Having seated himself on a log
IS3

154 The Prisoner of Mademoiselle

about ten paces from the door of the block-
house, he signed to the young aide and to
Gil (whom he had found sitting patiently
on the threshold) to go in and fetch the
prisoner.

As Gil undid the heavy bar, while the sol-
diers stood by with loaded weapons lest the
prisoner should make some desperate dash for
freedom, there was a moment of such tense
expectancy that his Excellency even forgot he
had a foot. Then, to every one's surprise, the
door yielded to the first push, and swung wide
open.

Gil felt a pang of apprehension. Since his
arrival at the blockhouse he had wondered at
the profound silence within, but, being ab-
sorbed in his own emotions, had concluded
easily that the prisoner was aware of his pres-
ence and emulating the furtive tactics of the
wild creatures. But the fact of the door being
unfastened on the inside upset this theory.
His Excellency ordered both him and the
young officer aside, and sent in three of the
soldiers.

With finger on trigger the soldiers entered
cautiously, and peered about the gloom. As

The Plight of Gil 155

nothing happened, Gil's heart sank. That
some one had been there he knew perfectly
well. Now he knew that that some one had
been released. The governor would wreak his
wrath on him. For a moment he trembled.
Then he steeled his nerves and set his long
jaw. What matter what might happen? He
had had a night of wonder. Nothing could
undo that. And it was not reasonable to think
that Lizette really cared. What mattered any-
thing? He was happy.

His reverie was interrupted by the sound of
the soldiers turning over some boards and
slamming the cupboard door. In a moment
more they came out, looking ashamed of them-
selves. There was no one there. But they
brought with them proof that some one had
been there, — a brace of English pistols, such
as only officers carried.

The governor's face was dull red with baf-
fled rage. Every one held his breath for an
explosion, — but when his Excellency at last
spoke, he spoke with a quietness that was more
dangerous than an explosion.

" The prisoner has escaped," he said, slowly
turning his narrowed eyes upon Gil.

156 The Prisoner of Mademoiselle

Gil bowed respectfully, but met the fierce
gaze without flinching.

" I fear he has, your Excellency, but through
no fault of mine. No one has crossed that
threshold since I arrived here to guard it."

" You have slept at your post," sneered the
old man. " You know what happens to men
who sleep at their post. You shall hang in his
stead."

At this brutal decree the woodsman's gaunt
face flushed, and the dark veins knotted on his
forehead. He was no peasant, to cringe or
grovel. He straightened himself to his full
height, then said, deliberately:

" I suppose I shall, if it pleases your Excel-
lency. Your Excellency's power is above
justice."

" Take charge of him. Tie his hands. Shoot
him if he tries to escape," ordered the old man
coldly, turning to the soldiers. Thep to his
orderly, " Help me to my horse."

The only person who could utter a word of
protest, of course, was the young officer.

" Will you not allow me to suggest, your
Excellency," he stammered, all embarrassment
and respect, " that several hours must have

The Plight of Gil 157

elapsed before Beaudy's return to keep watch
on the blockhouse. Is it not most probable
that the prisoner escaped during that time?"

The governor was mounting while the young
man spoke, and made no reply till firmly seated
in the saddle. Then he turned upon the speaker
with a cold glare.

" You, monsieur, will mind your own busi-
ness," said he.

The young man flushed, and all his em-
barrassment forsook him in a second.

" Your Excellency forgets that I am a gentle-
man, and an officer of the king's army," he
said, firmly. " It is my right to protest against
an outrage, though it is not in my power to
prevent it."

For a moment it looked as if the old soldier
would ride him down. He curbed his fury,
however, and merely said : " An officer of the
king's army will obey his superior officer.
You will ride straight to Port Royal, and re-
port yourself under arrest till further orders."

The young man saluted stiffly, and rode Oiff
at a gallop down the trail, at the risk of break-
ing his horse's legs and his own neck. Then
the governor turned to his little squad, and

158 The Prisoner of Mademoiselle

ordered them to fall in; and the homeward
march began, Gil towering a head above
his guards, and walking arrogantly, with his
hands tied behind his back. He was engrossed
in wondering how Lizette would feel when she
saw him brought back to Cheticamp in this
plight.

CHAPTER XV.

THE MANAGING OF HIS EXCELLENCY

AS the rumble of his Excellency's wheels
was heard approaching the manor-house,
Lizette rushed to the window. She had
been apprehensive all the morning. Behind
her stood Mademoiselle, sympathetically and
half-amusedly understanding the girl's interest,
but utterly unconscious of her apprehension.
Not for a moment had it occurred to Anne,
absorbed in her own problem, that there was
any possible peril to Gil in the part which
she had forced him to play, as it were, blind-
fold. She had a painful surprise, therefore,
when the party came in sight, and Lizette, with
face gone suddenly white as her little cap,
wheeled about and clutched her by the arm.
" You will save him ! You must save him,
mademoiselle ! " the girl cried, wildly, in a
»S9

i6o The Prisoner of Mademoiselle

voice of mingled appeal and demand. " He
did it for you. It was for you I made him
do it! You will save him! "

"Why, what do you mean, child?" asked
Anne, a little coldly. The demand in Lizette's
voice jarred upon her. " Save whom? From
what?"

"Oh, don't you see? Gil! The soldiers
have arrested him. They have tied his hands
behind his back ! " And Lizette wrung her
own hands, and pounded them on the window-
sill. "That dreadful old man will hang him
-^because the prisoner has escaped. And it's
my fault. No, it's your fault, mademoiselle.
I see it all. You wanted the prisoner to escape,
and you didn't care what happened to any one
else!"

Mademoiselle's eyes opened very wide.
Twenty-four hours earlier she would have been
haughtily indignant that Lizette should pre-
sume to reproach hef, either justly or Unjustly.
Btit twenty-four hours had worked much
change in hef, making her more human and
more Comprehending. She understood the
situation in a flash, and forgot to feel any
resentment. She forgot to woftder how much

The Managing of His Excellency i6i

Lizette knew about there having been a pris-
oner. She even forgot to repudiate the charge
of her own personal interest in that prisoner;
indeed, so inconsistent is the heart of woman
that she felt a little thrill of pleasure at the
charge. But what she thought of was the
plight of the man who had served her, and
that plight she now saw for herself and under-
stood.

" There, there, child ! " she answered, gently.
" Don't be afraid. Indeed, I never thought
of the danger to poor Gil. But of course I
will save him. He has done me a greater
service than you think, Lizette, you and he
together. Don't be afraid."

The girl's tense face relaxed, and she kissed
Anne's hand humbly, as if begging pardon for
her impetuosity. But then, as she glanced
from the window again, her fears returned.

" Oh, go at once, I implore you, mademoi-
selle," she cried. " They may hang him at
once. Just see the dreadful look on his Ex-
cellency's face." And she almost pushed
Mademoiselle, in her excitement.

As a matter of fact, the look on his Ex-
cellency's face was now more pain than rage.

1 62 The Prisoner of Mademoiselle

for his foot was torturing him horribly, and
there was small satisfaction or diversion to
be got out of hanging one of his own men.
Moreover, he had his own misgivings, and
could not help feeling that there might be room
for doubt as to the strict justice of his position.
This doubt it was, rather than unmitigated vin-
dictiveness, which combined with his torture to
make his grim face more terrible than ever
in its grimness. Anne could not know this,
however, and it was with no light heart that
she ran out to meet her uncle.

She was beside the carriage, bareheaded, as
it stopped, having apparently come out with
the purpose of helping his Excellency to alight.

" Oh, dear ! " she murmured, commiserat-
ingly, " how ill you look ! Is the poor foot
hurting terribly? "

" Most damnably ! " growled the old soldier.
But his face brightened, nevertheless, for he
was not only pleased by her solicitude but glad
of the assistance of her light, unerring hand.

The squad of soldiers, with Gil in the cen-
tre, had halted, awaiting orders. Anne's eyes
rested on them inquiringly.

The Managing of His Excellency 163

" But where is your English prisoner ? " she
asked.

The old soldier's face darkened ominously.

" Gone when we got there. Some one had
let him out. And he was an officer. Here are
his pistols."

"Oh!" said Anne.

" No good talking about it ! " muttered his
Excellency, bitterly. " He's saved his neck
for the present, — but we'll have him yet !
Your arm, little one."

" No, uncle, your foot first," contradicted
Anne, slipping her hands under the cushion,
and deftly transferring cushion and foot to-
gether to the carriage step.

" How is it no one else can manage it like
that without hurting' me ? " demanded his Ex-
cellency, glaring at his orderly so that the latter
straightened up with a start and nervously
saluted.

Anne made no reply to this, but raised her
head and stared at the squad of soldiers as if
she had just observed a captive among them.

"But what has Beaudy done?" she asked,
in a voice of frank concern. " That's Gil
Beaudy, is it not ? "

164 The Prisoner of Mademoiselle

His Excellency evaded her interrogating
eyes. He answered roughly, though with a
tinge of hesitation. Without realizing it him-
self, he set great value upon the good opinion
of this wayward and independent little niece
of his.

" He was sent to guard the prisoner ! The
prisoner has escaped. I hold Beaudy responsi-
ble, that's all."

i,

"But what is going to be done to him?"

persisted Anne, anxiously.

" He must have slept when he should have
been watching," answered his Excellency. " I
need not tell you, a soldier's daughter, the
penalty for that crime ! "

" Do you know he was guilty of that crime,
my uncle? " asked Anne, quietly.

"It's plain enough!" persisted his Excel-
lency. " Either that, or he connived at the
escape, which is worse. He must take the
consequences. And you, my child, must not
meddle with what does not concern you."

" But this concerns me very deeply," said
Anne, taking her uncle's hand. " I know
Gil Beaudy well, and know he is not only
one of the best woodsmen in Acadie, but a

The Managing of His Excellency 165

brave and honest man. I do not believe for
a moment that he would sleep at his post, uncle.
Do you think, yourself, that is much like a
man of his stamp? Oh, uncle, you are not
going to take a man's life in that careless
way ! "

" I am not going to be pestered," burst out
the old soldier, " either by you, Anne, or by
that young cub D'Aulnay, whom I have put
under arrest for interfering. This is my busi-
ness, and I know my duty. Now drop the
subject! "

" You know — for I was with you when
Monsieur d'Aulnay brought you word — that
there were several hours in the night when the
blockhouse was unguarded," pleaded Anne,
keeping firm hold of her uncle's fingers with
one hand, while the other rested on the knee
of the ailing foot, so that he really could not
well get' away till she was ready to move.
" Surely, surely, you must see that it was dur-
ing that time that the Englishman escaped ! "

The governor merely set his jaw and tried
to get out of the carriage. But Anne, appar-
ently unconscious of what she was doing, held
her position, with such an earnest grasp on

1 66 The Prisoner of Mademoiselle

his knee that he could not move it without
excruciating torture.

" You cannot hang a man like Gil when
it's so clear that he's innocent ! " persisted
Anne. " It's simple murder, uncle, that's all.
And all the world would say so! " She knewi
this would touch the old soldier. " Give himi
to me, uncle. Give him to me. You can't treat
my favourite so, who has taught me all my
woodcraft, and made me fit company for you
in your hunting ! "

It was a cunning stroke on Anne's part,
opening this exit to his Excellency, when she
knew that he could not with dignity acknowl-
edge that he cared what the wodd would say.
The obstinate old fighter would not yield, lest
he should seem to acknowledge that he had
been in the wrong. But he seized the oppor-
tunity for a dignified compromise.

" It cannot be, my child," he said, " even to
gratify you. But to please you, nothing shall
be done about the fellowfs punishment at pres-
ent, I promise you that. He shall have the
fullest and fairest kind of a trial, after Mon-
sieur de Viron returns. And what's more," —
for his Excellency was beginning to feel a sense

The Managing of His Excellency 167

of relief at having extricated himself from a
very unpleasant position, — "I will promise
that he shall not be pimished unless monsieur,
and that impudent young cub D'Aulnay also,
are satisfied as to his guilt."

Anne treated him to a ravishing smile of
approval, and kissed him on the cheek.

" I knew you could not do anything that
vras not just, dear uncle. But really, you were
so savage that I was frightened." And very
tenderly she helped him into the house.

Anne had gained her point for the time.
But she felt by no means secure. She now
had a second problem' on her hands, — the
rescue of Gil from the guard-house, whither
a gesture from his Excellency had sent him.
Her mind shrank at the thought of such an
additional complication. With all her confi-
dent daring, she began to feel as if a net were
being drawn around her, and a harassed look,
strangely foreign to her bright, fearless face,
came into her eyes. She had every confidence
that De Viron would give the prisoner a per-
fectly fair trial; and she knew that young
D'Aulnay would be just at any cost. But her
fear was lest it should come out in any way

1 68 The Prisoner of Mademoiselle

that Gil had been an hour late in getting
to his post. If that were discovered, his Ex-
cellency's position would be in some degree
justified, according to the rigid code prevailing
in time of war. Gil's fate would be sealed.
His blood would be on her hands, and on Liz-
ette's, who had so strangely and inconsistently
fallen in love with him.

The whole situation was badly tangled. But
behind it all, like a black mass ready to topple
over upon her, was the knowledge that she
was to be given in marriage to De Viron within
four days. She knew very well that De Viron
would come on the day appointed, whether
affairs had been settled with the English ship
or not. He had come from Quebec to marry
her, not to fight the battles of Acadie. That
peril she had not yet found courage to frankly
face, though she knew that she was only en-
during its menace so calmly because, at the
back of her brain, she was cherishing a wild,
desperate, not yet to be formulated hope of
escape.

In her perplexity and loneliness, Anne went
to look for Father Labillois, in whose temper-
ate wisdom she put great faith. She hoped

The Managing of His Excellency 169

that he might find a way to obtain Gil's
pardon without trial, and so relieve her shoul-
ders of one crushing responsibility. But on
her way to find the good priest, she was inter-
cepted by Lizette, who at once inferred every-
thing that was worst from her troubled counte-
nance.

Tears streaming down her face, the girl
almost dragged her into her room, and closed
the door. But Anne's instant smile reassured
her, and in her excitable way she passed at
once to extravagant delight and gratitude,
kissing the hands of her mistress and calling
down upon her head all the blessings of all
the saints. But Anne promptly checked her
transports.

" Not so fast, Lizette. It's true, I bring you
good news, but not good enough to quite sat-
isfy us. Gil is safe, for a few days, abso-
lutely. But his Excellency was very savage
and hard. All I could obtain, for the present,
is a pledge that Gil shall have a full and
faif trial before Monsieur de Viron, and also
that he shall not be punished unless both Mon-
sieur de Viron and young Monsieur d'Aulnay
(who, it would seem> Spoke up rather boldly

lyo The Prisoner of Mademoiselle

for Gil over at the blockhouse) are both quite
assured of his guilt."

" Then why should there be anything to
fear, mademoiselle ? " asked the girl. " Mon-
sieur de Viron and Monsieur d'Aulnay are
just men, I am sure."

Anne's gravity relaxed for an instant.
" You should know best, Lizette, whet' ar
Gil quite attended to his duty or not."

But Lizette was obstinate. " I am quite
sure, mademoiselle, that the prisoner could
never have made his escape after Gil went
on guard," she declared.

" But he was at least an hour late in getting
there, I think you assured me, child," pursued
Mademoiselle de Biencourt.

A brightness came in Lizette's tear-stained
face at the memory of that hour, her hard-won
triumph and her triumphant defeat.

" It was nearer two, mademoiselle ! But
how is any one to know about that except our-
selves and Father Labillois, and some one else."

Anne looked at her searchingly. " What
makes you bring in — Father Labillois?" she
queried.

" Oh, mademoiselle," replied the girl, proud

The Managing of His Excellency 171

of her discernment, " Gil and I, standing by
the garden fence, saw the good father hurry-
ing by. Gil said he was on his way to
some sick person. But I knew, right off,
mademoiselle, that he was like myself, on some
business of Mademoiselle's. He and I, who
else, are the ones who love Mademoiselle so
much as to do any bidding of hers with our
eyes blindfolded."

Anne touched the girl's disordered hair
lightly with her finger-tips, and returned to
the subject of the trial.

" You never can tell, child, what eyes may
have seen you and Gil at an hour when he
should have been at the blockhouse. You never
can tell what might come out at the trial. No,
the risk is too great. I could never forgive
myself if — if anything went wrong! We
dare not face the trial, Lizette. We must get
him free before that ! "

The tone in which Anne spoke was so con-
vincing, and proved so fully that she had taken
upon herself the whole responsibility for Gil's
case, that Lizette veered all at once to a state
of confident elation. As long as Mademoi-

172 The Prisoner of Mademoiselle

sella really cared to, she could do anything,
that was Lizette's faith.

Her face grew as joyous as a child's from
whom the fear of some punishment has just
been removed. She became her old self again,
and even dared to say, with a sly little laugh :

" What will you do, mademoiselle ? I think
you know just what to do with prisoners ! "

CHAPTER XVI.

CONFIDENCES

UNDER the circumstances, Mademoiselle
de Biencourt could accept the thrust
with good grace. It was a strength
to her in her bewilderment and terror to have
a confidante of her own sex, who had become,
by so whimsical a stroke of fate, suddenly-
qualified to understand and sympathize. In
fact, she had unwittingly bound Lizette's des-
tinies in with her own. She felt so drawn to
Lizette now, the more since the girl had shown
such soundness of feeling as to fall in love
with a man like the tall woodsman, that the
social difference between them tended, as far
as she was concerned, to slip somewhat into
the background. She was glad to identify
Lizette's hopes and fears with hers, and felt
herself much less alone when she could say
173

174 The Prisoner of Mademoiselle

" we " instead of " I." Father Labillois she
knew she could depend upon, in one sense, to
the utmost. He would be loyal at any cost,
and loving under any test. But she knew that
he would not actively assist her if he believed
she was doing wrong; and she felt that some-
thing she had vaguely in mind to do might
go beyond his conscience.

" You speak more truly than you think,
child," she said, slowly, after a moment's con-
sideration. " I know I can trust you. I know
you love me. And I need your sympathy and
help. Yes, I do seem to know something about
what to do with prisoners, for I have one of
my own, and a great responsibility he is, Liz-
ette! And I have plans, too, that concern us
both, but I'm not quite ready to talk about these
plans yet."

" Mademoiselle, you can trust me to the
death, whatever happen ! " said the girl, giv-
ing her mistress a deep look. Then her curi-
osity, so long at white heat, could hide itself
no longer. That Mademoiselle de Biencourt,
all by herself, should have a prisoner in hid-
ing — why, it was like a marvellous fairy-tale.
" Oh, tell me, mademoiselle. I've been choking

Confidences 175

with questions ever since you sent me off on
such a strange errand last night. Who is he?
Where is he ? Where did you get him ? What
can you do with him ? How on earth — "

But Anne laid her hand on the eager hps.

" Stop ! stop ! One at a time ! " she pro-
tested, with a smile. " He is an English
officer, — a Bastonnais. He drifted ashore here
yesterday morning, having got lost in a fog
the day before. I caught him, all by myself,
— took away his boat when he had gone up the
shore, then covered him with my gun, and had
him just agreeing to surrender and hand over
his sword, when something I said offended
his honour; so telling me I could shoot him
if I liked, he refused to surrender, turned his
back on me, and stalked off into the woods,
as if he owned all Acadie, if not the world.
I followed, keeping out of sight, and saw him
beat two ruffians who attacked him, in a beau-
tiful fight. Then he came to the old block-
house, and while he was inside hunting for
something to eat, I shut the door and barred
him in. There I soon got him to surrender,
and to give me his sword. Of course, that
made me responsible for his life. I explained

176 The Prisoner of Mademoiselle

to Father Labillois, who was very nice about
it, and terrifically amused, and finally took the
poor fellow some dinner. So you can see,
Lizette " (Anne here swerved from her story),
" that when I found his presence in the block-
house had been discovered — your Gil did
that ! — and that his Excellency was going to
hang him for a pirate (he is from the God's
Providence, you know), I was in honour
bound to protect him at any cost ! "

" Yes, of course, mademoiselle," cried Liz-
ette, who had been listening to every word
with wide eyes and open mouth. " But where
is he now ? "

Anne looked at her with a slow, mysterious
smile before replying. Really it was a wonder-
ful comfort to pour out the story in this way
to Lizette's most sympathetic ears. Then a
light danced into her eyes. She was only a
girl, after all; and she had been frightfully
serious for hours, till she felt herself a hun-
dred years old; and, after all, though the
game be life and death, it is yet a game. At
last, when she thought that Lizette had been
sufficiently tried, she whispered:

Confidences 177

" He is up-stairs, locked up safely in the
loft above this room."

Lizette's gasp of astonishment and delight
was adequate tribute to this climax. But her
curiosity was not satiated even yet.

" And what is he like, mademoiselle ? " she
asked presently, seeing that Anne seemed to
have no more to say.

"Like?" exclaimed Anne, with a start, a
little thrill of enthusiasm in her voice. Then
she caught herself up short. " Oh," she went
on, indifferently, " tall, as these English are
apt to be. And not bad looking. And —
youngish, I should say, or not so very. And
fairish. With a nice voice and charming man-
ners, — a gentleman, obviously. I can't de-
scribe him exactly, Lizette. I've really seen
very little of him, you know ! "

It was Lizette's turn now to laugh, — a slow,
meaning laugh. Anne's indifference had been
too elaborate to be convincing. Lizette kept
up that soft, significant laughter till a flush
began to rise in her mistress's cheeks. Then
suddenly she stopped, and a look of utter con-
sternation spread over her face.

" But, oh, mademoiselle, what will become

178 The Prisoner of Mademoiselle

of him after — after the wedding? Only four
days ! What will Monsieur le Comte de Viron
say?"

Mademoiselle's eyes blazed.

" There won't be any wedding! " she burst
out, passionately. Then she caught herself up,
and stopped to think. This was the first time
she had frankly said so much, even to herself.
But, having said it, she knew it was true.
" I mean, Lizette," she went on more quietly,
" that the Count de Viron will have nothing
whatever to say as to my actions. I will not
marry him." Then a tremor of suppressed
indignation came into her voice. " I'm not
a baby, to have my life mapped out for me.
I'm not a simple schoolroom miss to be mar-
ried off to any man my guardian happens to
choose for me. I'll — I'll go into a nunnery
rather than give myself to the man I don't
love."

A day earlier, all this would have sounded
excessive and eccentric to Lizette, and she
would have done her little best to combat such
dangerous sentiments. She would have fought
De Viron's battle with every artifice in her
power, and, in doing so, would have been

Confidences 179

fighting her own. She would have seen her
dreams of gay Quebec (gay by comparison
with Cheticamp, though gray enough in fact)
tumbhng Hke spent poppy petals, and would
have been overwhelmed in despair. To-day it
was all so different! The dreams of Quebec
had lost their magic, for they seemed to have
no place in them for Gil. And she now felt
that it was quite reasonable and natural that
Mademoiselle should object to marrying a
man with whom she did not chance to be
in love. Of this sweeping reversal of all pre-
vious notions, the girl was honestly uncon-
scious. So she cried, heartily : " Of course,
mademoiselle, I should think so indeed. It
must be terrible to marry a man you don't
love! But poor Monsieur de Viron will be
very unhappy ! "

Anne smothered a guilty feeling that she
had not fully enough prepared the count for
such treatment.

" I never actually said I would marry him,"
she murmured. " It was his Excellency who
did it all, without so much as a ' by your leave '
to me. Let him get out of it as best he may."

" But he can shut you up till you give in,"

i8o The Prisoner of Mademoiselle

said Lizette, rather awed at the idea of an open
defiance to authority.

" Then — I'll run away! " exclaimed Anne,
with a burst of resolution, as if the idea had
just at that moment occurred to her.

Lizette eyed her searchingly, while daring
thoughts crowded into her brain.

" But if you do, mademoiselle," she almost
whispered, leaning nearer, and making a dra-
matic pause between each word, " it will not
be to a nunnery, that I'm sure of. I think,
mademoiselle, that the tall Englishman, who is
so beyond all doubt a gentleman, will have
• something to say about that ! "

Anne flushed furiously. What the girl's
words did was to pluck forth her own thought
from her heart and force her to confront it
fairly, and she was overwhelmed with confu-
sion at her own daring in having harboured
such a thought.

" How dare you, how dare you even think
of such a thing, Lizette ! " she cried, striving
to be angry, but not deceiving her listener in
the least.

" You know it is true, mademoiselle," re-
torted Lizette, boldly, triumphantly, and half-

Confidences 1 8 1

teasingly. Then she remembered Gil, and
grew very earnest. " Oh, mademoiselle, don't
pretend now. I know you love this stranger,
— and he must be worthy of you or you
wouldn't love him. Don't pretend one bit, for
think how short the time is, and so much to
do, and such terrible dangers ! "

It was a marvellous reversal of their posi-
tions, for the moment. Anne dropped her eyes
with strange humility, and spoke very softly.

" I don't know, Lizette. It is hard to believe
of myself, and fills me with shame; but I'm
half-afraid you are right."

" You're glad I'm right, dear mademoi-
selle ! " interrupted Lizette, crooning over her
with fervent tenderness, and kissing the sleeve
of her white gown. But Anne went on with-
out heeding the interruption.

" I think I liked him the instant my eyes
fell upon him, his face was so clear and fear-
less, so boyishly frank ; and for all his confident
courage, he was really, as I knew, so helpless
and alone and in peril. I felt that I must look
out for him whatever happened."

" I don't see anything to be ashamed of,"

1 82 The Prisoner of Mademoiselle

said Lizette, stoutly. " It's everything to be
proud of, the way you've done, mademoiselle."

" Oh, child, can't you see ? " Anne drooped
her head still lower. " Why, I've been letting
myself think about a man when I have no
reason whatever to suppose he gives a second
thought to me ! "

Anne de Biencourt was by nature and on
principle a peculiarly frank woman, but in
matters of this sort no woman can be alto-
gether frank all at once. She must come at
it step by step. But Lizette laughed in utter
derision.

" Oh, mademoiselle, mademoiselle ! " she
cried, softly, " who knows better than you that
no man living can keep his heart if you lift
your eyes upon him to call it forth from his
breast."

Anne shook her head, but a trifle hypocrit-
ically. She could not help remembering, with
a thrill, the way Zachary had looked at her
that morning, — and, most of all, perhaps, the
way his eyes had met hers when she was ad-
mitting him and Father Labillois at the garden
door. She could not help remembering, too,
those speeches of his which she had refused

Confidences 183

to understand. She told herself that they were
mere courtly compliment, those speeches, —
though at the same time she knew in her heart
that she was building upon their truth. She
made no reply to Lizette's words, but contin-
ued to shake her head in protest, and waited
anxiously in the hope that the girl would say
something more of the same sort.

But Lizette had nothing more of the sort
to say. It was all too obvious, that, for her
to belittle Mademoiselle's powers by dwelling
upon it. Rather — for four days seemed to
her too terribly short a timje for what they had
to do — she sought to turn Mademoiselle's
thoughts to instant action.

" No matter how much he loved you, made-
moiselle," she said, craftily, getting at her
point by indirection, " how would you dare to
try to escape with him? Where could you
go?"

"How would I dare, Lizette?" exclaimed
Mademoiselle, impetuously. " What could I
be afraid of? I would rather be in a hut in
the woods with him than in a royal palace
with — " But here she broke off abruptly,
flushed to her ears, and covered her face with

184 The Prisoner of Mademoiselle

her hands. She had not intended even to think
the thing that she now had said aloud.

Lizette paid no attention to her distress.

" Will you let me tell you what I think is
a little bit of your plan, mademoiselle?" she
asked.

Anne nodded, without uncovering her face,

" I think," went on Lizette, scarcely above
a whisper, — "I think you are wondering
how to free Gil, and have Gil get the Eng-
lishman away, and then have them take us
away, mademoiselle. Please don't shake your
head, because I know that thought is some-
where in your heart! Of course, you'll have
to take me, because you'll need me, even in the
woods, — and because I couldn't live, really,
away from you — and Gil ! "

Anne uncovered her face.

"You clever little Lizette!" she answered;
and, though her face was still covered with hot
blushes, she laughed softly, as if the picture
Lizette's words called up was sweet to her.
" I do believe there was some such idea in
my mind. Gil is such a cunning woodsman
that he could guide us through the woods,
and throw all pursuers off our track. You

Confidences 185

see, child, I know much better than you do
how clever he is, that Gil of yours. But we
could never be safe in this land of Acadie,
Lizette. Gil could guide us to some safe
little harbour down the coast, perhaps over
among the Tuskets, where there are so many
islands to hide away on. And he is sure to
have some trustworthy friend among the fish-
ermen, who could be hired to bring his boat
and take us, — oh, somewhere where no one
could torment us ! "

" Then the first thing, the very first thing,
mademoiselle," said the practical Lizette, " is
to get Gil free, is it not?"

" Yes, surely," answered Anne. " I have no
doubt we can manage to fool his guards, or
something of that sort, if it has to be done.
But that would stir up a hornets' nest; so
I'll try first what Father Labillois and I to-
gether can do with his Excellency, after his
foot gets easier. Meanwhile, I shall have you
help me look after Lieutenant Cowles, — that
is his name, child, — for he has had hardly
an}^hing to eat since noon yesterday, and there
has been no time to make that room fit to live
in. Father Labillois has taken him some food

1 86 The Prisoner of Mademoiselle

of some sort; but you might take him water
and a basin and towels, while I go and see
what can be done about Gil. And, Lizette,
— don't let monsieur talk much, or some one
might hear, and wonder at a man's voice in
that room."

" I'll go this minute, mademoiselle," an-
swered the girl, eagerly. " I'm dying to see
what he looks like."

CHAPTER XVII.

FATHER LABILLOIS IS TROUBLED

WHEN Lizette was gone, Anne's first
impulse was to lock her door, darken
the room, throw herself down on the
bed, and think. But she knew Lizette wovild
be back in a moment, worrying about Gil.
Her brain was in a whirl, and her heart on
fire. Emotions had crowded upon her so over-
whelmingly that she did not know what to do
with them, and her old, gay, wayward con-
fidence was all gone. She could not even rec-
ognize herself. The girl she had been twenty-
four hours ago seemed so different a being.
She felt that Lizette had really helped her, in
forcing her to confront her own purposes and
acknowledge the path which her feet were
taking. Yes, she loved this Englishman whom
fate had so whimsically thrown into her hands.
187

1 88 The Prisoner of Mademoiselle

She was no longer ashamed to acknowledge it
to herself. She was proud of it. But, though
she believed that he on his part was already in
love with her, she was restless with longing
to go and see him again, and catch that look
in his eyes again, and reassure herself beyond
all chill of doubt. That, however, she would
not permit herself to do. It would not be
seemly to show herself so interested. And
her woman's wit taught her that she might
best hasten matters by delay. As for Father
Labillois, she was not quite ready to see him
yet. She had begun to dread the loving keen-
ness of his eyes ; and she was filled with self-
reproach to think that she could no longer
be quite frank with him. She must think just
how far to go with him, and must have her
mind made up before seeing him again. Where
could she go to think ? Oh, the back garden !
There in the cool green, the scented shade, the
secret, narrow walks between the hedges, her
brain would calm itself and consent to work
clearly once more. She opened the little door,
sped hurriedly past the flower-beds and the
rose thickets, turned around the first hedge, —
and ran plump into Father Labillois, who was

Father Labillois Is Troubled 189

walking there, with his head down and his
hands behind his back.

Anne had to do all her thinking in one sec-
ond, after all. She caaght the priest's arm
with both hands.

" Oh, father," she cried passionately, as if
she had just come out to look for him and to
appeal to him, " what are we to do for poor
Gil? Something must be done at once."

This fever of concern, as fervent as any she
had shown in regard to the safety of the Eng-
lish prisoner, was something of a relief to
Father Labillois. It almost allowed him to
persuade himself that her wild anxiety of the
previous night had been nothing more than
the expression of a generous and sympathetic
heart. His brow cleared, and he laid his band
on her head lovingly.

" Of course, something roust and shall be
done," he answered, cheerfully. " But our
good Gil is quite safe for the present, —
and comfortable, too, I have no doubt, for he
has the fullest sympathy of his jailors. Why
this troubled haste, my daughter ? "'

"Oh," said Mademoiselle, with a shudder,
" if anything should happen to him, I should

190 The Prisoner of Mademoiselle

never get over it. His blood would be on
my head."

" Not more than upon mine," said the priest,
firmly. "My conscience has been troubling
me a little, too, as to Gil. But I am certain
we have done right, you and I, in saving the
Englishman's life, and in saving your uncle
from doing a terrible wrong. Gil will come
out all safe from the trial, that I am sure
of. Monsieur de Viron and Monsieur d'Aul-
nay are just men."

" Too much justice, father," persisted Anne,
significantly, " is what I fear."

" You fear that it might come out that he
was a little late in reaching his post? Who
is to speak of that? Not you or I. Not Liz-
ette. Not Gil. Don't let this matter trouble
you, my daughter ; but rather let us think how
we are to get our Englishman off our hands."

" That troubles me, too, — oh, terribly,
father," confessed Anne, with admirable in-
genuousness. " But naturally Gil comes first.
I can't help a feeling that some one may
have seen him with Lizette when he should
have been on guard. That would condemn
him at once. I can't think of anything else.

Father Labillois Is Troubled 191

And besides, I must have something comfort-
ing to take back to Lizette, poor child."

" Oh, so Lizette's little conscience is troub-
ling her, too ! " murmured the priest, with an
amused smile. " Well, it certainly ought to !
It will do her good."

" Lizette has a big conscience and a big
heart," protested Anne. " And, father, curi-
ously enough, it is her heart which is troubling
her now more than her conscience."

" You surely didn't set the child to make a
tool of her lover ! " exclaimed the priest, his
face darkening with reproach and rebuke.

" Oh, no, indeed ! " Anne hastened to ex-
plain. " Far from it. She quite looked down
on the big, silent fellow when I set her her
task, — when we set her her task. But, though
he has for months been head over heels in love
with her, she found him astonishingly hard to
manage, and ended by falling in love with him
herself. So you may imagine her state of
mind, father."

Father Labillois laughed approvingly.
" Upon my word, I didn't give the child credit
for such discernment ! " said he. " You may

192 The Prigoner of Madempiselle

tell her, from me, that I pledge my word that
Gil shall not suffer,"

" Of course, father, that will make her feel
much more at ease, as it doeg me, Still, wise
as you are, and influential as you are, the
chances of the trial terrify me, These aoldiers
are obstinate, and we stand apart, very singu-
larly alone, you and I, do we net? Wouldn't
it, perhaps, be still better if we could prevail
on his E^ccelleney, in some way, to set Gil
free without the risks of the trial? I accom-
plished a great deal with him this morning,
and I eould see that young Monsieur d'AuI-
nay's protest had touched him hard. He was
so angry about it that I saw it had made him
uneasy. Now, don't you think that this after-
noon, perhaps, you could follow it up, and lead
him to feel that the less said about his plan
to hang Gil the better ? "

But to this suggestion Father I^abiUoie re-
turned a decided negative,

" I think it would be a great mistake," said
he, " to trouble his EKcelleney any further on
the subject. He would very properly resent
my interference, and for you to lay anything
more might excite suspicions of some sort, if

Father Labilloi^ Is Troubled 19J

not now, perhaps later. YoU see, my daugh-
ter, his position was quite untenable before,
to which fact you owe your victory this morn-
ing. But now, he promises justice, — atid
justice is all we can Seehi to demahd in this
case."

" Theti you Won't, eveti for my sake? *' said
Anne, reproachfully.

" It is for your sake, first of all, that I
won't ! " returried the priest, with smiling firrrl-
ness. " And I earnestly beg that you Will not
say anything more to his Excellency, either.
Trust my older head in this."

" Very well, father, I'll do as you Say," she
agreed, reluctantly. " And thank yoii so much.
You will take our prisoner sotne sUppef, Will
you not? And see that his room is made poi-
Mbte? After that he will not be quite so much
trouble to us, as I have told Lizette (she knew
so much already, it was bettef to trust her
altogether), and she will be able to look after
him till we can g'et him away."

With an air of havitig matiy thitigs to do.
Mademoiselle turned to go back to the houSe.
But Father" Labillois stopped bet.

194 The Prisoner of Mademoiselle

" Had we not better consider now," he sug-
gested, " the question of getting him away ? "

Anne looked at him out of the comers of
her eyes.

" It would be so much simpler, father, if
Gil, who owns the wilderness, were free ! "

" That's true enough, as far as it goes,"
acknowledged the priest. " But I have in mind
one who could — and I am sure would — help
us still more effectively, and who would
also, if taken into our confidence, make Gil's
acquittal absolutely sure. I know that the
Count de Viron has no sympathy whatever
with your uncle's anxiety to hang an English-
man. He knows very well that these Boston
raiders are no pirates, and that they have at-
tacked us in full faith that France and Eng-
land are still at war. He knows, too, that
what this ship has done to us is just exactly
what our ships do to the New England settle-
ment whenever they get a chance. He would
be in full sympathy with us, and glad of an
opportunity to please you, and show himself
on your side, so to speak."

Anne turned first red, then white. She felt
herself cornered, fairly caught in the very

Father Labillois Is Troubled 195

impasse she had so feared and avoided. Her
first impulse was to break away and run for
the house. But this, of course, would have
been too absurd. For several moments she
made no reply. And Father Labillois waited
with growing apprehension.

At length, dropping her face low over a
piece of honeysuckle which she had plucked
and was nervously picking to pieces, she an-
swered, in a low voice, very truthfully:

" Monsieur de Viron must positively not
know anything at all about it, father."

" May I ask why not, my daughter ? " in-
quired Father Labillois, very gravely, all his
old fears rushing back upon him with redoubled
force.

Anne hung her head still lower, and tore the
honeysuckle into smaller bits.

" Don't you understand ? " she murmured,
in a voice that was both pleading and apolo-
getic. " I think — that Monsieur de Viron is
in love with me ! "

Father Labillois laughed a little shortly.

" That is hardly remarkable, my daughter,
seeing that he is to be your husband within
four days."

196 The Prisoner of Mademoiselle

" You don't understand, I see plainly,
father," persisted Anne, still holding her head
down. " I have reason, perfectly good reason,
to think he might be unreasonably jealous.
Men are apt to be most jealous when there
is least reason. Anyway, he might be jealous,
for I have tried him pretty severely, father.
And the best of men are not to be trusted when
they are jealous." Here she lifted her head,
and the wonted old imperious light flashed
back into her eyes. " In any case," she con-
tinued, with scarlet lips shut firmly, " Mon-
sieur de Viron must not be told anything.
Forgive me, father! But we must think of a
better plan than that."

Without waiting for any reply, she turned
and ran back toward the house, gathering up
her gown till her shm, silk-stockinged ankles
twinkled like blown white blossoms against
the surrounding green. Father Labillois
looked after her in harassed bewilderment.
How beautiful, how altogether to be desired
she was ! And terribly he feared for her.
He knew not exactly what it was he feared,
but chiefly unhappiness. He wanted her to be
safe. And to him the usual, altogether regu-

Father Labillois Is Troubled 197

lar thing naturally seemed the only safe one.
As for her explanation of her refusal to have
De Viron taken into their secret, it had been
very convincing, yet he was not at all con-
vinced. His brain assented, his instinct with-
held assent. And it was with anything but
tenderness that he thought of the confident-
eyed Englishman in the attic room.

CHAPTER XVIII.

HIS EXCELLENCY OBLIGES HIS NIECE

ANNE went straight to the library, where
she knew her uncle was likely to be
found at this hour. She had no inten-
tion of referring to the matter of Gil again,
for she had promised Father Labillois that she
would not ; and moreover, she saw the force of
the sagacious priest's argument. But she felt
that she must broach the dreaded subject of
De Viron, and find out, if possible, just when
he was likely to return, and altogether equip
herself as fully as possible with knowledge
that might help her in the difficult enterprise
which she had upon her hands. Outside the
library door, she paused a second and looked
at herself critically in the long mirror in the
hall. It was a harassed little face she saw,

almost haggard. But she rubbed her cheeks
198

His Excellency Obliges His Niece 199

briskly with both palms, and laughed at her-
self, and when her uncle's deep " Come in "
answered her knock, she entered with a glow
and gaiety that brought a smile of welcome
to his grim face.

" Your foot is feeling better, uncle, dear ! "
she exclaimed, running up and kissing him on
both cheeks. " I can see it in your face."

" It is your bright face, child, that makes
me feel better," answered the old soldier.
" Gad, but De Viron is a lucky man ! There
were no such girls as you in the market when
/ was young, or I wouldn't be a bachelor
now ! "

Anne tossed her head laughingly, while her
colour deepened.

" I don't think him very lucky," she an-
swered, with an ambiguity that was quite lost
on the governor.

" And I'll tell you some one else who is
lucky, because you are such a brave and tender
little girl, Anne," said he.

His Excellency had been thinking over what
D'Aulnay had said, as well as what Anne had
said. And the more he thought, the more
clearly he saw that Anne's pertinacity had

aoo The Prisoner of Mademoiselle

saved him from making a terrible blunder. He
realized that he had been blind with pain and
bad temper when he proposed to hang Gil
in place of the prisoner who had escaped^
Also, the more he thought of it in this new
f raffle of mind, the more convinced he was that
the escape had been effected before Gil's re-
turn to the blockhouse. Anne was therefore
particularly high in his favour, and he was
genuinely anxious to do her a pleasure. Mof e-
ovet, added to his real affection for her, there
was now an unacknowledged consciousness that
as the Wife of the powerful Count de Viron
she could wield a mighty influence for hita at
court. Back of these motives, but more potent
than he would confess to himself, was an un-
Willirtgness tO haVfe further attention called to
the fact that he had been oh the point of hang-
ing one of his own men so unjustly. Here
again Artne would be his salvatiotl.

Afttie looked puzded:

"Who is that, uncle?" she asked, with
vague hopefulness.

"Gil, my girl!"

" Why, Uncle Marc, what do you mean ? "
Ctied Anne, joyously, beginning to understand.

His Excellency Obliges His Niece 201

" I have mjade up my mind to grant you
Gil's freedom," said his Excellency, a little
grandly, " partly because you so earnestly de-
sire it, Anne, and partly, I confess, because
your arguments have convinced me."

With this he rang the bell which stood near
him on his desk.

In spite of the fact that her swift, merciless
insight saw at once all the mixed motives
which stood behind this gracious act, Anne did
its graciousness toward herself full justice,
and could not quite smother a pang at thought
of the mortification and disappointment which
she was planning to inflict upon the old soldier.
She was the more fervent, therefore, in the
gratitude which she manifested by flinging
both arms around his neck and kissing him as
impetuously as if she had been a child. His
Exeellwicy did not seem to find this hard to
bear. As she released him he looked at her
quizzically, and muttered;

"Gad, child, you spoil me! If you don't
look out I'll get so in need of being kissed that
I won't want to let De Viron carry you off to
Quebec."

" That wouldn't grieve me ! " retorted Anne,

202 The Prisoner of Mademoiselle

with a mocking toss of her head. " I don't see
why you want him to, anyway. I'd ten thou-
sand times rather stay here with you than go
with him."

This statement his Excellency would hardly
have thought worth noticing, except for the
compliment to himself. But he was saved the
necessity of reply, for at this moment a foot-
man answered his summons. The governor
scribbled a line, handed the paper to the foot-
man, and said :

" Take this to the sergeant of the guard at
once. And be careful to tell the sergeant, ac-
curately, that I said I was pardoning the pris-
oner at the request of Mademoiselle de Bien-
court, and because of her strong representa-
tions in his favour."

When the lackey was gone, his Excellency
was forced to endure a repetition of the treat-
ment which he had seemed to endure so bravely
before. Then, on plea of urgent household
duties. Mademoiselle hurried away. She felt
herself at the moment too grateful to her un-
cle to be properly diplomatic. She could not
bear to play the hypocrite just then, as she
would have to play it if the question of De

His Excellency Obliges His Niece 203

Viron's return and her marriage were brought
up. And she registered a heroic and quite
comforting resolve that she would deceive his
Excellency not one jot more than should prove
absolutely, painfully necessary.

CHAPTER XIX.

HOW GIL IS MADE TO UNDERSTAND

ANNE went straight to her own room',
and rang for Lizette, that she might tell
her the good news. But that news had
had winged feet. Lizette came in with shining
eyes, and such gladness in her face that Anne
was marvellously moved at sight of it. In-
deed, she was carried away by it, so far that
she forgot for a moment all the form and
tradition of her class, and was just a woman.
She got up, took Lizette's face between her
hands, and kissed her.

" I am so glad for you, child," she said,
simply. " Can any one really be so happy as
you look? "

The girl went right down on her knees in
her impetuous gratitude, kissing Anne's hands,
and her sleeves, and her skirt. Then, shifting
204

How Gil Is Made to Understand 205

into a sudden wild gaiety, which she, neverthe-
less, kept curbed down to such a quiet as could
have no interest for eavesdroppers, she sank
into a sitting posture on the floor, looked up
laughing into her mistress's eyes, and said:

"Oh, yes! You will be, mademoiselle! I
have seen him, and spoken to him, — and you
couldn't have done anything else, mademoi-
selle."

Anne looked away through the window
dreamily, trying not to show too foolishly how
much this pleased her.

" And he is utterly, utterly in love with you.
There is no doubt of that. I saw that in half
a minute, mademoiselle," continued the girl.

Anne had so many things she wanted to say,
that she said none of them.

" Have you seen Gil yet? " she asked, after
a moment's hesitation.

" No, mademoiselle, but I'm going to in a
few minutes."

"Will you tell him, now?" asked Anne.
She was tired, nerve-tired, and felt that she
must, for a little, entrust the reins to other
hands.

2o6 The Prisoner of Mademoiselle

" If you will permit me, mademoiselle," an-
swered Lizette, dutifully.

" Of course you were going to, anyway ; I
know that," said Anne, weary and indulgent.
" Gil will be loyal to the trust, I know. But
will he join us? Will he turn his back on
his beloved Acadie, and go into exile? Can
you manage him again? It was hard before,
child."

" It will be easy this time, mademoiselle,
because his duty and his desire will go together.
He owes his life to you. Trust me this time,
too, mademoiselle."

" Then you may go now, child, and I will
leave it to you. I'm going to lie down and
sleep a little while. I'm so tired, I feel as if
I had lived ten years in the past twenty-four
hours."

When Lizette had gone, and closed the door
behind her, Anne put her hand out of the win«
dow, and plucked a little spray of honeysuckle,
and lay down with the blossom on the pillow
beside her, and went right to sleep.

Meanwhile Lizette, with a sure instinct, had
hurried down through the garden to the far-
ther comer of the orchard, behind the hedge

How Gil Is Made to Understand 207

on the other side of which she and Gil had
talked so long the night before. Peering
through the leafy screen, she presently saw
Gil. He had no definite hope of seeing Liz-
ette there at this hour, but was coming just
because of a blind longing for the place where
he had been glad, the place that meant to him
that first, strange clinging of Lizette's hands.
As soon as he was near, the girl said, softly :

" Come around by the little gate, Gil. I'll
wait for you here."

In the light that shone, at the sound of her
voice, in the woodsman's rugged face, he
seemed to Lizette very splendid to look at, —
which surprised her, for she had been thinking
of him as grim, strong, dear, and ugly. When,
about two minutes later, she saw him hasten-
ing with long strides down through the pale
green aisles of the apple-trees, she decided that
he was not ugly, but handsome. It was her
old, ignorant standards, she thought to her-
self, which had been at fault.

When Gil arrived he seemed to have for-
gotten all his hesitating diffidence. He had
apparently not a word to say; but he caught
the girl up into his arms without noticing

2o8 The Prisoner of Mademoiselle

her firm protests in the least. When he had
kissed her and crushed her to his heart's con-
tent for a few moments, he set her down all
flushed and dishevelled.

" Oh, Gil ! " she protested, breathlessly, " I
didn't say you might do that ! "

This protest did not seem, in Gil's eyes,
to require any reply.

" How selfish I am, sweetheart," he said,
tenderly, " to keep you on your feet so long.
How is the poor little foot? You must sit
right down."

Lizette obeyed at once, and stuck from be-
neath her skirt, for his examination, an exceed-
ingly slim and trim little foot, well slippered
and well stockinged, as the foot of Mademoi-
selle de Biencourt's maid had need to be.

"Why, I believe it is all well, Gil," she
answered, eyeing the foot critically, and turn-
ing it from side to side, and twisting it. " You
are the most wonderful doctor, though a little
severe, — and horridly bold."

Reverently, — very reverently and calmly,
indeed, Gil's great hand covered the small
ankle. But Lizette observed that his strong,
dark fingers trembled at the touch. He pressed

How Gil Is Made to Understand 209

the joint with searching, skilful finger-tips, and
Lizette forgot that she ought to wince a little.
A cure so speedy was too much like a miracle.
He turned and looked at her steadily with his
gray, sagacious eyes.

" Lizette, there is some mystery in all this,"
said he.

Lizette dropped her lids a little nervously.
She could not stand that gaze, — and she got
frightened, for a moment, as she found the
man forcing her hand.

" If there is," she answered, hastily, " there
is none that you need fear, Gil."

" Look at me," he commanded. " I love
you, Lizette."

She lifted her eyes for a second, then dropped
them again at once, and hesitated for speech.
But presently she looked up again with a teas-
ing, challenging laugh.

" Oh, Gil, thafs no news," she retorted,
wickedly. " Every one in Cheticamp has
known that for months. But the news is that
I love you! There! "

Gil drew a long breath, and sat silent,
enfolding her in a look that she felt in every
nerve, though she dared not face it. He had

2IO The Prisoner of Mademoiselle

no words, it seemed, great enough to meet
her confession. At last he said in a very low
voice :

" Did you not say you were going away
from Cheticamp?"

" Yes ; and I believe I am, very soon. Does
that necessarily mean that I am going away
from you, Gil? Indeed, you've taken a long
time to get me, but you won't easily lose me ! "

" Where do you want me to go with you,
Lizette?" he asked, gravely.

" I don't know, yet," she answered. " But
I do know, — we all know, that his Excel-
lency is marrying my Mademoiselle to Mon-
sieur de Viron, in three days. And Monsieur
de Viron intends to carry her off at once to
Quebec. If I have to go to Quebec — would
you let me go without you? "

" I would not let you go at all," answered
the woodsman, setting his long jaw. " I will
go to the ends of earth with you, or for you,
dear heart, if necessary. But what would I
do in the city ? My life is in the wilds, — or
was till it fell into your eyes. But who shall
say * go ' or ' come ' to my wife, Lizette ? "

" You will, I'm thinking, dear," retorted the

How Gil Is Made to Understand 211

girl. "But listen, Gil. What would you do
for my Mademoiselle ? "

" Anything in the world, sweetheart," re-
sponded Gil, warmly. " Next to you, she^s
all I care anything about. And now, I owe
her my life first, and then my freedom. What
a heart she has ! And what loyalty to me, just
because I had served her well in her hunting!
Oh, Lizette, you should have heard her, how
she managed the old butcher this morning,
when he was for hanging me right off."

Lizette laughed, well pleased at this out-
burst of enthusiasm on the part of her rather
silent lover. It made her feel more sure of
victory.

" You can't tell me, my Gil, how good
Mademoiselle is. But I'm glad you realize it
a little bit. Don't think, however, it was all
for you she did it, though she does like you,
and trust you, and say nice things about you."
At this Gil could not help showing his pleas-
ure by a broad, naive smile. Lizette patted
his cheek, and went on : " She did it partly
for me, you conceited fellow, because she knew
I loved you, and couldn't have lived if any-
thing had happened to you, through my fault."

212 The Prisoner of Mademoiselle

" Oh, you told her! " exclaimed Gil, open-
ing his eyes very wide in his astonishment.
" Everything? "

" Of course," rejoined the girl, " whom else
should I tell? She tells me" she added,
proudly.

The woodsman had been thinking of Made-
moiselle, hitherto, with a remote kind of wor-
ship, devout, indeed, but in a way cold, as
one might adore Diana. This astonishing
statement of Lizette's revealed the goddess to
him as none the less goddess, but at the same
time very woman, tender and understanding.
His heart glowed toward her now with a sud-
den lyric fervour, making him long to do some
great thing in her service.

" How you love her, Lizette ! " he said.
" And no wonder. I would not try to take you
away from her, truly; but, dear, she will no
longer need you, and that will make you un-
happy. In three days she will have no thought
but for Monsieur de Viron. I wish she was
getting a kinder man, Lizette."

" I wish she might get some one as strong
and kind as I've got," murmured Lizette,
leaning up against him, — to find herself sud-

How Gil Is Made to Understand 213

denly engulfed, as it were, and for a time de-
prived of all power of speech. When she re-
gained possession of herself she said, rebuk-
ingly : " I told you you mustn't do that, Gil,
without leave. You put the ideas out of my
head, and I had something very important to
say to you."

" That was important," urged Gil. But
Lizette was not to be diverted.

" Listen, now, very carefully," she began,
possessing herself of his hand, and holding
it in her lap. " My Mademoiselle is going to
need me, terribly. She does not love Monsieur
de Viron. She hates the idea of marrying him.
His Excellency has planned it, and is forcing
it on, and she is helpless. She will break her
poor heart if the count gets her. Just think
of that, Gil. Think of me being forced to
marry some other man than you ! " Gil
ground his teeth quietly, but was allowed no
time to reply. " Would you have me forsake
her? Should we not both stay faithful to her,
even if there was hardly anything that we
could do to help?"

To the Acadian woodsman, who had no con-
ception of marriages of policy, the thought that

214 The Prisoner of Mademoiselle

the beautiful and kind Mademoiselle was to be
married to a man she did not love was hideous.
He got up slowly, looking very stem and
troubled.

" It's an outrage ! It's — impossible to think
of! " he said at last. " Is there nothing that
can be done, Lizette ? "

The girl reached up delighted hands, and
pulled him down again beside her.

" Oh, you dear Gil ! " she cried, her eyes
shining upon him. " I knew you'd understand.
I knew you'd feel the right way about it, dear!
Yes, I think there may be something we can
do to .help, — some great thing you can do
for her, to save her from such unhappiness."

Gil's face brightened, and he gazed at her
expectantly.

" Listen, now, and I'll tell you all Mademoi-
selle's secrets ! " said Lizette, laying her hands
on his knee.

Gil looked doubtful.

" Are you sure ? Would she quite — "
he stammered.

" Certainly ! " answered Lizette. " She told
me herself I might tell you just as much as I
thought best. Arid I think best to tell you

How Gil Is Made to Understand 215

everything. Mademoiselle is in love with some
one else."

" Oh ! " said Gil, opening his eyes.

" Who do you think it is? " she went on, in
an intense voice.

Gil shook his head.

"Why, the prisoner!" exclaimed Lizette,
triumphantly. " The prisoner of the block-
house."

" Oh ! " said Gil again, this time with many
conflicting inflections.

" Yes," went on the girl, rapidly, " he is
Mademoiselle's prisoner. He drifted ashore
yesterday morning, and Mademoiselle captured
him herself when she was out hunting, and
locked him up in the blockhouse. He didn't
try very hard to resist capture, Gil. Then,
when she found the governor had got wind of
it, and was going to hang him in the morning,
she had Father Labillois go and bring him
here, — and he's locked up in the loft here now!
You remember you thought Father Labillois
was going to see some sick person. No, he
was going to get Mademoiselle's prisoner, and
hide him here right under the governor's very
nose."

2i6 The Prisoner of Mademoiselle

Gil's face had grown so grave during this
narrative that Lizette was a little frightened.

" I see it all," he said,- thoughtfully. " You
kept me just long enough, Lizette."

" Just long enough to fall in love with you,
my Gil," said the girl, caressingly.

" And your ankle," he went on. " There
was nothing the matter with it ! "

" Except when you kissed it, dear," she an-
swered, with cunning wisdom. She was get-
ting very much afraid.

The memory thrilled Gil so that he caught
his breath, — and Lizette noticed this.

" Oh, Gil dear, just think ! " she cried,
hurriedly. " I did fool you, it is true. I set
out to fool you. But it was in doing so that
you taught me to love you. I hadn't really
known you before, — hadn't really seen you.
If now you really love me, remember what you
owe it to, that I love you. I love you, with all
my heart and life, — and you have my fooling
you to thank for that, — and Mademoiselle to
thank. You must surely forgive both her and
me, — right off, this very minute, Gil, or I
can't stand it. You look so cold and hard."

But by the time she got to these words.

How Gil Is Made to Understand 217

Gil was no longer looking so cold and hard.
His clear and fair mind had flashed over each
point of the story in swift review, justifying
this, forgiving that, and perceiving how it all
had turned out to his incalculable blessing. He
half-turned, and took Lizette by both elbows
while he gazed, half-smiling, deep into her eyes.

" It seems to me," he said at last, with de-
liberate meaning, " that the best friend I've
got in the world, after all, is that English
prisoner, whoever he is. What do you think,
sweetheart? "

" I think the least we can do is to help Made-
moiselle get him away safely, and herself with
him, — and me with Mademoiselle, — and you
with me," said Lizette, concisely.

The woodsman laughed, — which was an
unusual thing for him to do, whose face got
rarely beyond a smile. He laughed softly, but
long. Then he leaned down, and kissed Liz-
ette's dark hair, over and over. At last he
said:

" Dreams do come true, after all, sweetheart,
once in awhile. It is a beautiful plan. And I
can carry it out. I know the woods, and the
rivers. I can carry you all off by a way that

2i8 The Prisoner of Mademoiselle

none can follow, — and I know no one else
in Acadie who could."

" That's just what Mademoiselle said," in-
terrupted Lizette.

"Did she?" cried Gil again. "Well, and
I can get us all down to the sea, to a port
where we will be safe for a little while; and
I have friends, with boats, who will take us
away, — for Acadie will be no place for any
of us, sweetheart, after this."

" That's just what Mademoiselle said, every
bit of it," repeated Lizette, triumphantly.

"Did she!" cried Gil again. "Well, your
Mademoiselle will be burned for a witch if
she doesn't look out. But now, one more
thing. What of the good father? Is he in
the secret ? "

" Only so far," answered the girl, holding
up the tip of her finger. " He knows nothing
of Mademoiselle's heart. She is afraid to let
him know, for fear he should insist on the mar-
riage with De Viron, or upset our plans in some
way. The Englishman, you know, is probably
a heretic. I didn't think of that before, — but
it's too late to worry about it now."

" She had better tell Father Labillois," said

How Gil Is Made to Understand 219

Gil, confidently. " He'd never do anything
to break her heart. She is the apple of his eye.
Get her to trust him altogether, Lizette."

" Why are you so anxious about the good
father? " asked Lizette, thoughtlessly.

" He might come in handy," answered
Gil. And Lizette dropped her eyes.

CHAPTER XX.

THE GHOST IN THE LOFT

THAT evening Zachary's meal was carried
to him by Lizette, who said not a word,
but kept her finger on her lips in sign
of silence. From this Zachary gathered that
some unusual peril was near at hand ; and the
better to obey Mademoiselle's injunctions, he
sat on a box without stirring for a couple of
hours. When, at last, there came again the
sound of a key turning in the lock, his heart
jumped with the idea that it was Mademoiselle
coming. He sprang up to meet her at the
door, but when he saw it was Father Labillois
his face fell so manifestly that the priest could
not fail to observe it, and be disquieted by it.
The priest had come to see if there was
anything the prisoner needed.

" Nothing but a little of your company.

The Ghost in the Loft aai

good father," protested Zachary, begging him
to sit down. But Father Labillois would not
sit down, would not talk, would not linger.
He betrayed an obvious intention to keep the
prisoner at arm's length, and to be not one jot
more amiable than courtesy might require.
After he had gone, this reserve puzzled
Zachary a little, without greatly disturbing
him.

" Is it because I'm supposedly a Protestant,
or just because I'm an Englishman, that the
nice old boy doesn't like me ? " he wondered
for a few moments. Then he dismissed the
matter from his mind, and thought of Anne.
The fresh night smells of orchard and field
which came in through his open window
seemed to talk to him of her, so he stole noise-
lessly across the floor and stood looking out
over the gray-green shadowy country, asleep
in the starlight.

Zachary's 'dreams and hopes were beginning
now to grow more definite than they had been.
Hitherto his adventurous and boyish spirit had
been content to let things drift. For adventure
he had come away, — and adventure he was
getting, certainly. But also for fighting had

222 The Prisoner of Mademoiselle

he come, — and instead of fighting ( for he
hardly counted the fight with the two ruffians)
he had found love. Well, he had had fighting
a-plenty in his life, and of love very little.
He was disposed now to do much more than
accept his fate, — to capture it, and secure it,
and bind it to him for ever, and carry it away.
He had now two terrors, — who had had none
a few hours ago when his neck was in dire
peril. One was, lest Mademoiselle in her gen-
erosity might arrange for his escape before he
had a chance to woo her. The other, lest his
wooing should fail to win. This latter con-
tingency he would not permit himself to face,
however. The former was the more imminent,
and to be dealt with first. He had never been
very seriously in love, but he had enough
experience of the malady in mild form to be
able to diagnose his present case. Of one
thing he grew certain as he stood looking out
on the benign night ; namely, that his life, hith-
erto all haphazard and happy-go-lucky, had on
the sudden acquired a purpose.

While he was dwelling upon this purpose,
a light knock took him swiftly — but this time
noiselessly — back to the door. The door

The Ghost in the Loft 223

opened, and Anne's pale figure glimmered be-
fore him. She would not come in; and she
checked all entreaties by a most imperative
gesture of silence.

" I just came to bid you good-night and
quiet dreams, monsieur," she murmured, so
low that he had to lean very near to catch the
words. " And to tell you that by to-morrow
I hope to be able to tell you that my plans
for your escape are perfected."

" I will not go away — " he began to pro-
test, in a whisper, indeed, but with an agitated
vehemence that was balm to Anne's anxieties.
She checked him, however, with the old im-
periousness, and a turn of the head which
seemed to signify danger at hand.

" And also," she went on, paying no atten-
tion to his interruption, " I came to bring
these flowers for your prison cell." And she
held up to him a great bunch of honeysuckles
which she had been keeping behind her back.

He grasped the hand which held up the
flowers and kissed it impetuously. But she
slipped it from his hold.

" Good-bye, monsieur — till to-morrow ! "
she whispered, and shut the door. But as she

224 The Prisoner of Mademoiselle

went down-stairs she kissed her hand where
he had kissed it.

" To-morrow ! To-morrow ! " she said to
herself, under her breath.

On the following mlorning, just after break-
fast, Anne went into the garden, — to cut
flowers, ostensibly, but really to try and make
up her mind what she was going to say to the
prisoner during the call she was about to pay
him. As she stood playing absently with a
rose which she had picked, Lizette came to
her in haste with consternation all over her
face. Anne dropped the rose, turned pale, and
demanded, " What is it? What's the matter? "
before Lizette had a chance to speak.

" It's all around the place, mademoiselle,"
she answered, " that there's a ghost in the loft.
Poor foolish 'Tiste, wandering in the fields
last night about midnight, saw what seemed
to be the figure of an English officer in the
window. It appeared and reappeared several
times, till at last he got frightened and ran
away. When he told the story this morning
everybody laughed at him, till one of the stable-
hands had something to say, too. This fellow
— I forget his name, mademoiselle — said he

The Ghost in the Loft 225

had seen the same figure at the loft window
yesterday morning, just as the gentlemen were
setting out for Port Royal. It was far back,
he said, and kind of shadowy, so he thought
he had imagined it; but 'Tiste's story con-
vinced him it was a ghost. Now every one
swears something has happened to the pris-
oner that was in the blockhouse, and that his
ghost has come back to haunt his Excellency.
What can we do, mademoiselle? His Excel-
lency will hear of it, any moment. Then it
win be 'Search the loft!'"

Anne had had time to see it all, and make
her plans, while Lizette was so breathlessly
rattling ofif her story. For the moment there
was but one secure place at her disposal.

" Run, child," she commanded. " Take
Monsieur Cowles down to my room, and lock
the door, telling him to keep aiJifay front the
windows. Then remove every trace of the loft
having been occupied, and bring me back the
key. I'll be in the hall, so that I will know
if his Excellency sends for the key, or does
anything unusual."

Lizette had been but a few minutes away
when a footman arrived, saying that his Excel-

226 The Prisoner of Mademoiselle

lency wished to see Mademoiselle in the library.
This was quicker work than she had expected,
and Anne was alarmed for a moment ; but she
delayed to pick some flowers for her uncle, and
went in to him with gay self-possession. She
found him somewhat excited, not unnaturally.

" Anne," said he, eagerly, after he had
thanked her for the blooms, " what is there in
the loft over your rooms ? Do you know ? "

Anne threw back her small head and laughed
merrily.

" Ghosts, it would seem ! " she answered.
" One of the maids has just been telling me.
Uncle, uncle, what have you done to that poor
English officer, that his spirit should return to
trouble you ? "

"Nothing, worse luck!" said the old sol-
dier, savagely.

" Well," said Anne, " if there's a ghost up
there it belongs to me, not to your most ex-
cellent Excellency! And it couldn't get in there
without my leave, for I keep the key. It's
my own special storeroom."

" We must have it thoroughly searched at
once," said his Excellency, glad of something
to think of. " We'll attend to it ourselves, with

The Ghost in the Loft 227

one of the servants. Then they will be satis-
fied. I think I can hobble up there with your
help, child."

Anne carefully searched the keys which she
was just then carrying at her girdle. Then
she minutely searched her pocket. Then she
thought for a few seconds.

" Wait one minute, please, uncle, till I get
the key. I have left it in the drawer of my
secretary, because I use it so seldom." And
she ran gaily from the room.

Just at the foot of the stairs, by the door,
she met Lizette with the rugs.

" Everything is attended to, mademoiselle,"
said the girl, laughing, and handing over the
key. " And Monsieur Cowles seems pleased."

Anne flushed to her temples, but said noth-
ing except " Thank you, Lizette." Five
minutes later, with Lizette's busy assistance,
she was showing his Excellency through the
loft.

His Excellency was deeply disappointed at
finding no one in the loft. He poked curiously
into every corner, arid, in spite of Anne's mock
protests, insisted on examining every box.
Some of the garments he admired, en passant,

228 The Prisoner of Mademoiselle

while others he did not seem to understand
or appreciate. At length, when there was
nothing more to occupy him, he remarked :

" De Viron is getting an astonishingly good
little housekeeper, Anne. Why, this loft is as
clean as wax."

" Praise Lizette for that, uncle," answered
Anne, modestly. " I think she has been clean-
ing up here quite lately." At which Lizette,
his Excellency's daunting eye upon her,
dropped a grateful curtsey, and held the door
open for them to leave.

CHAPTER XXI.

HOW ZACHARY IS MADE TO UNDERSTAND

ZACHARY, transported to the daintiness
and luxury of Anne's own bedroom, sat
for a time in an ecstasy of reverence and
delight. The scent of the honeysuckle about
the shaded windows was mingled with another
and more subtle fragrance, almost imper-
ceptible, which he connected with Anne's hair.
For a time he sat quite motionless, feeling that
to get up and move about might jar the flower-
like sanctity of the place. At last, however,
some delicate, lacy garments thrown over the
back of a chair drew him, till he stepped over
and looked at them, but did not dare to touch
them. Then he repented his audacity, and
turned away, and went over to the bed. Here
he stood but a moment. He leaned over and

buried his face in the snowy pillow, and kissed
229

230 The Prisoner of Mademoiselle

it, and drew a long breath. Then he went
away arid seated himself resolutely in a big
chair in the farthest corner of the room. It
held too many sorceries for him, that wonder-
ful room. He dared not face them any longer.

He had sat thus for perhaps an hour, sunk
in intoxicating reverie, when there came the
light knocking that he knew, and Mademoiselle
entered.

" That was a very narrow escape, mon-
sieur," she hurried to explain, before Zachary
could say a word. " His Excellency and I
have just come from a very searching inves-
tigation of the loft, — which, thanks to
Lizette's promptness, revealed nothing. But,
monsieur, strange stories had reached his Ex-
cellency's ears of a ghost being seen at the
window last night, as well as early yesterday
morning."

Zachary was overwhelmed with mortification
and contrition.

" Oh, mademoiselle," he pleaded, " try to
forgive my stupidity. With all the trouble and
anxiety I cause you, I seem bound to make it
more through my own carelessness. But, truly,
I kept away from the window most religiously

Zachary Is Made to Understand 231

after you warned me, — both because I
couldn't forget anything you said, and be-
cause it was a happiness to be meeting any
wish of yours, however slight. In the night,
however, I went to the window freely, because
I understood you to say it was safe then."

Anne certainly did not look severe.

" Yes, I thought it was very safe then," she
answered, smiling at him graciously. " It was
just an unlucky accident. And not so very
unlucky, because there is no harm done after
all, and you are so much more comfortable
down here."

" This is what I can't bear, mademoiselle, —
that I should turn you out of your own beauti-
ful room, where I hardly dare to move or
touch an}i:hing, because everything so exqui-
sitely breathes of you. This room goes to my
brain, mademoiselle. Send me back to the loft.
I can't put you to such trouble any longer."

Anne shook her head.

" No, Monsieur Prisoner," she answered,
" it is not for you to choose your dungeon.
The loft will no longer be safe for you, and
my room is the only safe place, now. For me
there are many comfortable places to choose

232 The Prisoner of Mademoiselle

from. Lizette will take good care of that, you
may be sure. But it will not worry you so
much, monsieur, when I tell you that to-
morrow, if all goes well, I shall be able to give
you your freedom, and send you away with a
guide who will enable you to reach your own
country safely."

Zachary's heart sank, so heavily that for the
moment he could not think what to say that
might stave off the impending stroke of fate.
While he hesitated, the misery in his face was
so manifest that Anne could not resist the im-
pulse to notice it.

" Why, monsieur," she murmured, with an
attempt at gentle raillery, " your face is not
that of a captive about to be freed. It is rather
that of one just being led to the executioner."

Zachary's clear, boyish blue eyes looked
straight into hers, unconsciously avowing all
that his lips dared not yet say. He was almost
on the point of pouring out his heart and
staking all on the one rash play; but love was
teaching him a new and to him very strange
humility. As he looked at Anne, — at the
slender little feet in their gilt slippers sticking
out from under her cream white gown, — at

Zachary Is Made to Understand 2^;^

the slim, girlish figure and slim brown hands,

— at the small, thin, dark, radiant, inexplicably
enchanting face under its masses of dark, un-
ruly hair, — he could not imagine himself so
favoured as to succeed in winning her. All
his life long, up to now, he had been daring to
rashness, delighting in the hazard of the game,

— and now, in a flash, he had grown cautious.
Now he realized all at once that all he cared
for in life was at stake. The risk daunted him.
He wanted more time to lay his siege.

Suddenly he came close, and dropped on one
knee before Anne's chair, and took her hand
in both of his.

" It seems to me just like sending me to
execution, if you send me away from you," he
muttered, unsteadily, with his face bent over
her hand. "Don't send me away yet. I beg
you, don't." And he kissed her fingers, more
lingeringly than ceremony would countenance,
yet not enough to justify her in withdrawing
the hand from his clasp.

Anne made no reply ; and her silence seem-
ing to Zachary a demand that he should explain
his singular objection to freedom, he spoke
again.

234 The Prisoner of Mademoiselle

" You wonder why I make such a request,
mademoiselle? I dare not tell you yet. You
have known me so short a time (though it
seems to me like always), and you know so
little of me, that it would be presumptuous of
me to tell you what is in my heart. Let me
stay near you a little longer. Then, if you
wish to send me away from you, it's small
concern to me where I go."

Anne's doubts were by this time thoroughly
banished, and with the sense of problems
solved her heart rose to such a pitch of joy
that she felt the need of holding herself with
a very firm rein. A subtle change came over
her face, and she looked once more the mock-
ingly imperious maid to whom Zachary had
tendered his submission on the shore. This in
her eyes only, however.

" Since you are so chary, monsieur, of giv-
ing your reasons for not wanting me to send
you away, I am compelled to give you my
reasons for fearing that I must. Certain plans
have been made for me by his Excellency, —
who, as I think I told you, is my uncle and
guardian. If these plans are carried out, in
less than three days I shall no longer be in

Zachary Is Made to Understand 235

a position to take care of my prisoner. Would
you have me entrust him to other hands, mon-
sieur ? "

A terrible fear struck chill to Zachary's
heart, but the worst of her possible meaning
he refused to admit. His grip tightened pain-
fully on her hand, as he demanded:

" You are not — going away? "

" It has been so arranged," answered Anne,
enigmatically.

"Where?" asked Zachary, somewhat
abruptly.

Anne hesitated, doubtful just how to pick
her words.

" To Quebec," she answered, at last, still
avoiding the main point, and forcing him to
demand it.

But to her disappointment a new idea had
came into Zachary's head at this.

" I could easily go to Quebec," said he. " I
have been there twice."

Seeing that this Englishman did not lead
easily, Anne was compelled to be more direct.

" Perhaps, monsieur, I might not have so
much time to look after prisoners, — if I
should go to Quebec," she said, very mean-

i^S The Prisoner of Mademoiselle

ingly. " Did you observe, from your window,
a French officer, leading a party of horsemen
who set out for Port Royal yesterday morn-
ing?"

" Yes," said Zachary, bracing himself for
what he now knew must come.

" That was the Count de Viron, a very es-
timable gentleman, they tell me," continued
Anne, in a level, dispassionate voice. " My
good uncle has arranged that, day after to-
morrow, I am to be married to the Count de
Viron, who proposes to take me away on the
day following. You see — "

But here she was interrupted by Zachary
flinging her hand aside rudely, jumping to his
feet, and striding blindly to the door.

" The key is in my pocket, monsieur," she
said, softly, as he tried the latch. Then with-
out a word he strode to the opposite comer of
the room and stood with his back toward her,
as if looking at a picture on the wall. As
Anne watched him, and understood the despair
in his heart, the mocking light left her eyes,
and her lips grew infinitely tender. How sim-
ple he was, in a way, not to see what she meant
by the guarded way in which she had told

Zachary Is Made to Understand 237

her story. " He thinks," she said to herself,
" that I told it that way just to spare his
feelings." The smell of the honeysuckle drew
in through the window at that moment with
thrilling sweetness, and as she breathed it she
seemed to herself to be breathing an infinity
of joy. And there, at the same moment, stood
Zachary in such silent anguish that he was
unwilling she should see his face. Her heart
melted. She sprang up, and was just on the
point of running across the room to — well,
she did not know exactly what she would say
or do, but to make him understand, and be
happy. But before she had taken two steps
there came a knock at the door.

Zachary faced around sharply, and stood
with stern, gray features that smote Anne to
the heart.

"Who is there?" she asked, quietly.

" It's Lizette, madenaoiselle," came the low
answer. " Can I come in ? It's most impor-
tant."

Anne opened the door, and closed and
locked it again the moment the girl had en-
tered. Lizette glanced from her mistress's
happy, triumphant face to the granite woe of

238 The Prisoner of Mademoiselle

Zachary's, — then back to Anne's with a look
of mingled amusement and reproach. But the
next second her face was grave enough, as she
began :

" Monsieur de Viron has returned, made-
moiselle, and desires — "

" Monsieur de Viron ! " interrupted Anne,
coldly. " He was not due to return for two
days yet."

" It seems, mademoiselle, that the English
ship has sailed away, so there was nothing left
for him to do. He was in a great hurry to get
back to Cheticamp, mademoiselle," — here
Lizette cast a sidelong look at Zachary's face,

— " and he begs permission to see you imme-
diately."

" Make my apologies to Monsieur de Viron,"
answered Anne, " and say that I am partic-
ularly engaged, and shall not be able to see
him' for perhaps two hours yet."

" Yes, mademoiselle," answered the girl.
" But his Excellency, too, mademoiselle, he
sends to beg that you will see him immediately
in the library. I'm afraid it is very important,

— pardon me for saying so, mademoiselle.

Zachary Is Made to Understand 239

Monsieur de Viron and he are in there to-
gether."

" You have mjy message," said Anne, im-
patiently. " It is just the same for his Excel-
lency." Then, as Lizette turned to go, Anne
changed her mind.

" No," she continued, " I don't want to seem
rude to my uncle, Lizette. But I am troubled
about this return. Tell my uncle I have just
begun to dress, and cannot be with him for
over an hour yet, but that I hope he will for-
give me for keeping him waiting. And tell
him I send particular inquiries about his foot."

When Anne had let the girl out and locked
the door again, she went back to her chair
and looked at Zachary in a way that should
have saved her the need of further speech.
But he, with that supreme stupidity which men
of intelligence can rise to when they fall in
love, stood stewing still in the bitter juice of
his misunderstanding. Anne's cavalier treat-
ment of De Viron's message had conveyed to
him no illumination whatsoever. All he could
think of was that De Viron was back, and had
sent for her. The vastly more significant
fact that she had refused to go, choosing rather

240 The Prisoner of Mademoiselle

to remain with himself, seemed to have missed
him altogether.

" I had to tell you all this, monsieur," said
Anne, softly. " I thought you had a right to
know."

This brought no response, though Zachary
might well have asked what she meant.

" You do not understand, perhaps, mon-
sieur," she went on, " that among us French
these matters are often arranged by a girl's
guardian without consulting the girl's own
wishes in the least."

" I had heard that in France women suffered
themselves to be so disposed of, mademoiselle,"
answered Zachary, in a voice of steel. " I
had not realized it before."

" Neither had I," agreed Anne, demurely,
dropping her eyes.

Even this brought no dawn of comprehen-
sion into Zachary's hard, unhappy eyes. Anne
wished she had gone about the matter a little
less circuitously. How short a while ago she
had been cautiously checking him, holding him
off cunningly. Now she began to wonder if
she might not have to do the wooing herself.

" Monsieur," she said, presently, " I have

Zachary Is Made to Understand 241

been very frank with you. Will you not be
equally frank with me, and tell me why you
take such strong exception to what I have
said?"

This was direct enough. " And she shall
have a direct answer," thought Zachary, his
brain working in a vague way through his
despair.

" Since you ask — I may say it," he replied,
hoarsely. " It's because I love you, — I love
you, — and life can be nothing to me without
you."

Having thus delivered himself, he got up
and turned his back again, and stood looking
out of the window.

Before Anne could reply, there came another
knock at the door.

" Oh ! " she murmured, in a tone of such
regret and disappointment that even such dense
despair as Zachary's could not wholly miss it.
He looked at her with a flash of question as
he turned to face the newcomer.

" Who is there? " asked Anne.

" It is I, my daughter. Father Labillois,"
answered a kind voice. " It is important that
I should see you at once, if possible."

242 The Prisoner of Mademoiselle

" You shall come in, father, of course," she
answered, opening the door and pulling himi
quickly inside, that she might lock it again
at once. He looked plain disapproval at the
sight of Zachary in this sanctuary, and greeted
him with a coldness which Zachary's response
fairly matched. Zachary was regarding the
good priest now as the person who was to
formally give Anne into the hands of De
Viron.

" I heard, of course," said Father Labillois,
" what led me to conclude that the prisoner
had been removed from the loft in good time.
But was it absolutely necessary, my daughter,
that he should be brought to your own room ? "

" Absolutely necessary, father," replied
Anne, with a sweetness that somehow con-
tained finality within it.

Father Labillois looked from her joyous
face, which had lost every anxious line and
now glowed with happy colour, to the iron
misery of Zachary's countenance, and felt him-
self hopelessly at sea. Whatever Anne was
doing, plainly the Englishman did not like it;
so he felt a little reassured, and allowed him-
self to smile upon them both.

Zachary Is Made to Understand 2,43

" I came to warn you, my daughter," said
he, " that the time at our disposal for getting
Monsieur Cowles safely away has been cut
short. Monsieur de Viron has just come back,
as you of course know. And he has come with
news which makes it most imperative that
he should get away to-morrow. His Excel-
lency and he are planning that, if you will
consent to its being so hastened, the wedding
shall take place to-morrow morning."

As he finished he glanced quickly at Zachary,
and saw the lines of his face so deepen that
he could not withhold a pang of sympathy.
But the next moment his attention was brought
sharply back to Anne. She laid her hands on
his arm and looked lovingly into his face.

" Dear friend ! Tried and faithful friend ! "
she was saying. " Do not fail me now ! "

" I am not likely to fail you, Anne," he an-
swered, in a troubled voice, " even when, per-
haps, I ought to ! "

" Then, father, I will force upon you a con-
fidence that you may not desire," said the girl,
looking straight into his eyes. " I will never,
never marry the Count de Viron. / never
agreed to it. I never could love him. I hate

244 The Prisoner of Mademoiselle

him. No power on earth shall give me to
him!"

Father Labillois saw his worst fears realized.
His blue eyes glared at Zachary. But before
he could say a word Anne spoke again:

" But my uncle shall not shut me up in a
convent to make me obey him, father. I have
no time for that." Here she dropped his arm,
and ran over and stood with downcast eyes
and flushing face by Zachary's side. " I have
a much better plan."

Zachary's stupidity had forsaken him dur-
ing the last few moments. His head reeled,
as enlightenment came flooding over heart
and brain ; but he drew the little white figure
close, and returned Father Labillois's glare
with radiant good-will.

For some seconds the priest was speechless.
Then, in a voice of deep indignation, he de-
manded :

" Who are you, sir, a poor helpless captive
in peril of your neck, to take upon yourself
the care of such a woman as Mademoiselle de
Biencourt ? "

" Good father," answered Zachary, his voice
trembling, "a captive I am, indeed, for ever

Zachary Is Made to Understand 245

— 'but hardly helpless, seeing that I may hope
for the help of such a man as you, and not
so poor, once I get to my own country, but
that I may make shift to care for the one
woman in the world as well as any count of
your country could care for her. I love you
for your fears for her, sir — but, believe
me, they are very groundless. I have a name
to give her that shall not shame her own,
and a love to give her that is not altogether
poor security for her happiness."

The priest shook his head despairingly. He
read humanity well enough to be assured that
Zachary spoke the truth. But, added to his
fear of the daring experiment, and his religious
antagonism to the New Englander, was an
ache of loss at the idea that his darling should
go where he could not reach her. He ex-
pected to go to Quebec himself before long.

" All your great estates would be forfeited,
my daughter, if you should be suffered to do
this mad thing."

The lovers laughed into each other's eyes.

" You cannot prevent my doing it now,
father, dear, because you could not force your-
self to betray me. That I know as well as

246 The Prisoner of Mademoiselle

you do ! " said Anne, caressing him with her
eyes while she clung to Zachary. " But I can-
not go without your blessing — and we must
go to-night. Forgive me — and bless me,
father!"

" It is something more definite, more indis-
soluble than your blessing that I'm begging
you to give us, father," said Zachary, coax-
ingly. " Think of the long way we must
travel ere we can hope to see priest or parson
again ! "

" How do you dare ask me to marry the
child to a Protestant, to a heretic, as you are? "
demanded the priest, sternly. He was getting
angry now, as he felt himself in danger of
yielding.

At this point Anne slipped from Zachary's
arm, and ran and threw both arms around the
priest's neck.

" You cannot, oh, father, you cannot re-
fuse!" she pleaded, in a whisper at his ear,
her eyes shining with tears. The priest put
an arm about her, and his kind mouth quivered
so that he had no answer for a moment.

" As to that, father," put in Zachary, com-
ing up and standing very close to him on the

Zachary Is Made to Understand 247

other side, " I'm sorry to say I've never been
a very good Protestant, and I'm thinking a
poor Protestant is not Hkely to make a good
CathoHc. But the Church that makes women
Hke Anne and men Hke you couldn't be very
bad for me, could it? If, now, while you're
worrying over the question of marrying Anne
to me, you could make it convenient to come
along with us on the trip we're planning to-
night, you might not have to marry her to a
Protestant after all ! I don't want her to be a
Protestant, for I wouldn't have so much as a
hair of her beautiful head changed."

Father Labillois's heart was now in a dan-
gerously melting mood. He could not help
feeling a little good-will, a little impulse of
liking, toward this big, frank, boyish fellow,
who had made him so much trouble and seemed
so joyously unconscious of it. But he still had
another card to play, and that a strong trump.

" You are forgetting one thing. Monsieur
Cowles," he said. " Anne is a daughter of
the Church, through and through. I sincerely
do not believe that even you, granting all you
say, could keep her happy for long if she felt
herself estranged from her faith. Think what

248 The Prisoner of Mademoiselle

it would mean to take her into your austere
and bitter community, where she would be
utterly alone, save for you, and where, perhaps,
— I do not know, — even you could not pro-
tect her from persecution for her creed's sake."

" That's all true, father, I saw it all as soon
as you began to speak of it," answered
Zachary, thoughtfully. " And Boston is no
place for her. I have a good deal of property
in Baltimore, where her Church is strong. I
will take her there, — and you might do worse,
father, than come to Baltimore yourself and
keep an eye on her. I'm thinking now, when
it's too late, how she treated me yesterday, —
and I'm likely to have my hands full if I have
to look after her all by myself ! "

The priest's blue eyes blinked with unnatural
rapidity.

" I'll do whatever you wish, my daugh-
ter — " he began. But just there his lips
quivered again, and speech failed him. He
turned and gathered Anne into his arms, and
bent his face down over her soft hair, and
Anne cried a few happy tears into the broad
breast of his cassock. In a moment or two he

Zachary Is Made to Understand 249

recovered himself sufficiently to say to
Zachary :

" I may be able before long, my son, to
accept your invitation to Baltimore. Be very
good to her. She is pure gold."

CHAPTER XXII.

THE SANCTUARY OF THE SUNRISE

IT had been reluctantly decided that Anne
must appear to fall in with De Viron's
change of plan, or run the risk of compli-
cating matters hopelessly. It was obvious that
a breach just now would put every one on
guard. While Father Labillois went to con-
sult with Gil and Lizette, and see what could
be done to speed the preparations, Anne went
to the library, and faced her ordeal with as
much of her usual gay courage and esprit as
she could muster. She was tantalizing and
wilful, and altogether elusive to De Viron, till
she provoked him to some little show of au-
thority, whereat his Excellency wagged his
head, and laughingly advised the count that
this was a filly to be driven with a light rein.
To his Excellency Anne was affectionate and
250

The Sanctuary of the Sunrise 251

winning beyond her wont. At the suggestion
of having the wedding on the morrow, she
protested in vehement confusion, indignantly
resenting De Viron's haste and his subordina-
tion of her wishes to his own convenience.
When, however, his Excellency pressed the
point urgently, but without seeming to take
De Viron's side, she at last suffered him to
persuade her. In that case, however, she in-
sisted that she must have every moment to
herself, as she had an infinity of things to do.

" You can spare me a little time this evening,
I trust, Anne," said the count.

" Indeed, no, monsieur," she retorted, mock-
ingly. " Do you think a girl has nothing to
do when all her arrangements have to be
changed at a moment's notice? "

But she flung her arms passionately around
her uncle's neck, and kissed him again and
again, with tears in her eyes.

" Good night, uncle dear," she murmured,
tenderly. " It may be long before I kiss you
again for good night ! " Then she ran from the
room, waving adieux to De Viron from care-
less finger-tips.

" She is altogether the sweetest and most

2^2 The Prisoner of Mademoiselle

loving God ever made," muttered his Excel-
lency, looking after her as she vanished. " But
mettlesome, monsieur, and not like others
you have known. You will need all your
wisdom."

De Viron was still irritated at her wayward-
ness.

" I'll manage her all right, never fear, yotur
Excellency," he answered, setting his jaw a
little.

The old soldier eyed him with some amuse-
ment.

" Don't be too sure, my boy ! " he laughed.
" She comes of a stock that's used to having
its own way."

That same night at Cheticamp manor-house
all was quiet by midnight, for much was to be
doing on the morrow. Even De Viron had
retired early, and gone to sleep with pleasant
anticipations of victory over the enchanting
but exasperating girl whom he was to wed.
The house slept, and the trees about it slept;
and there seemed to be nothing awake biat the
honeysuckle perfumes and other fairy scents

The Sanctuary of the Sunrise 253

of the garden, which pulsed hither and thither
though no breeze was abroad to stir them.

Behind Cheticamp manor-house, to the north
and east, stood a thick grove of fir and spruce,
a shield from the winter winds. From the
garden and orchard many winding paths led
through this grove, converging on the head
of a grassy lane, which ran, through a mile
of tilled fields, to the edge of the ancient forest.
Arriving at the forest, it split into a number of
rugged trails, some of them plain enough to be
easily followed, others so obscure that only
one trained to woodcraft could hope to trace
it.

At the head of this lane, in the thick shadows
of the grove stood Father Labillois, holding
a horse which bore a large bundle on its back.
He was waiting patiently, leaning on the neck
of his horse, and listening for the sound of
approaching footsteps.

The good priest was feeling a little proud of
himself. That evening he had done a very
crafty thing, which had earned applause from
both Zachary, the soldier, and Gil, the
woodsman. Armed with two small shoes, one
of Mademoiselle's and one of Lizette's, he had

254 The Prisoner of Mademoiselle

gone to the creek where lay the English boat,
and stamped a number of telltale footprints
in the mud.

" There's a false trail for them," he had
muttered in high satisfaction. Then he had
set the boat adrift, on the first of an outgoing
tide. He had argued shrewdly that the boat
and the sea would be regarded as the fugitives'
only probable way of escape, — and that these
footprints on the shore would pass for irre-
fragable evidence.

" And it will be such a comfort, mademoi-
selle, to Monsieur de Viron," suggested Liz-
ette, piously, at the final council in Mademoi-
selle's room, " to feel that he knows where you
have gone! "

It was about an hour after this that Father
Labillois found himself waiting in the shadow
of the grove behind Cheticamp. Presently the
low, muffled, yet resonant sound of hoofs on
the dry spruce-needles caught his ear. He
listened anxiously, ready to draw deeper into
the shadow. But a soft whistle reassured him,
— the long-drawn, plaintive call of the white-
throat.

The Sanctuary of the Sunrise 255

A moment or two later Gil appeared, lead-
ing two horses, each with a pack on its back.

Gil took off his woollen cap to the priest,
and stood taciturn and motionless as an Indian.
He could stand for an hour as unstirringly as
one of the great tree-trunks among which he
spent most of his life. In the woods he could
outpoint the bear and the fox in craft.

During the next half-hour Father Labillois
walked around his horse several times, and
twice carefully readjusted both the bridle and
the heavy blanket which had been girt upon
the beast's back in place of a saddle; but Gil
never moved. At last he drew a long breath,
and muttered, " Here they come."

Father Labillois had heard nothing, but
Gil's ear had caught the far-off sound of
careful footfalls. A minute later there was a
faint rustle of skirts, and a whisper, — and
Anne and Lizette, followed by Zachary, came
up like shadows made palpable, and stopped
by the horses. Lizette slipped over, and laid
her hand in Gil's.

" Was all well? " asked Father Labillois, in
a low voice.

" Well," responded Zachary.

2^6 The Prisoner of Mademoiselle

The two girls and Father Labillois mounted
in front of the packs, Zachary and Gil walked
beside the girls' horses, and all haste was
made across the perilous mile of open fields.
The smell of dew-wet earth and green barley
struck with sharp sweetness upon the fugi-
tives' senses. The fields glimmered mysteri-
ously under the starlight, and far-off tree-tops,
projecting over the swell of the land, looked
to Anne and Lizette like figures of men steal-
ing up upon them. Down to the right cer-
tain vague lumps of blackness, huddled to-
gether or trailing off in line, were the houses
of Cheticamp village. The wide, breathless,
in some dim way menacing picture bit itself
into Anne's brain ineffaceably. Not a word
was spoken. The feet of the horses, treading
on the close grass, made hardly a sound.

At length, — it seemed a long time to Anne,
who more than any of the others apprehended
pursuit, — the ancient woods received them
into covert, and the world of Cheticamp
was shut off behind them. Father Labillois
now dismounted. The men took the horses
by the bridles, and fell into sifigle file, Gil
leading. For perhaps a minute the trail was

The Sanctuary of the Sunrise 257

perceptible to them all, like a very narrow
cattle-path; then it dwindled, seemingly, to
nothing. But Gil kept on as unhesitatingly
as if it were a paved way. The great woods
closed them in with their thick silence. For
the iirst time Anne felt secure, and a wave of
unspeakable peace seemed to wash deliciously
over her. The wet leaves and branches, brush-
ing her ankles, were like kindly little welcom-
ing hands, promising her that all should be well.
To avoid the sweep of low-hanging boughs
the girls had to ride with heads bent over
their horses' necks, so from time to time Gil
would pause, to relieve their strained attitudes.
Twice the trail dipped steeply, and they went
splashing through shallow brooks that babbled
in the dark. Then they came to a third brook,
broader than either of the others; and Gil
took his course straight down the bed of the
stream. The girls could now hold up their
heads, and see a strip of starlit sky, a sort of
heavenly pathway, right above them. The
stream rippled musically all about them, and,
invited by its confidential voice, the girls
laughed softly, the laughter of unutterable con-
tent.

258 The Prisoner of Mademoiselle

Down this stream they travelled thus for half
a mile, or a little more, till the trees opened out
ahead, and they saw before them the gray-
ness of a little forest lake. Here Gil turned
ashore, the brook having ceased to ripple and
its bottom having grown muddy. A patch of
wild meadow, waist-deep with grass and flow-
ers, gave them access to a jutting point on
the lake beach. And here Gil stopped, point-
ing to a flat-bottomed boat pulled up on the
shore.

When the girls were lifted down, and packs
and blankets taken from the horses, Gil turned
to Father Labillois.

" It's here, father," said he, regretfully,
" that we have to let you go."

" After you have done one thing more for
us, father," added Zachary, — " the one thing
to make our debt of gratitude huge beyond
all hope of repayment ! "

" Faith, I'd like to know how I'ni to get
out of this, and where I'll be when I do get
out," exclaimed the priest, as he brought out
a little book of offices from inside his cassock.

" I'm going to put you safely on the right
road, of course, father," answered the woods-

The Sanctuary of the Sunrise 259

man. " You know the stretch of open country
below Cheticamp, on the road toward St. Ig-
nace? Well, we're not more than half a mile
from that open, straight through the woods.
I'll put you out there. Then, if you turn these
two horses loose (keeping the bridles, which
belong to me), they'll find their way to their
own pastures before morning, and no one will
be any the wiser. And you'll just have an easy
ride home."

" There's noi help for it," said Father Labil-
lois, sorrowfully.

It was a brief but mystically solemn rite,
that marriage in the scented summer dark
beside the wide glimmering of the lake. When
it was over, there was silence, then farewells
that were quiet and hurried because emotion
made words seem poor; and in a few min-
utes the crashing of the horses through the
underbrush died into silence. Zachary joy-
ously busied himself with bailing out the
boat, drying it with wisps of grass, launching
it, and getting it snugly loaded; while the
girls — Lizette holding tight to a fold of her
mistress's skirt — sat together on a blanket,
and watched him happily. Once, a little way

26o The Prisoner of Mademoiselle

down by the shore, a large fish jumped, at
which Lizette, unused to the wilderness sounds,
jumped too. Soon afterward, from near the
other end of the lake came peal after peal of
wild, echoing, melancholy laughter, which
made Lizette creep trembling up against Anne's
arm, and whisper:

" Mary save us! What is that, madame? "

" That is nothing, child, but a pair of loons
calling to each other," answered Anne, laugh-
ing at her terror. " They probably have their
young ones on this lovely lake, and object to
our untimely intrusion."

" It seems to me a very beautiful little lake,
sweetheart," exclaimed Zachary, sitting down
on the other edge of the blanket, and putting
his arm about Anne's shoulders.

As a matter of fact, the lake had low, mo-
notonous shores, and, as lakes go, was alto-
gether lacking in distinction. Nevertheless,
Anne honestly agreed with his remark. She
fancied she had never before seen so beautiful
a lake.

Gil was gone for perhaps three-quarters
of an hour. Then he reappeared noiselessly,
as if a cloud were to take shape, and paused

The Sanctuary of the Sunrise 261

1 '

just outside the trees, ten paces behind the
group on the blanket. Neither Anne or Liz-
ette had heard a sound; but Zachary, without
turning his head, said, quietly : " That was
quick work for the night woods, my Gil."
And Lizette turned quickly with a startled,
"Oh, Gil! You are like a ghost!"

" You have good ears, monsieur," said the
woodsman, coming up with a grin of high ap-
proval on his face.

" You made never a sound," answered Zach-
ary. " But I was on guard. I felt you."

In a few minutes they were afloat on the
lake, using canoe-paddles instead of oars. The
lake was narrow and crooked, but nearly two
miles in length, from head to outlet. The
lower end was desolate, studded with black,
jutting rocks, and fringed with dead rampikes,
bleached and scarred. From the lake, which
was fed by several streams, a good body of
water flowed off with a swift current, down
which the adventurers made great speed. As
the black, imminent shores raced up and passed,
the girls would sometimes gasp and clutch each
other, feeling that they were about to be dashed
into a rampart of frowning rock. But ev«r.

262 The Prisoner of Mademoiselle

at the last moment, a way opened, and the
skilful paddles took it, and the threat slipped
harmless by. From time to time they would
hear a low thunder ahead of them, which would
presently grow to a roar, which sounded terri-
fying within those narrow banks; and with a
little plunge, a dash of spray, they would dart
down a short rapid, the rocks gnashing white
teeth on either side.

At length a louder clamour sounded ahead
of them, and seemed to gallop to meet them,
so swift was the stream. The shores were low
now, and wider apart. With apprehensive eyes
the girls saw before them a wide slope of white,
churned, brawling water. Small rocks stood
up everywhere, and there seemed to be no way
through. The noise now was not deep, like
that of the former rapids, but sharper and more
vindictive.

" Isn't that pretty bad, Gil ? " inquired Anne,
too proud to show any dread, but not ashamed
to seek information.

" Troublesome, that's all, madame," an-
swered the woodsman, laying down his paddle,
seizing the pole, and standing up in the stem.

The Sanctuary of the Sunrise 26 ^^

" All shoal water, so we'll have to drop her
through slowly."

Snubbing sharply with the pole, he checked
their progress till the shores no longer rushed
past, but the boat seemed to be butting its
way impetuously up-stream. Gradually Gil
worked the boat over, across the foam and
tumult, nearly to the farther shore. Then a
clear way opened ahead. The waves tossed
and foamed, but there were no rocks; and
once more the boat slid swiftly downward, pole
and paddle together keeping her course true
to a hairbreadth. These smaller waves were
not, after all, so daunting as the others had
been, while even more exciting; and the girls
more than once cried out in their wild exhila-
ration. Twice the boat grated sharply on a
hidden rock, and once she so nearly " hung
up " that the waves boiled up madly behind
her, and almost came over the stern. But with
a mighty lunge on the pole Gil shot her over
the obstacle. Then a heavy, plunging dip,
which sent the spray flying, — and they ran
into quiet waters.

From this point onward there was compara-
tively little current. The river spread itself

264 The Prisoner of Mademoiselle

out, and wound placidly between low, bushy
shores. A pallor crept over the eastern sky,
with a sudden touch of chill, a mystic tremor;
and all at once, as it seemed, the leaves and
twigs on the bushes began to stand out. Tones
of green and brown began to differentiate
themselves, and wisps of elusive mist appeared
on the smooth, dark water. The travellers
kept on in wide-eyed silence, as the infinite
miracle of the dawn was wrought before them.
As the light spread, clarifying till the world
seemed to lie in the heart of a vast crystal, the
retreating lines of forest and upland came into
view, all bathed in lilac opalescence.

All at once, as if suddenly breathed out of
heaven, little clouds of aerial rose-colour ap-
peared in the zenith, and three long bars of
thin but intense gold shot up from the extreme
eastern horizon. The voyagers rounded a
sharp bend, — and before them lay another
lake much larger than the one they had left.
It was wide, and unrippled as fine glass, and
over its radiant surface the glory of the day^s
new birth was mirroring itself in tranquil
ecstasy. Gil steered the boat to a little beach,
where a screen of low-growing, friendly trees

The Sanctuary of the Sunrise 265

approached the water. The lake appeared
a sanctuary, a holy place, and no one spoke
till the boat grated on the beach. Then Gil
said, softly, looking at Lizette with shining
eyes:

" We may break our fast here, and rest a
little while, and get some sleep in safety. To-
morrow we shall reach the sea."

THE END.

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illustrations by Charles Livingston Bull, they make a volume which
charms, entertains, and informs." — New York World.

" Is in many ways the most brilliant collection of animal stories
that has appeared. Well named and well done." — John Burroughs.

" No more perfect achievement of its kind had come from the hand
of man." — Chicago Tribune.

" Incomparably the best in literature that has grown up about
animals." — Brooklyn Eagh^

LIST OF NEW FICTION

At Home with the Jardines. By Lilian Beii,

author of " Abroad with the Jimmies," " Hope Loring," etc.
Library 1 2mo, cloth decorative, illustrated . . J 1.50

Here we have the heroine of " Abroad with the Jimmies "
(a book already established in the minds of readers as one of
the author's best) back to America, married, and trying to
settle down. This book relates her experiences as a honey-
mooner, a flat-dweller, a housekeeper, and a hostess. Among
her guests — as well as counsellors and friends — are her (and
the reader's) old friends, the Jimmies, and her vivacious sister.
Bee. These and a score of others — of whom the most promi-
nent are Mary Jane, a new type of domestic, and " The
Angel " — make up a pleasing group of folk with whom to
pass a genial hour or so.

Of " Abroad with the Jimmies," the following are but a few
of a great many favorable opinions :

" A delidoiisly fresh, graphic book. The writer is so original and
unspoiled that her point of view has value." — Mary Hariwell
Catherwood.

" Full of ozone, of snap, of ginger, of swing and momentum.'' —
Chicago Evening Post.

"... Is one of her best and cleverest novels . . . filled to the
brim with amusing incidents and experiences. This vivacious nar-
rative needs no commendation to the readers of Miss Bell's well-
known earlier books. They will all read it, and they will enjoy it,
and that is one of the safest prophecies we have made for some
time." — A^. Y. Press.

The Sign of Triumph, a Romance of the Chil-
dren's Crusade. By Sheppard Stevens, author of " I Am
the King." Illustrated by H. C. Edwards.
Library i2mo, cloth decorative . . . . $1.50

This is a romantic story, dealing with the incidents of the
Children's Crusade, and depicts the pathetic experiences of
that army of infant martyrs to the cause of religion. Inter-
woven with this account is a delightful romance.

" The author has utilized to unusual effect the picturesqueness and
fanaticism of the Crusading children in a story filled with eager
charm and stamped with stern truth." — Boston Transcript.

Z. C. PAGE AND COMPANY'S

The Green Eye of Goona. By Arthur Morrison>
author of " The Red Triangle," etc.
Library i2mo, cloth decorative, with a frontispiece ti-^Q

" The Red Triangle " proved to be one of the most popular
of the year's fiction. " Better than ' Sherlock Holmes,' "
" Not to be laid down till the last word has been reached,"
" A first-class story of crime and mystery," are a few of the
observations made upon it. This new story promises to be
of equal popularity.

It deals with the adventures of a famous diamond, " The
Green Eye of Goona," mysteriously stolen from an Indian
rajah, and supposedly concealed in one of a dozen magnums
of Tokay wine. An enterprising young Englishman, Harvey
Crook, is the principal seeker for the diamond, and proves
himself a worthy disciple of Martin Hewitt and Sherlock
Holmes.

Hemming, the Adventurer. By Theodore

Roberts. With six illustrations by A. G. Learned.
Library i2mo, cloth decorative . . . . $1.50

The hero of this romance is a typical Englishman, straight-
forward and manly, with all the charm and fascination of
the cultivated man of the world. His adventures are well
worth recording, and introduce many phases of life and many
types of people. The atmosphere of the book is that of real
life, — of things perfectly familiar to the author, of incidents
personally known and related in the spirit of remembrance.

The Hound from the North. By Ridgweii

Cullom, author of " The Story of the Foss River Ranch."
Library i2mo, cloth decorative . . . . $1.50

This is a story of adventure and mystery, starting in the
famous Klondike region, then shifting to the " great north-
west" of Canada. Gold escorts, government detectives,
ranchmen, and smugglers all play their part, centring around
"The Hound from the North," an original and thrilling, if
sinister, sketch of animal life. The heroine is sincere and
womanly, and the hero a relief to those surfeited with the
ordinary " leading man " of fiction.

LIST OF NEW FICTION 5

An Evans of Suffolk. By Anna Farquhar, author
of " Her Boston Experiences," " Her Washington Experi-
ences," etc.
Library 1 2mo, cloth decorative . . . . $1.50

This is a powerful story of modern life. The principal
character is a young woman who marries into a conservative
Boston family without explaining her antecedents, and is
obliged to exercise all her woman's ingenuity to keep un-
known the existence of her father, who is the " black sheep "
of a distinguished English family. She gradually becomes
involved in deception, which grows more and more difficult to
maintain, and which threatens to finally overwhelm her. The
plot is strong, and the telHng is brilliant, while the book has
much of the author's gift of social satire, which was so cleverly
displayed in " Her Boston Experiences."

The Motor Pirate. By G. Sidney Paternoster.
Library izmo, cloth decorative, with frontispiece $1.50

Mr. Paternoster, in his new book, " The Motor Pirate," has
quite outdistanced all competitors. The story is a rattling
good one. Told by a man who is a rich landowner and
motor enthusiast, it rushes from incident to incident in an
almost breathless fashion. There is a strong love interest in
the book, and all the characters are well drawn. Turpin, in
truth, has been out-Turpined by Mr. Paternoster, who must
be congratulated on a most successful work of fiction.

The Second Mrs. Jim. By Stephen Conrad.
With a frontispiece by Ernest Fosbery.
Large 1 6mo, cloth decorative . . . . $1.00

Here is a character as original and witty as " Mr. Dooley"
or the " self-made merchant." The realm of humorous fiction
is now invaded by the stepmother.

A .shrewd, middle-aged spinster marries a prosperous farmer
with two boys, and makes them a model wife and mother. A
clever climax is attained when she pulls the oldest boy out of
love with the wrong girl and into love with the right one.
Much quaint philosophy is mingled with extremely humorous
sayings in dialect. The book will be read with many inward
chuckles and outward laughs of appreciation.

L. C. PACE AND COMPANY'S

AZAlim : A Romance of Old Judea. By Mark Ashton,

author of " She Stands Alone." Illustrated with a colored

frontispiece and eight reproductions from rare old plates.

Library i2mo, cloth decorative . . . . $1.50

This is the second of the author's series of novels founded
on Biblical history, and has Judea for its background, the
infamous Jezebel for its central figure, and her intrigues and
ambitions for its motif. It is full of interesting and exciting
incidents with vivid descriptions of the life of the times.

" The story is clear-cut and straightforward, and we feel we are
breathing the atmosphere of the period. It is brilliant with descrip-
tions, has a. wealth of interesting incidents, unique situations and
swift action." — Boston Herald.

Delightful Dodd. By EUlott Flower, author of " The

Spoilsmen,'' etc.

Library i2mo, cloth decorative, illustrated . . $1.50

From the strenuous whirl of politics to the calm of the back-
woods is indeed a far cry ; but Mr. Flower has shown himself
as clever in depicting the life of the Wisconsin farmer and
lumberman as in his trenchant portrayal of the doings of the
Chicago wards. His principal character, a shrewd old pioneer
of the lakes and forests, is declared by those who have read
the manuscript of the story, to " give David Harum cards and
spades."

Rachel Marr. By Morley Roberts, author of " The

Promotion of the Admiral," etc.

Library i2mo, cloth decorative . . . . $1-50

In this novel Mr. Roberts has left the humors and tragedies
of the sea for a new field. " Rachel ,Marr " is a romance full
of that atmosphere and spirit which has made Thomas Hardy
famous. The book has met with not only popular success in
England, where it has gone to a tenth impression, but with
artistic success. The Daily Telegraph, London's most con-
servative literary sheet, says that " This novel is one of the
most significant productions of the times ; it is finely
conceived."

Selections from

L. C. Page and Company's

List of Fiction

WORKS OF

ROBERT NEILSON STEPHENS
Captain Ravenshaw ; or, the maid of

Cheapside. (40th thousand.) A romance of Elizabethan
London. Illustrations by Howard Pyle and other artists.
Library i2mo, cloth $1.50

Not since the absorbing adventures of D'Artagnan have we
had anything so good in the blended vein of romance and
comedy. The beggar student, the rich goldsmith, the roisterer
and the rake, the fop and the maid, are all here : foremost
among them Captain Ravenshaw himself, soldier of fortune
and adventurer, who, after escapades of binding interest,
finally wins a way to fame and to matrimony.

Philip WinwOOd. (70th thousand.) A Sketch of
the Domestic History of an American Captain in the War of
Independence, embracing events that occurred between and
during the years 1763 and 1785 in New York and London
Written by his Enemy in War, Herbert Russell, Lieutenant
in the Loyalist Forces. Presented anew by Robert Neil-
son Stephens. Illustrated by E. W. D Hamilton.

Library i2mo, cloth $1.50

" One of the most stirring and remarkable romances that have

been published in a long while, and its episodes, incidents, and

actions are as interesting and agreeable as they are vivid and

dramatic." — Boston Times.

The Mystery of Murray Davenport. (30th

thousand.) By Robert Neilson Stephens, author of
" An Enemy to the King," " Philip Winwood," etc.
Library l2mo, cloth, with six full-page illustrations by H. C.

Edwards $1.50

"This is easily the best thing that Mr. Stephens has yet done.

Those familiar with his other novels can best judge the measure of

this praise, which is generous." — Buffalo News.

" Mr. Stephens won a host of friends through his earlier volumes,

but we think he will do still better work in his new field if the

present volume is a criterion." — AT. Y. Com. Advertiser,

L. C. PAGE AND COMPANY'S

An Enemy to the King. (6oth thousand.) From
the " Recently Discovered Memoirs of the Sieur de la
Toumoire." Illustrated by H. De M. Young,

Library i2mo, cloth t'i-.^o

An historical romance of the sixteenth century, describing

the adventures of a young French nobleman at the Court of

Henry III., and on the field with Henry of Navarre.
" A stirring tale." — Detroit Free Press.
" A royally strong piece of fiction." — Boston Ideas.
"Interesting from the first to the last page." — Brooklyn Eagle.
" Brilliant as a play ; it is equally brilliant as a romantic novel." —

Philadelphia Press.

The Continental Dragoon : a romance of

Philipse Manor House in 1778. (43d thousand.) Illus-
trated by H. C. Edwards.

Library 1 2rao, cloth $1.50

A stirring romance of the Revolution, the scene being laid
in and around the old Philipse Manor House, near Yonkers,
which at the time of the story was the central point of the so-
called " neutral territory " between the two armies.

The Road to Paris: a story of adventure.

(25th thousand.) Illustrated by H. C. Edwards.

Library i2mo, cloth $1-50

An historical romance of the i8th century, being an account
of the life of an American gentleman adventurer of Jacobite
ancestry, whose family early settled in the colony of Pennsyl-
vania.

A Gentleman Player : His adventures on a

Secret Mission for Queen Elizabeth. (38th thou-
sand.) Illustrated by Frank T. Merrill.

Library i2mo, cloth $1.50

" A Gentleman Player " is a romance of the Elizabethan
period. It relates the story of a young gentleman who, in the
reign of Elizabeth, falls so low in his fortune that he joins
Shakespeare's company of players, and becomes a friend and
prot^g^ of the jjreat poet.

LIST OP FICTION

WORKS OF

CHARLES G. D. ROBERTS

Barbara Ladd. with four illustrations by Frank

Verbeck.

Library 1 2mo, gilt top $1.50

" From the opening chapter to the final page Mr. Roberts lures
us on by his rapt devotion to the changing aspects of Nature and
by his keen and sympathetic analysis of human character." — Boston
Transcript.

The Kindred of the Wild, a book of animal

Life. With fifty-one full-page plates and many decorations

from drawings by Charles Livingston Bull.

Small quarto, decorative cover $2.00

"Professor Roberts has caught wonderfully the elusive individu-
alities of which he writes. His animal stories are marvels of sym-
pathetic science and literary exactness. Bound with the superb
illustrations by Charles Livingston Bull, they make a volume which
charms, entertains, and informs." — New York World.

"... Is in many ways the most brilliant collection of animal
stories that has appeared . . . well named and well done." — John
Burroughs.

The Forge in the Forest. Being the Narrative of
the Acadian Ranger, Jean de Mer, Seigneur de Briart, and
how he crossed the Black Abbd, and of his Adventures in a
Strange Fellowship. Illustrated by Henry Sandham, R. C. A.

Library 1 2mo, cloth, gilt top $1.50

A romance of the convulsive period of the struggle between
the French and English for the possession of North Amer-
ica. The story is one of pure love and heroic adventure, and
deals with that fiery fringe of conflict that waved between
Nova Scotia and New England. The Expulsion of the Aca-
dians is foreshadowed in these brilliant pages, and the f part of
the " Black Abbd's" intrigues in precipitating that catastrophe
is shown.

L. C. PAGE AND COMPANY'S

The Heart of the Ancient Wood, with

six illustrations by James L. Weston.

Library i2mo, decorative cover . . . . #i 50

" One of the most fascinating novels of recent days." — Boston
Journal.

" A classic twentieth-century romance." — New York Commercial
Advertiser.

A Sister to Evangeline. Being the story of

Yvonne de Lamourie, and how she went into Exile with the

Villagers of Grand Prd.

Library i2mo, cloth, gilt top, illustrated . . Jti-SO

This is a romance of the great expulsion of the Acadians,
which Longfellow first immortalized in " Evangeline." Swift
action, fresh atmosphere, wholesome purity, deep passion,
searching analysis, characterize this strong novel.

By the Marshes of Minas.

Library izmo, cloth, gilt top, illustrated . . $1.50
This is a volume of romance, of love and adventure in that
picturesque period when Nova Scotia was passing from the
French to the English regime. Each tale is independent of
the others, but the scenes are similar, and in several of them the
evil " Black Abb^," well known from the author's previous
novels, again appears with his savages at his heels — but to
be thwarted always by woman's wit or soldier's courage.

Earth's Enigmas, a new edition, with the addi-
tion of three new stories, and ten illustrations by Charles
Livingston Bull.

Library i2mo, cloth, uncut edges . . . . $1.5°
"Throughout the volume runs that subtle questioning of the
cruel, predatory side of nature which suggests the general title of
the book. In certain cases it is the picture of savage nature raven-
ing for food — for death to preserve life ; in others it is the secret
symbolism of woods and waters prophesying of evils and misadven-
tures to come. All this does not mean, however, that Mr. Roberts
is either pessimistic or morbid — it is nature in his books after all,
wholesome in her cruel moods as in her tender." — The New York
Independent.

LIST OF FICTION

WORKS OF

LILIAN BELL

Hope Loring. illustrated by Frank T. Merrill.
Library i2mo, cloth, decorative cover . . . 1 1.5°

" Lilian Bell's new novel, ' Hope Loring,' does for the American
girl in fiction what Gibson has done for her in art.

" Tall, slender, and athletic, fragile-looking, yet with nerves and
sinews of steel under the velvet flesh, frank as a boy and tender and
beautiful as a woman, free and independent, yet not bold — such is
' Hope Loring,' by long odds the subtlest study that has yet been
made of the American girl." — Dorothy Dix, in the New York
American.

Abroad with the Jimmies, with a portrait, in

duogravure, of the author.

Library 1 2mo, cloth, decorative cover . . . $150

•■ A deliciously fresh, graphic book. The writer is so original and
unspoiled that her point of view has value." — Mary Hartwell
Catherwood.

" Full of ozone, of snap, of ginger, of swing and momentum." —
Chicago Evening Post.

"... Is one of her best and cleverest novels . . . filled to the
brim with amusing incidents and experiences. This vivacious narra-
tive needs no commendation to the readers of Miss Bell's well-known
earlier books." — N. Y. Press.

The Interference of Patricia, with a frontis-
piece from drawing by Frank T. Merrill.
Small i2mo, cloth, decorative cover . . . $1.00
" There is life and action and brilliancy and dash and cleverness
and a keen appreciation of business ways in this story." — Grand
Rapids Herald.

" A story full of keen and flashing satire.'' — Chicago Record-
Herald.

A Book of Girls, with a frontispiece.

Small i2mo, cloth, decorative cover . . . $1.00

" The stories are all eventful and have effective humor." — New
York Sun.

" Lilian Bell surely understands girls, for she depicts all the varia-
tions of girl nature so charmingly." — Chicago Journal.

The above two volumes boxed in special holiday dress, per set, %2 50.

L. C. PAGE AND COMPANY'S

The Red Triangle. Being some further chronicles of
Martin Hewitt, investigator. By Arthur Morrison, author
of " The Hole in the Wall," " Tales of Mean Streets," etc.
Library I zmo, cloth decorative . . . . $15"
This is a genuine, straightforward detective story of the
kind that keeps the reader on the qui vive. Martin Hewitt,
investigator, might well have studied his methods from Sher-
lock Holmes, so searching and successful are they.
"Better than Shirlock Holmes." — iV«» York Tribune.
" The reader who has a grain of fancy or imagination may be
defied to lay this book down, once he has begun it, until the last
word has been reached." — Philadelphia North American.

" If you like a good detective story you will enjoy this." — Brook-
lyn Eagle.

" We have found ' The Red Triangle ' a book of absorbing inter-
est." — Rochester Herald.

" Will be eagerly read by every one who likes a tale of mystery."

— The Scotsman, England.

Prince Hagen. By Upton Sinclair, author of " King
Midas," etc.

Library 1 2mo, cloth decorative . . . . $1.50
In this book Mr. Sinclair has written a satire of the first

order — one worthy to be compared with Swift's biting tirades

against the follies and abuses of mankind.

" A telling satire on politics and society in modern New York."

— Philadelphia Public Ledger.

" The book has a living vitality and is a strong depiction of
political New York." — Bookseller, Newsdealer, and Stationer.

The Silent Maid. By Frederic W. Pangborn.
Large l6mo, cloth decorative, with a frontispiece by Frank

T. Merrill f i.oo

A dainty and delicate legend of the brave days of old, of
sprites and pixies, of trolls and gnomes, of ruthless barons and
noble knights. " The Silent Maid " herself, with her strange
bewitchment and wondrous song, is equalled only by Undine
in charm and mystery.

" Seldom does one find a short tale so idyllic in tone and so fanci-
ful in motive. The book shows great delicacy of imagination." —
The Criterion.

LIST OF FICTION

The Spoilsmen. By Elliott Flower, author of
" Policeman Flynn," etc.
Library izmo, cloth fs-So

"The best one may hear of 'The Spoilsmen' will be none too
good. As a wide-awake, snappy, brilliant political story it has few
equals, its title-page being stamped with that elusive mark, ' success.'
One should not miss a word of a book like this at a time like this
and in a world of politics like this." — Boston Transcript.

" Elliott Flower, whose ' Policeman Flynn ' attested his acquaint-
ance with certain characteristic aspects of the American city, has
written a novel of municipal politics, which should interest many
readers. . . The characters are obviously suggested by certain
actual figures in local politics, and while the conditions he depicts
are general in large cities in the United States, they will be unusually
famiUar to local readers. . . . Ned Bell, the ' Old Man,' or political
boss ; Billy Ryan, his lieutenant ; ' Rainbow John,' the alderman,
are likely to be identified. . . . and other personages of the story
are traceable to their prototypes." — Chicago Evening Post.

Stephen Holton. By Charles Felton Pidgin,
audior of " Quincy Adams Sawyer," " Blennerhassett," etc.
The frontispiece is a portrait of the hero by Frank T.
Merrill.
One vol., library i2mo, cloth, gilt top . . . $l 50

" In the delineation of rural life, the author shows that intimate
sympathy which distinguished his first success, ' Quincy Adams
Sawyer.' " — Boston Daily Advertiser.

"'Stephen Holton' stands as his best achievement." — Detroit
Free Press.

" New England's common life seems a favorite material for this
sterling author, who in this particular instance mixes his colors with
masterly skill." — Boston Globe.

Asa Holmes; or, At the Cross-Roads. a sketch
of Country Life and Country Humor. By Annie Fellows
Johnston. With a frontispiece by Ernest Fosbery.

Large i6mo, cloth, gilt top $1.00

" ' Asa Holmes ; or, At the Cross-Roads ' is the most delightful,
most sympathetic and wholesome book that has been published in a
long while. The lovable, cheerful, touching incidents, the descrip-
tions of persons and things are wonderfully true to nature." —
Boston Times.

8 L. C. PAGE AND COMPANY'S

A Daughter of Thespis. By john d. barry,

author of " The Intriguers," " Mademoiselle Blanche," etc.

Library i2mo, cloth decorative . . . . $1.50

" I should say that ' A Daughter of Thespis ' seemed so honest
about actors and acting that it made you feel as if the stage had
never been truly written about before." — W. D. ffowells, in
Harper's Weekly.

" This story of the experiences of Evelyn Johnson, actress, may
be praised just because it is so true and so wholly free from melo-
drama and the claptrap which we have come to think inseparable
from any narrative which has to do with theatrical experiences." —
Professor Harry Thurston Peck, of Columbia University.

" Certainly written from a close and shrewd observation of stage
'Ala" — Chicago Record-Herald.

The Qoldetl Dog: a romance of Quebec. By
William Kirby. New authorized edition, printed from new
plates. Illustrated by J. W. Kennedy.
One vol., library i2mo, cloth .... iiSi-25

"A powerful romance of love, Intrigue, and adventure in the
times of Louis XV. and Madame de Pompadour, when the French
colonies were making their great struggle to retain for an ungrateful
court the fairest jewels in the colonial diadem of France. It is a
most masterly picture of the cruelties and the jealousies of a maiden,
Angelique des Melloises — fair as an angel and murderous as Medea.
Mr. Kirby has shown how false prides and ambitions stalked abroad
at this time, how they entered the heart of man to work his destruc-
tion, and particularly how they influenced a beautiful demon in
female form to continued vengeances." — Boston Herald.

The Last Word. By Alice MacGowan. Illus-
trated with seven portraits of the heroine.
Library 1 2mo, cloth, gilt top . . , $1.50

" When one receives full measure to overflowing of delight in a
tender, charming, and wholly fascinating new piece of fiction, the
enthusiasm is apt to come uppermost. Miss MacGowan has been
known before, but her best gift has here declared itself." — Louisville
Post.

" The story begins and ends in Western Texas. Between chapters,
there is the ostensible autobiography of a girl who makes her way
in New York journalism. Out of it all comes a book, vivid, bright,
original — one of a kind and the kind most welcome to readers of
the hitherto conventional." — New York World.

LIST OF FICTION

The Captain's Wife. By w. clark russell,

author of " The Wreck of the Grosvenor." With a frontis-
piece by C. H. Dunton.
Library 1 2mo, cloth decorative . . . . I1.50

" Mr. Russell's descriptions of the sea are vivid and full of color,
and he brings home to the reader the feeling that he is looking
upon the real thing drawn by one who has seen the scenes and
writes from knowledge." — Brooklyn Eagle.

" Every page is readable and exciting." — Baltimore Herald.

" This story may be considered as one of the best of his excellent
tales of the sea." — Chicago Post.

" There are suggestions of Marryat in it, and reminders of Charles
Reade, but mostly it is Clark Russell, with his delightful descriptions
and irresistible sea yams." — Phila. North American.

The Mate of the Good Ship York. By w.

Clark Russell, author of " The Wreck of the Grosvenor,"

etc. With a frontispiece by C. H. Dunton.

Library i2mo, cloth decorative .... t'i-.^Q

" One of the breeziest, most absorbing books that have come to
our table is W. Clark Russell's 'The Mate of the Good Ship
York.' " — Buffalo Commercial.

" For a rousing, absorbing, and, withal, a truthful tale of the sea,
commend me to W. Clark Russell. His novel, ' The Mate of the
Good Ship York,' is one of the best, and the love romance that runs
through it will be appreciated by every one." — Philadelphia North
American.

" Romantic adventures, hairbreadth escapes, and astounding
achievements keep things spinning at a lively rate and hold the
reader's attention throughout the breezy narrative." — Toledo Blade.

The Qolden Kingdom. By Andrew balfour,

author of " Vengeance Is Mine," " To Arms ! " etc.

Library i2mo, cloth decorative .... $1.50

This is a story of adventure on land and sea, beginning in

England and ending in South Africa, in the last days of the

seventeenth century. The scheme of the tale at once puts

the reader in mind of Stevenson's " Treasure Island."

" Every one imbued with the spirit of adventure and with a broad
imaginative faculty will want to read this tale." — Boston Transcript.

" ' The Golden Kingdom ' is the rarest adventure book of them
aa." — N. Y. World.

lO L. C. PAGE AND COMPANY'S

The Schemers : A Tale of Modern Life.

By Edward F. Harkins, author of " Little Pilgrimages

Among the Men Who Have Written Famous Books," etc.

With a frontispiece by Ernest Fosbery.

Library i2mo, cloth $1.50

A story of a new and real phase of social life in Boston,
skilfully and daringly handled. There is plenty of life and
color abounding, and a diversity of characters — shop-girls,
society belles, men about town, city politicians, and others.
The various schemers and their schemes will be followed with
interest, and there will be some discerning readers who may
claim to recognize in certain points of the story certain hap-
penings in the shopping and the society circles of the Hub.

"A faithful delineation of real shop-girl life." — Milwaukee
Sentinel.

" This comes nearer to the actual life of a modern American city,
with all its complexities, than any other work of American fiction.
The book shows an unusual power of observation and a still more
unusual power to concentrate and interpret what is observed."
Si. Louis Star.

The Promotion of The Admiral. By

MoRLEY Roberts, author of " The Colossus," " The Fugi-
tives," " Sons of Empire," etc.

Library i2mo, cloth decorative, illustrated . . $1.50

This volume contains half a dozen stories of sea life, —

fresh, racy, and bracing, — all laid in America, — stories full

of rollicking, jolly, sea-dog humor, tempered to the keen edge of

wit.

" If any one writes better sea stories than Mr. Roberts, we don't
know who it is ; and if there is a better sea story of its kind than
this it would be a joy to hare the pleasure of reading it." — New
York Sun.

"To read these stories is a tonic for the mind; the stories are
gems, and for pith and vigor of description they are unequalled." —
New York Commercial Advertiser.

" There is a hearty laugh in every one of these stories." — The
Reader.

" Mr. Roberts treats the life of the sea in a way that is intensely
real and intensely human." — Milwaukee Sentinel.

" The author knows his sea men from A to Z." — Philadelphia
North American.

LIST OF FICTION 1 1

Count Zarka. By Sm William Magnay, author of
" The Red Chancellor."

Library 1 2mo, cloth, decorative cover, with a striking frontis-
piece $1-50

" Count Zarka " is a strong, quick-moving romance of ad-
venture and political intrigue, the scene being laid in a fictitious
kingdom of central Europe.

" Written with great cleverness." — New York World.
" Bright, vivacious, and full of action." — Louisville Courier-
Journal.

" There is a strange fascination about this tale." — Bookseller,
Newsdealer, and Stationer.

The Story of the Foss River Ranch. By

RiDGWELL CULLOM.

Library i2mo, cloth, decorative cover . . . Si. 50

The scene of this story is laid in Canada, not in one of the
great cities, but in that undeveloped section of the great
Northwest where to-day scenes are being enacted similar to
those enacted fifty years ago during the settlement of the great
American West.

" The tale is powerful and unusual." — Brooklyn Eagle.

" The body of the story is rounded with plenty of incident and
strong character drawing." — New York World.

The Qolden Dwarf. By r. norman silver,

author of " A Daughter of Mystery," etc.
Library i2mo, cloth, decorative cover, illustrated . jSi.50
" One of the brightest and most original detective stories of the
year." — Brooklyn Eagle.

" A first-class mystery story." — Philadelphia Press.

Alain Tanger's Wife. By j. h. yoxall, author

of " The Rommany Stone," etc.

Library i2mo, cloth, decorative cover . . • $i-S°
A spirited story of political intrigue in France. A well-
known figure in the military history of France plays a prom-
inent part in the plot — but the central figure is that of the
American heroine — loyal, intense, piquant, and compelling.

12 L. C. PAGE AND C OMPANY'S

The Daughter of the Dawn. By r. hodder.

With 13 full-page illustrations by Harold Piffard.
Library i2mo, cloth, decorative cover . . . $1,50
This is a powerful story of adventure and mystery, its scene
New Zealand. In sustained interest and novel plot, it recalls
Rider Haggard's " King Solomon's Mines " and " She."

" Enthralling from beginning to end." — Philadelphia North
American.

" It will appeal to all who enjoy the imaginative order of fiction."
— Outlook.

" So elaborately and ingeniously drawn out that it is easier to
believe it than to find a flaw in its verisimilitude." — Boston Tran-
script.

The Diary of a Year, passages in the life of

A Woman of the World. Edited by Mrs. Charles H.

E. Brookfield.

Library izmo, cloth, decorative cover . . . $1.25

The writer of this absorbing study of emotions and events
is gifted with charming imagination and an elegant style. The
book abounds in brilliant wit, amiable philosophy, and interest-
ing characterizations. The " woman of the world " reveals
herself as a fascinating, if somewhat reckless, creature, who
justly holds the sympathies of the reader.

Jarvis of Harvard. By Reginald Wright

Kauffmann. Illustrated by Robert Edwards.

Library 1 2mo, cloth decorative . . . . $1.50

A strong and well-written novel, true to a certain side of the

college atmosphere, not only in the details of athletic life, but

in the spirit of college social and society circles. The local

color appeals not only to Harvard men, but to their rivals, the

loyal sons of Yale, Pennsylvania, and Princeton.

Lauriel. the love letters of an American Girl.

By Herbert D. Ward.

With a portrait frontispiece in photogravure.

Library i2mo, cloth, gilt top ..... I1.50

"The sincere and unaffected charm of these letters from the pen
of a genuine American girl cannot fail to give them an influence
which mere love-letters could never exert." — From a Letter to the
Publishers.