oner o
 
 THE 
 
 OF c

 
 The Prisoner 
 of Mademoiselle 
 
 By 
 
 Charles G. D. Roberts 
 
 Author of The Watchers of the Trails, The Kindred of 
 
 the Wild, The Heart of the Ancient Wood, 
 
 Barbara Ladd, Poems, etc. 
 
 WITH A FRONTISPIECE BY 
 
 Frank T. Merrill 
 
 Toronto 
 The Copp, Clark Company, Limited 
 
 1904
 
 Entered according to Act of the Parliament of Canada, in the year 
 one thousand nine hundred and four, by TUB Corp, CLARK COMPANY, 
 LIMITED, Toronto, Ontario, in the Office of the Minister of Agriculture. 
 
 The Copp, Clark Press.
 
 Contents 
 
 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 . 
 
 XXII. THE SANCTUARY OF THE SUNRISE 
 
 The Prisoner of Mademoiselle. 
 
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 The Prisoner of Mademoiselle 
 
 A Love Story
 
 The 
 Prisoner of Mademoiselle 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE FOG 
 
 BY a sudden sharp pitching 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 line 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 and 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
 
 io 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 by 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. Offshore, 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 ! " 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 ! " 
 
 " Npt 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 lifted 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 afford 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
 
 2O 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 breeding. 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 come 
 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 
 2 5
 
 26 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 was 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 time 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 31 
 
 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 swung 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 him, 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 corner, 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 somie 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 
 mpment, 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, 
 remembering 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, madame. 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 41 
 
 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 w 7 ine, 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 
 of 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 
 
 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 
 
 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 game, 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 man. 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 off 
 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,
 
 60 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 gt at these terrible Bastonnais of yours 
 without ships," she suggested presently, letting 
 Lizette's contention win by default, " I under-
 
 Mademoiselle Anne 61 
 
 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 wish 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 63 
 
 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 unwonted 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 sumjmons, to celebrate the betrothal of 
 his niece and ward to Monsieur le Comte de 
 Viron, of Quebec, was small, though all west- 
 ern 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 
 64
 
 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. Himself 
 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-a- 
 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 duty ? " 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
 
 yo 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 Mademoiselle'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 71 
 
 a moment he stared at her with angry amaze- 
 ment. Was it possible that Anne de Bien- 
 court, daughter of ten generations of French 
 soldiers, could have so poor an opinion of the 
 soldiers of France? Then he understood her 
 tactics, and laughed with unwilling apprecia- 
 tion. 
 
 " You've cleverly turned my flank, Anne," 
 said he. " But I am not routed. Tell me, dear, 
 when am I to see you ? " 
 
 " When you return from thrashing these 
 English perhaps," laughed Mademoiselle. 
 
 This discouraging answer drove De Viron 
 to bluntness. The dance had just ended, and 
 Mademoiselle was turning with decision to re- 
 sume her place beside her uncle's chair. In 
 the pause, she felt that every eye in the room 
 was fixed upon herself and her partner. She 
 saw that De Viron's face was dark. 
 
 " There will be no ' perhaps ' then, my dear- 
 est lady," he declared, quietly. 
 
 " Why not? " demanded Anne, resentful of 
 this tone of confident authority. She felt that 
 her face had gone suddenly aflame, and instead 
 of continuing down the room toward her uncle, 
 she turned toward the nearest wall, where stood
 
 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 ringer. 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 about to let him lead her away in tri-
 
 7 8 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 bois, 
 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 young 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 habitant 
 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 81 
 
 responsive. And this is what delays his Ex- 
 cellency's festivities I " 
 
 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 moment, 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, my 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 myself. 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, monsieur, 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 solicitude. With 
 his childlike 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 lie 
 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 him 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 
 92
 
 The Mission of Lizette 93 
 
 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, awkward-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 clear 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 stern 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
 
 ioo 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 101 
 
 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
 
 IO2 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
 
 104 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. "Can't 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 
 
 106
 
 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, and 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, and 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, and 
 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 stan'd 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, behding 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 too 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 off. 
 
 " 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 arid 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,
 
 n6 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 everything, 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-
 
 n8 The Prisoner of Mademoiselle 
 
 bandage on her foot. " Oh, yes, I did man- 
 age Gil at last! But I think he managed me 
 the most, mademoiselle. He is so different 
 from what I thought him." And, jumping up, 
 she ran and caught her mistress's hands, and 
 fell to kissing them rather wildly. 
 
 Anne looked at her for a moment in some 
 bewilderment. Then a sudden light, born of 
 her own emotions, flashed in upon her, and a 
 sudden thrill of sympathy led her to put her 
 arm around the girl's waist and kiss her. In 
 that moment mistress and maid were just two 
 ardent women together, face to face with tre- 
 mendous impulses which neither fully under- 
 stood. But before anything could be said be- 
 tween them Father Labillois's knock was heard 
 at the outer door, and, with her heart in her 
 throat, Anne ran to answer it.
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 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. 
 
 119
 
 120 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 121 
 
 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-a-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 him, 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 Port
 
 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 murntured, 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 armp, 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 make- 
 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 some 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 
 srrtart 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 a 
 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 officer, with 
 his foot on a cushion on the seat in front of 
 him. He was in undress uniform, and 
 Zachary recognized him 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. " If 
 that fine 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 moment 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, arid 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 light 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 Zachary's 
 meaning; but she chose to misunderstand. 
 
 " No, I suppose not," she answered, simply. 
 " Having got you into such a position as this, 
 through your trust in me, the least I can do 
 is to justify your confidence. But do not be 
 so despairing, monsieur. I really think I can 
 get you away safely sometime soon. Mean- 
 while " 
 
 But Zachary was rude enough to interrupt 
 her. 
 
 " I don't think you can, mademoiselle," said 
 he, with a transparent attempt at lightness. 
 
 " You must not undervalue my powers so 
 far as that," she retorted, " just because I am 
 not able to openly override the governor's will. 
 My uncle 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 
 when 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 mej 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 peculiar, 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 
 
 me. 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. 
 
 " 'Pon 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 
 '53
 
 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. Then 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 off 
 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 1 . 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 
 '59
 
 160 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 her, either justly or unjustly. 
 But twenty-four hours had worked much 
 change in her, making her more human and 
 more comprehending. She understood the 
 situation in a flash, and forgot to feel any 
 resentment. She forgot to wonder how much
 
 The Managing of His Excellency 161 
 
 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." 
 
 " 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 knew 
 this would touch the old soldier. " Give him 
 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 world 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 fellow,' s punishment at pres- 
 ent, I promlise 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 punished 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 
 was 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 
 fair 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
 
 170 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, whether 
 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 
 
 selle 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 
 '73
 
 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 winy, 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 lips. 
 
 " 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
 
 ij6 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) 
 tumbling like 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 181 
 
 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 time 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 
 anything 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 would 
 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 caught 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 hand 
 on her head lovingly. 
 
 " Of course, something must 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 Prisoner of Mademoiselle 
 
 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 does me. Still, wise 
 as you are, and influential as you are, the 
 chances of the trial terrify me. These soldiers 
 are obstinate, and we stand apart, very singu- 
 larly alone, you and I, do we not? Wouldn't 
 it, perhaps, be still better if we could prevail 
 on his Excellency, 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 could see that young Monsieur d'Aul- 
 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 Labillois re- 
 turned a decided negative. 
 
 " I think it would be a great mistake," said 
 he, " to trouble his Excellency any further on 
 the subject. He would very properly resent 
 my interference, and for you to say anything 
 more might excite suspicions of some sort, if
 
 Father Labillois Is Troubled 193 
 
 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, and 
 justice is all we can seem to demand in this 
 case." 
 
 " Then you won't, even for my sake? " said 
 Anne, reproachfully. 
 
 " It is for your sake, first of all, that I 
 won't ! " returned the priest, with smiling firm- 
 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 you so much. 
 You will take our prisoner some supper, will 
 you not? And see that his room is made pos- 
 sible? After that he will not be quite so much 
 trouble to us, as I have told Lizette (she knew 
 so much already, it was better to trust her 
 altogether), and she will be able to look after 
 him till we can get him away." 
 
 With an air of having many things to do, 
 Mademoiselle turned to go back to the house. 
 But Father Labillois stopped her.
 
 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 corners 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 slim, 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
 
 2OO 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 
 frame 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. More- 
 over, 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 him at 
 court. Back of these motives, but more potent 
 than he would confess to himself, was an un- 
 willingness to have further attention called to 
 the fact that he had been on the point of hang- 
 ing one of his own men so unjustly. Here 
 again Anne would be his salvation. 
 
 Anne looked puzzled. 
 
 "Who is that, uncle?" she asked, with 
 vague hopefulness. 
 
 "Gil, my girl!" 
 
 " Why, Uncle Marc, what do you mean ? " 
 cried Anne, joyously, beginning to understand.
 
 His Excellency Obliges His Niece 201 
 
 " I have made 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 
 Excellency 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 405 
 
 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 corner 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
 
 208 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, that's no news," she retorted, 
 wickedly. " Every one in Cheticamp has 
 known that for months. But the news is that 
 7 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 / 
 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 stern 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. And 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."
 
 216 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
 
 218 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 Labi Hois 
 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, 
 220
 
 The Ghost in the Loft 221 
 
 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 camje 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 righting (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 
 vehemjence 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 morning, 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 
 will be 'Search the loft!'" 
 
 Anne had had time to see it all, and make 
 her plans, while Lizette was so breathlessly 
 rattling off 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 away from 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 and 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 anything, 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, arid 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 233 
 
 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 
 come 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-
 
 236 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 corner 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, mademoiselle," 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 Chetkamp, 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 wifl 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 my 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 node, 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 win 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. AH he could 
 think of was tint 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 him 
 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, arid allowed him- 
 self to smile upon them both.
 
 Zachary Is Made to Understand 243 
 
 " 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 likely to make a good 
 Catholic. But the Church that makes women 
 like Anne and men like you couldn't be very 
 bad for me, could it? If, now, while you're 
 worrying over the question of marrying Anne 
 to roe, 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 all 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
 
 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, your 
 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 but 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.
 
 256 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 single 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 first 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'm 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 no 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
 
 160 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 
 
 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 ever,
 
 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 stern.
 
 The Sanctuary of the Sunrise 263 
 
 " 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 
 seeTned 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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