TRAIL OF THE SWORD By Gilbert Parker EPOCH THE FOURTH XIX. WHICH TELLS OF A BROTHER'S BLOOD CRYING FROM THE GROUNDXX. A TRAP IS SETXXI. AN UNTOWARD MESSENGERXXII. FROM TIGER'S CLAW TO LION'S MOUTHXXIII. AT THE GATES OF MISFORTUNEXXIV. IN WHICH THE SWORD IS SHEATHED CHAPTER XIX WHICH TELLS OF A BROTHER'S BLOOD CRYING FROM THE GROUND Two men stood leaning against a great gun aloft on the heights of Quebec. The air of an October morning fluttered the lace at their breasts andlifted the long brown hair of the younger man from his shoulders. Hiscompanion was tall, alert, bronzed, grey-headed, with an eagle eye and aglance of authority. He laid his hand on the shoulder of the younger manand said: "I am glad you have come, Iberville, for I need you, as I needall your brave family--I could spare not one. " "You honour me, sir, " was the reply; "and, believe me, there is none inQuebec but thanks God that their governor is here before Phips roundsIsle Orleans yonder. " "You did nobly while I was away there in Montreal waiting for the NewYorkers to take it--if they could. They were a sorry rabble, for theyrushed on La Prairie, that meagre place, --massacred and turned tail. " "That's strange, sir, for they are brave men, stupid though they be. I have fought them. " "Well, well, as that may be! We will give them chance for bravery. Ourforts are strong from the Sault au Matelot round to Champigny's palace, the trenches and embankments are well ended, and if they give me but twodays more I will hold the place against twice their thirty-four sail andtwenty-five hundred men. " "For how long, your excellency?" Count Frontenac nodded. "Spoken like a soldier. There's the vitalpoint. By the mass, just so long as food lasts! But here we are withnear two thousand men, and all the people from the villages, besidesCallieres's seven or eight hundred, should they arrive in time--and, prayGod they may, for there will be work to do. If they come at us in fronthere and behind from the Saint Charles, shielding their men as they crossthe river, we shall have none too many; but we must hold it. " The governor drew himself up proudly. He had sniffed the air of battlefor over fifty years with all manner of enemies, and his heart was in thething. Never had there been in Quebec a more moving sight than when hearrived from Montreal the evening before, and climbed Mountain Street onhis way to the chateau. Women and children pressed round him, blessinghim; priests, as he passed, lifted hands in benediction; men cheered andcried for joy; in every house there was thanksgiving that the imperiousold veteran had come in time. Prevost the town mayor, Champigny the Intendant, Sainte-Helene, Maricourt, and Longueil, had worked with the skill of soldiers who knewtheir duty, and it was incredible what had been done since the alarm hadcome to Prevost that Phips had entered the St. Lawrence and was anchoredat Tadousac. "And how came you to be here, Iberville?" queried the governorpleasantly. "We scarce expected you. " "The promptings of the saints and the happy kindness of King Louis, whowill send my ship here after me. I boarded the first merchantman withits nose to the sea, and landed here soon after you left for Montreal. " "So? Good! See you, see you, Iberville: what of the lady Puritan'smarriage with the fire-eating Englishman?" The governor smiled as he spoke, not looking at Iberville. His glancewas upon the batteries in lower town. He had inquired carelessly, for hedid not think the question serious at this distance of time. Getting noanswer, he turned smartly upon Iberville, surprised, and he was struck bythe sudden hardness in the sun-browned face and the flashing eyes. Yearshad deepened the power of face and form. "Your excellency will remember, " he answered, in a low, cold tone, "thatI once was counselled to marry the sword. " The governor laid his hand upon Iberville's shoulder. "Pardon me, " hesaid. "I was not wise or kind. But--I warrant the sword will be yourbest wife in the end. " "I have a favour to ask, your excellency. " "You might ask many, my Iberville. If all gentlemen here, clerics andlaymen, asked as few as you, my life would be peaceful. Your serviceshave been great, one way and another. Ask, and I almost promisenow. "'Tis this. Six months ago you had a prisoner here, captured on the NewEngland border. After he was exchanged you found that he had sent a planof the fortifications to the Government of Massachusetts. He passed inthe name of George Escott. Do you remember?" "Very well indeed. " "Suppose he were taken prisoner again?" "I should try him. " "And shoot him, if guilty?" "Or hang him. " "His name was not Escott. It was Gering--Captain George Gering. " The governor looked hard at Iberville for a moment, and a grim smileplayed upon his lips. "H'm! How do you guess that?" "From Perrot, who knows him well. " "Why did Perrot not tell me?" "Perrot and Sainte-Helene had been up at Sault Sainte Marie. They didnot arrive until the day he was exchanged, nor did not know till then. There was no grave reason for speaking, and they said nothing. " "And what imports this?" "I have no doubt that Mr. Gering is with Sir William Phips below atTadousac. If he is taken let him be at my disposal. " The governor pursed his lips, then flashed a deep, inquiring glance athis companion. "The new mistress turned against the old, Iberville!" hesaid. "Gering is her husband, eh? Well, I will trust you: it shall beas you wish--a matter for us two alone. " At that moment Sainte-Helene and Maricourt appeared and presently, in thewaning light, they all went down towards the convent of the Ursulines, and made their way round the rock, past the three gates to the palace ofthe Intendant, and so on to the St. Charles River. Next morning word was brought that Phips was coming steadily up, andwould probably arrive that day. All was bustle in the town, and prayersand work went on without ceasing. Late in the afternoon the watchersfrom the rock of Quebec saw the ships of the New England fleet slowlyrounding the point of the Island of Orleans. To the eyes of Sir William Phips and his men the great fortress, crownedwith walls, towers, and guns, rising three hundred feet above the water, the white banner flaunting from the chateau and the citadel, thebatteries, the sentinels upon the walls--were suggestive of stern work. Presently there drew away from Phips's fleet a boat carrying a subalternwith a flag of truce, who was taken blindfold to the Chateau St. Louis. Frontenac's final words to the youth were these: "Bid your master do hisbest, and I will do mine. " Disguised as a river-man, Iberville himself, with others, rowed thesubaltern back almost to the side of the admiral's ship, for by the freakof some peasants the boat which had brought him had been set adrift. Asthey rowed from the ship back towards the shore, Iberville, looking up, saw, standing on the deck, Phips and George Gering. He had come forthis. He stood up in his boat and took off his cap. His long clusteringcurls fell loose on his shoulders, and he waved a hand with a nonchalantcourtesy. Gering sprang forward. "Iberville!" he cried, and drew hispistol. Iberville saw the motion, but did not stir. He called up, however, in aclear, distinct voice: "Breaker of parole, keep your truce!" "He is right, " said Gering quietly; "quite right. " Gering was now hotfor instant landing and attack. Had Phips acted upon his advice therecord of the next few days might have been reversed. But the disease ofcounsel, deliberation, and prayer had entered into the soul of the sailorand treasure-hunter, now Sir William Phips, governor of Massachusetts. He delayed too long: the tide turned; there could be no landing thatnight. Just after sundown there was a great noise, and the ringing of bells andsound of singing came over the water to the idle fleet. "What does it mean?" asked Phips of a French prisoner captured atTadousac. "Ma foi! That you lose the game, " was the reply. "Callieres, thegovernor of Montreal, with his Canadians, and Nicholas Perrot with hiscoureurs du bois have arrived. You have too much delay, monsieur. " In Quebec, when this contingent arrived, the people went wild. AndPerrot was never prouder than when, in Mountain Street, Iberville, afterthree years' absence, threw his arms round him and kissed him on eachcheek. It was in the dark hour before daybreak that Iberville and Perrot met fortheir first talk after the long separation. What had occurred on the dayof Jessica's marriage Perrot had, with the Abbe de Casson's help, written to Iberville. But they had had no words together. Now, in aroom of the citadel which looked out on the darkness of the river and thedeeper gloom of the Levis shore, they sat and talked, a single candleburning, their weapons laid on the table between them. They said little at first, but sat in the window looking down on the townand the river. At last Iberville spoke. "Tell me it all as you rememberit, Perrot. " Perrot, usually swift of speech when once started, wasvery slow now. He felt the weight of every word, and he had rather havetold of the scalping of a hundred men than of his last meeting withJessica. When he had finished, Iberville said: "She kept the letter, yousay?" Perrot nodded, and drew the ring from a pouch which he carried. "I havekept it safe, " he said, and held it out. Iberville took it and turned itover in his hand, with an enigmatical smile. "I will hand it to hermyself, " he said, half beneath his breath. "You do not give her up, monsieur?" Iberville laughed. Then he leaned forward, and found Perrot's eyes inthe half darkness. "Perrot, she kept the letter, she would have kept thering if she could. Listen: Monsieur Gering has held to his word; he hascome to seek me this time. He knows that while I live the woman is nothis, though she bears his name. She married him--Why? It is no matter--he was there, I was not. There were her father, her friends! I was aFrenchman, a Catholic--a thousand things! And a woman will yield herhand while her heart remains in her own keeping. Well, he has come. Now, one way or another, he must be mine. We have great accountsto settle, and I want it done between him and me. If he remains in theship we must board it. With our one little craft there in the St. Charles we will sail out, grapple the admiral's ship, and play a greatgame: one against thirty-four. It has been done before. Capture theadmiral's ship and we can play the devil with the rest of them. If not, we can die. Or, if Gering lands and fights, he also must be ours. Sainte-Helene and Maricourt know him, and they with myself, Clermont, andSaint Denis, are to lead and resist attacks by land--Frontenac haspromised that: so he must be ours one way or another. He must becaptured, tried as a spy, and then he is mine--is mine!" "Tried as a spy--ah, I see! You would disgrace? Well, but even then heis not yours. " Iberville got to his feet. "Don't try to think it out, Perrot. It willcome to you in good time. I can trust you--you are with me in all?" "Have I ever failed you?" "Never. You will not hesitate to go against the admiral's ship? Think, what an adventure! Remember Adam Dollard and the Long Sault!" What man in Canada did not remember that handful of men, going out withan antique courage to hold back the Iroquois, and save the colony, anddie? Perrot grasped Iberville's hand, and said: "Where you go, I go. Where I go, my men will follow. " Their pact was made. They sat there in silence till the grey light ofmorning crept slowly in. Still they did not lie down to rest; they werewaiting for De Casson. He came before a ray of sunshine had pierced theleaden light. Tall, massive, proudly built, his white hair a rim abouthis forehead, his deep eyes watchful and piercing, he looked a soldier indisguise, as indeed he was to-day as much a soldier as when he foughtunder Turenne forty years before. The three comrades were together again. Iberville told his plans. The abbe lifted his fingers in admonitiononce or twice, but his eyes flashed as Iberville spoke of an attempt tocapture the admiral on his own ship. When Iberville had finished, hesaid in a low voice: "Pierre, must it still be so--that the woman shall prompt you to thesethings?" "I have spoken of no woman, abbe. " "Yet you have spoken. " He sighed and raised his hand. "The man--themen--down there would destroy our country. They are our enemies, and wedo well to slay. But remember, Pierre--'What God hath joined let no manput asunder!' To fight him as an enemy of your country--well; to fighthim that you may put asunder is not well. " A look, half-pained, half-amused, crossed Iberville's face. "And yet heretics--heretics, abbe" "Marriage is no heresy. " "H'm-they say different at Versailles. " "Since De Montespan went, and De Maintenon rules?" Iberville laughed. "Well, well, perhaps not. " They sat silent for a time, but presently Iberville rose, went to acupboard, drew forth some wine and meat, and put the coffee on the fire. Then, with a gesture as of remembrance, he went to a box, drew forthhis own violin, and placed it in the priest's hands. It seemed strangethat, in the midst of such great events, the loss or keeping of anempire, these men should thus devote the few hours granted them forsleep; but they did according to their natures. The priest took theinstrument and tuned it softly. Iberville blew out the candle. Therewas only the light of the fire, with the gleam of the slow-coming dawn. Once again, even as years before in the little house at Montreal, DeCasson played--now with a martial air. At last he struck the chords of asong which had been a favourite with the Carignan-Salieres regiment. Instantly Iberville and Perrot responded, and there rang out from threestrong throats the words: "There was a king of Normandy, And he rode forth to war, Gai faluron falurette! He had five hundred men-no more! Gai faluron donde! "There was a king of Normandy, Came back from war again; He brought a maid, O, fair was she! And twice five hundred men-- Gai faluron falurette! Gai faluron donde!" They were still singing when soldiers came by the window in the firstwarm light of sunrise. These caught it up, singing it as they marchedon. It was taken up again by other companies, and by the time Ibervillepresented himself to Count Frontenac, not long after, there was hardly acitizen, soldier, or woodsman, but was singing it. The weather and water were blustering all that day, and Phips did notmove, save for a small attempt--repulsed--by a handful of men to examinethe landing. The next morning, however, the attack began. Twelvehundred men were landed at Beauport, in the mud and low water, under oneMajor Walley. With him was Gering, keen for action--he had persuadedPhips to allow him to fight on land. To meet the English, Iberville, Sainte-Helene, and Perrot issued forthwith three hundred sharpshooters and a band of Huron Indians. In theskirmish that followed, Iberville and Perrot pressed with a handful ofmen forward very close to the ranks of the English. In the charge whichthe New Englander ordered, Iberville and Perrot saw Gering, and theytried hard to reach him. But the movement between made it impossiblewithout running too great risk. For hours the fierce skirmishing wenton, but in the evening the French withdrew and the New Englanders madetheir way towards the St. Charles, where vessels were to meet them, andprotect them as they crossed the river and attacked the town in the rear--help that never came. For Phips, impatient, spent his day in aterrible cannonading, which did no great damage to the town--or thecliff. It was a game of thunder, nothing worse, and Walley and Geringwith their men were neglected. The fight with the ships began again at daybreak. Iberville, seeingthat Walley would not attack, joined Sainte-Helene and Maricourt at thebattery, and one of Iberville's shots brought down the admiral'sflagstaff, with its cross of St. George. It drifted towards the shore, and Maurice Joval went out in a canoe under a galling fire and brought itup to Frontenac. Iberville and Sainte-Helene concentrated themselves on the Six Friends--the admiral's ship. In vain Phips's gunners tried to dislodge them andtheir guns. They sent ball after ball into her hull and through herrigging; they tore away her mainmast, shattered her mizzenmast, andhandled her as viciously as only expert gunners could. The New Englanderreplied bravely, but Quebec was not destined to be taken by bombardment, and Iberville saw the Six Friends drift, a shattered remnant, out of hisline of fire. It was the beginning of the end. One by one the thirty-four craft drewaway, and Walley and Gering were left with their men, unaided in thesiege. There was one moment when the cannonading was greatest and theskirmishers seemed withdrawn, that Gering, furious with the delay, almostprevailed upon the cautious Walley to dash across the river and make adesperate charge up the hill, and in at the back door of the town. ButWalley was, after all, a merchant and not a soldier, and would not do it. Gering fretted on his chain, sure that Iberville was with the gunsagainst the ships, and would return to harass his New Englanders soon. That evening it turned bitter cold, and without the ammunition promisedby Phips, with little or no food and useless field-pieces, their lot washard. But Gering had his way the next morning. Walley set out to the SixFriends to represent his case to the admiral. Gering saw how the menchafed, and he sounded a few of them. Their wills were with him they hadcome to fight, and fight they would, if they could but get the chance. With a miraculous swiftness the whispered word went through the lines. Gering could not command them to it, but if the men went forward he mustgo with them. The ships in front were silent. Quebec was now interestedin these men near the St. Charles River. As Iberville stood with Frontenac near the palace of the Intendant, watching, he saw the enemy suddenly hurry forward. In an instant he wasdashing down to join his brothers, Sainte-Helene, Longueil, and Perrot;and at the head of a body of men they pushed on to get over the ford andhold it, while Frontenac, leading three battalions of troops, got awaymore slowly. There were but a few hundred men with Iberville, arrayedagainst Gering's many hundreds; but the French were bush-fighters and theNew Englanders were only stout sailors and ploughmen. Yet Gering had noreason to be ashamed of his men that day; they charged bravely, but theirenemies were hid to deadly advantage behind trees and thickets, the bestsharpshooters of the province. Perrot had had his orders from Iberville: Iberville himself was, ifpossible, to engage Gering in a hand-to-hand fight; Perrot, on the otherhand, was to cut Gering off from his men and bring him in a prisoner. More than once both had Gering within range of their muskets, but theyheld their hands, nor indeed did Gering himself, who once also had achance of bringing Iberville down, act on his opportunity. Gering's menwere badly exposed, and he sent them hard at the thickets, clearing theoutposts at some heavy loss. His men were now scattered, and he shiftedhis position so as to bring him nearer the spot where Sainte-Helene andLongueil were pushing forward fresh outposts. He saw the activity of thetwo brothers, but did not recognise them, and sent a handful of men todislodge them. Both Sainte-Helene and Longueil exposed themselves for amoment, as they made for an advantageous thicket. Gering saw hisopportunity, took a musket from a soldier, and fired. Sainte-Helene fellmortally wounded. Longueil sprang forward with a cry of rage, but aspent ball struck him. Iberville, at a distance, saw the affair. With a smothered oath hesnatched a musket from Maurice Joval, took steady aim and fired. Thedistance was too great, the wind too strong; he only carried away anepaulet. But Perrot, who was not far from the fallen brothers, suddenlymade a dash within easy range of the rifles of the British, and cutGering and two of his companions off from the main body. It was done sosuddenly that Gering found himself between two fires. His companionsdrew close to him, prepared to sell their lives dearly, but Perrot calledto them to surrender. Gering saw the fruitlessness of resistance and, tosave his companions' lives, yielded. The siege of Quebec was over. The British contented themselves withholding their position till Walley returned bearing the admiral's ordersto embark again for the fleet. And so in due time they did--in rain, cold, and gloom. In a few days Sir William Phips, having patched up his shattered ships, sailed away, with the knowledge that the capture of Quebec was not soeasy as finding a lost treasure. He had tried in vain to effect Gering'srelease. When Gering surrendered, Perrot took his sword with a grim coolness andsaid: "Come, monsieur, and see what you think your stay with us may belike. " In a moment he was stopped beside the dead body of Sainte-Helene. "Yourmusket did this, " said Perrot, pointing down. "Do you know him?" Gering stooped over and looked. "My God-Sainte-Helene!" he cried. Perrot crossed himself and mumbled a prayer. Then he took from his bosoma scarf and drew it over the face of the dead man. He turned toLongueil. "And here, monsieur, is another brother of Monsieur Iberville, " he said. Longueil was insensible but not dangerously wounded. Perrot gave asignal and the two brothers were lifted and carried down towards theford, followed by Perrot and Gering. On their way they met Iberville. All the brother, the comrade, in Iberville spoke first. He feltLongueil's hand and touched his pulse, then turned, as though he had notseen Gering, to the dead body of Sainte-Helene. Motioning to the men toput it down, he stooped and took Perrot's scarf from the dead face. Itwas yet warm, and the handsome features wore a smile. Iberville lookedfor a moment with a strange, cold quietness. He laid his hand upon thebrow, touched the cheek, gave a great sigh, and made the sacred gestureover the body; then taking his own handkerchief he spread it over theface. Presently he motioned for the bodies to be carried on. Perrot whispered to him, and now he turned and look at Gering with amalignant steadiness. "You have had the great honour, sir, " he said, "to kill one of thebravest gentlemen of France. More than once to-day myself and my friendhere"--pointing to Perrot "could have killed you. Why did we not? Thinkyou, that you might kill my brother, whose shoe-latchet were too high foryou? Monsieur, the sum mounts up. " His voice was full of bitterness andhatred. "Why did we spare you?" he repeated, and paused. Gering could understand Iberville's quiet, vicious anger. He wouldrather have lost a hand than have killed Sainte-Helene, who had, on boardthe Maid of Provence, treated him with great courtesy. He only shook hishead now. "Well, I will tell you, " said Iberville. "We have spared you to try youfor a spy. And after--after! His laugh was not pleasant to hear. "A spy? It is false!" cried Gering. "You will remember--monsieur, that once before you gave me the lie!" Gering made a proud gesture of defiance, but answered nothing. Thatnight he was lodged in the citadel. CHAPTER XX A TRAP IS SET Gering was tried before Governor Frontenac and the full council. It wascertain that he, while a prisoner at Quebec, had sent to Boston plans ofthe town, the condition of the defences, the stores, the general armamentand the approaches, for the letter was intercepted. Gering's defence was straightforward. He held that he had sent theletter at a time when he was a prisoner simply, which was justifiable;not when a prisoner on parole, which was shameless. The temper of thecourt was against him. Most important was the enmity of the Jesuits, whose hatred of Puritanism cried out for sacrifice. They had seen thework of the saints in every turn of the late siege, and they believedthat the Lord had delivered the man into their hands. In secret waystheir influence was strong upon many of the council, particularly thosewho were not soldiers. A soldier can appreciate bravery, and Gering hadbeen courageous. But he had killed one of the most beloved of Canadianofficers, the gallant Sainte-Helene! Frontenac, who foresaw an end ofwhich the council could not know, summed up, not unfairly, againstGering. Gering's defence was able, proud, and sometimes passionate. Once ortwice his words stung his judges like whips across their faces. Heshowed no fear; he asked no mercy. He held that he was a prisoner ofwar, and entitled to be treated as such. So strong, indeed, was hispleading, so well did his stout courage stand by him, that had CountFrontenac balanced in his favour he might have been quit of the chargeof spying. But before the trial Iberville had had solitary talk withFrontenac, in which a request was repeated and a promise renewed. Gering was condemned to die. It was perhaps the bravest moment of abrave life. "Gentlemen, " he said, "I have heard your sentence, but, careless ofmilitary honour as you are, you will not dare put me to death. Do notthink because we have failed this once that we shall not succeed again. I tell you, that if, instead of raw Boston sailors, ploughmen andmerchant captains, and fishing craft and trading vessels, I had threeEnglish war-ships and one thousand men, I would level your town from thecitadel to the altar of St. Joseph's. I do not fear to die, nor that Ishall die by your will. But, if so, 'twill be with English loathing ofinjustice. " His speech was little like to mollify his judges, and at his reference toSt. Joseph's a red spot showed upon many cheeks, while to the chargeagainst their military honour, Frontenac's eyes lighted ominously. Butthe governor merely said: "You have a raw temper, sir. We will chastenyou with bread and water; and it were well for you, even by your strangereligion, to qualify for passage from this world. " Gering was taken back to prison. As he travelled the streets he neededall his fortitude, for his fiery speech had gone abroad, distorted fromits meaning, and the common folk railed at him. As chastening, it wasgood exercise; but when now and again the name of Sainte-Helene rangtowards him, a cloud passed over his face; that touched him in a tendercorner. He had not met Iberville since his capture, but now, on entering theprison, he saw his enemy not a dozen paces from the door, pale and stern. Neither made a sign, but with a bitter sigh Gering entered. It wascurious how their fortunes had see-sawed, the one against the other, for twelve years. Left alone in his cell with his straw and bread and water, he lookedround mechanically. It was yet after noon. All at once it came to himthat this was not the cell which he had left that day. He got up andbegan to examine it. Like every healthy prisoner, he thought upon meansand chances of escape. It did not seem a regular cell for prisoners, for there was a seconddoor. This was in one corner and very narrow, the walls not coming to aright angle, but having another little strip of wall between. He triedto settle its position by tracing in his mind the way he had come throughthe prison. Iberville or Perrot could have done so instinctively, but hewas not woodsman enough. He thought, however, that the doorway led to astaircase, like most doors of the kind in old buildings. There was thewindow. It was small and high up from the floor, and even could heloosen the bars, it were not possible to squeeze through. Besides, therewas the yard to cross and the outer wall to scale. And that achieved, with the town still full of armed men, he would have a perilous run. Hetried the door: it was stoutly fastened; the bolts were on the otherside; the key-hole was filled. Here was sufficient exasperation. He hadsecreted a small knife on his person, and he now sat down, turned it overin his hand, looked up at the window and the smooth wall below it, at themocking door, then smiled at his own poor condition and gave himself tocheerless meditation. He was concerned most for his wife. It was not in him to give up tillthe inevitable was on him and he could not yet believe that CountFrontenac would carry out the sentence. At the sudden thought of therope--so ignominious, so hateful--he shuddered. But the shame of it wasfor his wife, who had dissipated a certain selfish and envious strain inhim. Jessica had drawn from him the Puritanism which had made him self-conscious, envious, insular. CHAPTER XXI AN UNTOWARD MESSENGER A few days after this, Jessica, at her home in Boston, --in the room whereshe had promised her father to be George Gering's wife, --sat watching thesea. Its slow swinging music came up to her through the October air. Not far from her sat an old man, his hands clasping a chair-arm, a bookin his lap, his chin sunk on his breast. The figure, droopinghelplessly, had still a distinguished look, an air of honourable pride. Presently he raised his head, his drowsy eyes lighted as they rested onher, and he said: "The fleet has not returned, my dear? Quebec is notyet taken?" "No, father, " she replied, "not yet. " "Phips is a great man--a great man!" he said, chuckling. "Ah, thetreasure!" Jessica did not reply. Her fingers went up to her eyes; they seemed tocool the hot lids. "Ay, ay, it was good, " he added, in a quavering voice, "and I gave youyour dowry!" Now there was a gentle, soft laugh of delight and pride, and he reachedout a hand towards her. She responded with a little laugh which was notunlike his, but there was something more: that old sweet sprightliness ofher youth, shot through with a haunting modulation, --almost pensiveness, but her face was self-possessed. She drew near, pressed the old man'shand, and spoke softly. Presently she saw that he was asleep. She sat for some time, not stirring. At last she was about to rise andtake him to his room, but hearing noises in the street she stepped to thewindow. There were men below, and this made her apprehensive. Shehurried over, kissed the old man, passed from the room, and met her oldservant Hulm in the passage, who stretched out her hand in distress. "What is it, Hulm?" she asked, a chill at her heart. "Oh, how can I tellyou!" was the answer. "Our fleet was beaten, and--and my master is aprisoner. " The wife saw that this was not all. "Tell me everything, Hulm, " she said trembling, yet ready for the worst. "Oh, my dear, dear mistress, I cannot!" "Hulm, you see that I am calm, " she answered. "You are only paining me. " "They are to try him for his life!" She caught her mistress by thewaist, but Jessica recovered instantly. She was very quiet, very pale, yet the plumbless grief of her eyes brought tears to Hulm's face. Shestood for a moment in deep thought. "Is your brother Aaron in Boston, Hulm?" she asked presently. "He is below, dear mistress. " "Ask him to step to the dining-room. And that done, please go to myfather. And, Hulm, dear creature, you can aid me better if you do notweep. " She then passed down a side staircase and entered the dining-room. Amoment afterwards Aaron Hulm came in. "Aaron, " she said, as he stood confused before her misery, "know you theway to Quebec?" "Indeed, madame, very well. Madame, I am sorry--" "Let us not dwell upon it, Aaron. Can you get a few men together to gothere?" "Within an hour. " "Very well, I shall be ready. " "You, madame--ready? You do not think of going?" "Yes, I am going. " "But, madame, it is not safe. The Abenaquis and Iroquois are notfriendly, and--" "Is this friendly? Is it like a good friend, Aaron Hulm? Did I notnurse your mother when--" He dropped on one knee, took her hand and kissed it. "Madame, " he saidloyally, "I will do anything you ask; I feared only for your safety. " An hour afterwards she came into the room where her father still slept. Stooping, she kissed his forehead, and fondled his thin grey hair. Thenshe spoke to Hulm. "Tell him, " she said, "that I will come back soon: that my husband needsme, and that I have gone to him. Tell him that we will both come back--both, Hulm, you understand!" "Dear mistress, I understand. " But the poor soul made a gesture ofdespair. "It is even as I say. We will both come back, " was the quiet reply. "Something as truthful as God Himself tells me so. Take care of my dearfather--I know you will; keep from him the bad news, and comfort him. " Then with an affectionate farewell she went to her room, knelt down andprayed. When she rose she said to herself: "I am thankful now that Ihave no child. " In ten minutes a little company of people, led by Aaron Hulm, startedaway from Boston, making for a block-house fifteen miles distant, wherethey were to sleep. The journey was perilous, and more than once it seemed as if they couldnot reach Quebec alive, but no member of the party was more cheerful thanJessica. Her bravery and spirit never faltered before the others, thoughsometimes at night, when lying awake, she had a wild wish to cry out orto end her troubles in the fast-flowing Richelieu. But this was only atnight. In the daytime action eased the strain, and at last she wasrewarded by seeing from the point of Levis, the citadel of Quebec. They were questioned and kept in check for a time, but at length Aaronand herself were let cross the river. It was her first sight of Quebec, and its massive, impregnable form struck a chill to her heart: itsuggested great sternness behind it. They were passed on unmolestedtowards the Chateau St. Louis. The anxious wife wished to see CountFrontenac himself and then to find Iberville. Enemy of her countrythough he was, she would appeal to him. As she climbed the steep stepsof Mountain Street, worn with hard travel, she turned faint. But theeyes of curious folk were on her, and she drew herself up bravely. She was admitted almost at once to the governor. He was at dinner whenshe came. When her message was brought to him, his brows twitched withsurprise and perplexity. He called Maurice Joval, and ordered that shebe shown to his study and tendered every courtesy. A few moments laterhe entered the room. Wonder and admiration crossed his face. He had notthought to see so beautiful a woman. Himself an old courtier, he knewwomen, and he could understand how Iberville had been fascinated. Shehad arranged her toilette at Levis, and there were few traces of thelong, hard journey, save that her hands and face were tanned. Theeloquence of her eyes, the sorrowful, distant smile which now was naturalto her, worked upon the old soldier before she spoke a word. And aftershe had spoken, had pleaded her husband's cause, and appealed to thenobleman's chivalry, Frontenac was moved. But his face was troubled. He drew out his watch and studied it. Presently he went to the door and called Maurice Joval. There waswhispering, and then the young man went away. "Madame, you have spoken of Monsieur Iberville, " said the governor. "Years ago he spoke to me of you. " Her eyes dropped, and then they raised steadily, clearly. "I am sure, sir, " she said, "that Monsieur Iberville would tell you that my husbandcould never be dishonourable. They have been enemies, but nobleenemies. " "Yet, Monsieur Iberville might be prejudiced, " rejoined the governor. "A brother's life has weight. " "A brother's life!" she broke in fearfully. "Madame, your husbandkilled Iberville's brother. " She swayed. The governor's arm was as quick to her waist as a gallant'sof twenty-five: not his to resist the despair of so noble a creature. Hewas sorry for her; but he knew that if all had gone as had been plannedby Iberville, within a half-hour this woman would be a widow. With some women, perhaps, he would not have hesitated: he would haveargued that the prize was to the victor, and that, Gering gone, Jessicawould amiably drift upon Iberville. But it came to him that she was notas many other women. He looked at his watch again, and she mistook theaction. "Oh, your excellency, " she said, "do not grudge these moments to onepleading for a life-for justice. " "You mistake, madame, " he said; "I was not grudging the time--formyself. " At that moment Maurice Joval entered and whispered to the governor. Frontenac rose. "Madame, " he said, "your husband has escaped. " A cry broke from her. "Escaped! escaped!" She saw a strange look in the governor's eyes. "But you have not told me all, " she urged; "there is more. Oh, yourexcellency, speak!" "Only this, madame: he may be retaken and--" "And then? What then?" she cried. "Upon what happens then, " he as drily as regretfully added, "I shall haveno power. " But to the quick searching prayer, the proud eloquence of the woman, thegovernor, bound though he was to secresy, could not be adamant. "There is but one thing I can do for you, " he said at last. "You knowFather Dollier de Casson?" To her assent, he added: "Then go to him. Ask no questions. If anythingcan be done, he may do it for you; that he will I do not know. " She could not solve the riddle, but she must work it out. There was theone great fact: her husband had escaped. "You will do all you can do, your excellency?" she said. "Indeed, madame, I have done all I can, " he said. With impulse shecaught his hand and kissed it. A minute afterwards she was gone withMaurice Joval, who had orders to bring her to the abbe's house--that, and no more. The governor, left alone, looked at the hand that she had kissed andsaid: "Well, well, I am but a fool still. Yet--a woman in a million!"He took out his watch. "Too late, " he added. "Poor lady!" A few minutes afterwards Jessica met the abbe on his own doorstep. Maurice Joval disappeared, and the priest and the woman were alonetogether. She told him what had just happened. "There is some mystery, " she said, pain in her voice. "Tell me, has myhusband been retaken?" "Madame, he has. " "Is he in danger?" The priest hesitated, then presently inclined his head in assent. "Once before I talked with you, " she said, "and you spoke good things. You are a priest of God. I know that you can help me, or Count Frontenacwould not have sent me to you. Oh, will you take me to my husband?" If Count Frontenac had had a struggle, here was a greater. First, theman was a priest in the days when the Huguenots were scattering to thefour ends of the earth. The woman and her husband were heretics, andwhat better were they than thousands of others? Then, Sainte-Helene hadbeen the soldier-priest's pupil. Last of all, there was Iberville, overwhom this woman had cast a charm perilous to his soul's salvation. Heloved Iberville as his own son. The priest in him decided against thewoman; the soldier in him was with Iberville in this event--for asoldier's revenge was its mainspring. But beneath all was a kindlysoul which intolerance could not warp, and this at last responded. His first words gave her a touch of hope. "Madame, " he said, "I know notthat aught can be done, but come. " CHAPTER XXII FROM TIGER'S CLAW TO LION'S MOUTH Every nation has its traitors, and there was an English renegade soldierat Quebec. At Iberville's suggestion he was made one of the guards ofthe prison. It was he that, pretending to let Gering win his confidence, at last aided him to escape through the narrow corner-door of his cell. Gering got free of the citadel--miraculously, as he thought; and, striking off from the road, began to make his way by a roundabout to theSt. Charles River, where at some lonely spot he might find a boat. Noalarm had been given, and as time passed his chances seemed growing, whensuddenly there sprang from the grass round him armed men, who closed in, and at the points of swords and rapiers seized him. Scarcely a word wasspoken by his captors, and he did not know who they were, until, after along detour, he was brought inside a manor-house, and there, in the lightof flaring candles, faced Perrot and Iberville. It was Perrot who hadseized him. "Monsieur, " said Perrot, saluting, "be sure this is a closer prison thanthat on the heights. " This said, he wheeled and left the room. The two gentlemen were left alone. Gering folded his arms and stooddefiant. "Monsieur, " said Iberville, in a low voice, "we are fortunate to meet soat last. " "I do not understand you, " was the reply. "Then let me speak of that which was unfortunate. Once you called me afool and a liar. We fought and were interrupted. We met again, with thesame ending, and I was wounded by the man Bucklaw. Before the wound washealed I had to leave for Quebec. Years passed, you know well how. Wemet in the Spaniards' country, where you killed my servant; and again atFort Rupert, you remember. At the fort you surrendered before we had achance to fight. Again, we were on the hunt for treasure. You got it;and almost in your own harbour I found you, and fought you and a greatership with you, and ran you down. As your ship sank you sprang from it tomy own ship--a splendid leap. Then you were my guest, and we could notfight; all--all unfortunate. " He paused. Gering was cool; he saw Iberville's purpose, and he was readyto respond to it. "And then?" asked Gering. "Your charge is long--is it finished?" A hard light came into Iberville's eyes. "And then, monsieur, you did me the honour to come to my own country. Wedid not meet in the fighting, and you killed my brother. " Ibervillecrossed himself. "Then"--his voice was hard and bitter--"you werecaptured; no longer a prisoner of war, but one who had broken his parole. You were thrown into prison, were tried and condemned to death. Thereremained two things: that you should be left to hang, or an escape--thatwe should meet here and now. " "You chose the better way, monsieur. " "I treat you with consideration, I hope, monsieur. " Gering waved hishand in acknowledgment, and said: "What weapons do you choose?" Iberville quietly laid on the table a number of swords. "If I shouldsurvive this duel, monsieur, " questioned Gering, "shall I be free?" "Monsieur, escape will be unnecessary. " "Before we engage, let me say that I regret your brother's death. " "Monsieur, I hope to deepen that regret, " answered Iberville quietly. Then they took up their swords. CHAPTER XXIII AT THE GATES OF MISFORTUNE Meanwhile the abbe and Jessica were making their way swiftly towards themanor-house. They scarcely spoke as they went, but in Jessica's mind wasa vague horror. Lights sparkled on the crescent shore of Beauport, andthe torches of fishermen flared upon the St. Charles. She looked backonce towards the heights of Quebec and saw the fires of many homes--theyscorched her eyes. She asked no questions. The priest beside her wassilent, not looking at her at all. At last he turned and said: "Madame, whatever has happened, whatever may happen, I trust you will bebrave. " "Monsieur l'Abbe" she answered, "I have travelled from Boston here--canyou doubt it?" The priest sighed. "May the hope that gave you strength remain, madame!" A little longer and then they stood within a garden thick with plants andtrees. As they passed through it, Jessica was vaguely aware of the richfragrance of fallen leaves and the sound of waves washing the foot of thecliffs. The abbe gave a low call, and almost instantly Perrot stood before them. Jessica recognised him. With a little cry she stepped to him quickly andplaced her hand upon his arm. She did not seem conscious that he was herhusband's enemy: her husband's life was in danger, and it must be savedat any cost. "Monsieur, " she said, "where is my husband? You know. Tell me. " Perrot put her hand from his arm gently, and looked at the priest indoubt and surprise. The abbe said not a word, but stood gazing off into the night. "Will you not tell me of my husband?" she repeated. "He is within thathouse?" She pointed to the manor-house. "He is in danger, I will go tohim. " She made as if to go to the door, but he stepped before her. "Madame, " he said, "you cannot enter. " Just then the moon shot from behind a cloud, and all their faces could beseen. There was a flame in Jessica's eyes which Perrot could not stand, and he turned away. She was too much the woman to plead weakly. "Tell me, " she said, "whose house this is. " "Madame, it is MonsieurIberville's. " She could not check a gasp, but both the priest and the woodsman saw howintrepid was the struggle in her, and they both pitied. "Now I understand! Oh, now I understand!" she cried. "A plot was laid. He was let escape that he might be cornered here--one single man againsta whole country. Oh, cowards, cowards!" "Pardon me, madame, " said Perrot, bristling up, "not cowards. Yourhusband has a chance for his life. You know Monsieur Iberville--he is aman all honour. More than once he might have had your husband's life, but he gave it to him. " Her foot tapped the ground impatiently, her hands clasped before her. "Go on, oh, go on!" she said. "What is it? why is he here? Have youno pity, no heart?" She turned towards the priest. "You are a man ofGod. You said once that you would help me make peace between my husbandand Monsieur Iberville, but you join here with his enemies. " "Madame, believe me, you are wrong. I have done all I could: I havebrought you here. " "Yes, yes; forgive me, " she replied. She turned to Perrot again. "It iswith you, then. You helped to save my life once--what right have you todestroy it now? You and Monsieur Iberville gave me the world when itwere easy to have lost it; now when the world is everything to me becausemy husband lives in it, you would take his life and break mine. " Suddenly a thought flashed into her mind. Her eyes brightened, her handtrembled towards Perrot, and touched him. "Once I gave you something, monsieur, which I had worn on my own bosom. That little gift--of agrateful girl, tell me, have you it still?" Perrot drew from his doublet the medallion she had given him, andfingered it uncertainly. "Then you value it, " she added. "You value my gift, and yet when myhusband is a prisoner, to what perilous ends God only knows, you deny meto him. I will not plead; I ask as my right; I have come from CountFrontenac; he sent me to this good priest here. Were my husband in thecitadel now I should be admitted. He is here with the man who, you know, once said he loved me. My husband is wickedly held a prisoner; I ask forentrance to him. " Pleading, apprehension, seemed gone from her; she stood superior to herfear and sorrow. The priest reached a hand persuasively towards Perrot, and he was about to speak, but Perrot, coming close to the troubledwife, said: "The door is locked; they are there alone. I cannot let youin, but come with me. You have a voice--it may be heard. Come. " Presently all three were admitted into the dim hallway. CHAPTER XXIV IN WHICH THE SWORD IS SHEATHED How had it gone with Iberville and Gering? The room was large, scantily, though comfortably, furnished. For amoment after they took up their swords they eyed each other calmly. Iberville presently smiled: he was recalling that night, years ago, whenby the light of the old Dutch lantern they had fallen upon each other, swordsmen, even in those days, of more than usual merit. They hadpractised greatly since. Iberville was the taller of the two, Gering thestouter. Iberville's eye was slow, calculating, penetrating; Gering'swas swift, strangely vigilant. Iberville's hand was large, compact, andsupple; Gering's small and firm. They drew and fell on guard. Each at first played warily. They werekeen to know how much of skill was likely to enter into this duel, foreach meant that it should be deadly. In the true swordsman there isfound that curious sixth sense, which is a combination of touch, sight, apprehension, divination. They had scarcely made half a dozen passesbefore each knew that he was pitted against a master of the art--an artpartly lost in an age which better loves the talk of swords than thehandling of them. But the advantage was with Iberville, not merelybecause of more practice, --Gering made up for that by a fine certaintyof nerve, --but because he had a prescient quality of mind, joined to thecalculation of the perfect gamester. From the first Iberville played a waiting game. He knew Gering'simpulsive nature, and he wished to draw him on, to irritate him, as onlyone swordsman can irritate another. Gering suddenly led off with adisengage from the carte line into tierce, and, as he expected, met theshort parry and riposte. Gering tried by many means to draw Iberville'sattack, and, failing to do so, played more rapidly than he ought, whichwas what Iberville wished. Presently Iberville's chance came. In the carelessness of annoyance, Gering left part of his sword arm uncovered, while he was meditating acomplex attack, and he paid the penalty by getting a sharp prick fromIberville's sword-point. The warning came to Gering in time. When theycrossed swords again, Iberville, whether by chance or by momentary wantof skill, parried Gering's disengage from tierce to carte on to his ownleft shoulder. Both had now got a taste of blood, and there is nothing like that to putthe lust of combat into a man. For a moment or two the fight went onwith no special feat, but so hearty became the action that Iberville, seeing Gering flag a little, --due somewhat to loss of blood, suddenlyopened such a rapid attack on the advance that it was all Gering could doto parry, without thought of riposte, the successive lunges of the swiftblade. As he retreated, Gering felt, as he broke ground, that he wasnearing the wall, and, even as he parried, incautiously threw a half-glance over his shoulder to see how near. Iberville saw his chance, hisfinger was shaping a fatal lunge, when there suddenly came from thehallway a woman's voice. So weird was it that both swordsmen drew back, and once more Gering's life was waiting in the hazard. Strange to say, Iberville recognised the voice first. He was angeredwith himself now that he had paused upon the lunge and saved Gering. Suddenly there rioted in him the disappointed vengeance of years. He hadlost her once by sparing this man's life. Should he lose her again? Hissword flashed upward. At that moment Gering recognised his wife's voice, and he turned pale. "My wife!" he exclaimed. They closed again. Gering was now as cold as he had before been ardent, and he played with malicious strength and persistency. His nerves seemedof iron. But there had come to Iberville the sardonic joy of one whoplays for the final hazard, knowing that he shall win. There was onegreat move he had reserved for the last. With the woman's voice at thedoor beseeching, her fingers trembling upon the panel, they couldnot prolong the fight. Therefore, at the moment when Gering was pressingIberville hard, the Frenchman suddenly, with a trick of the Italianschool, threw his left leg en arriere and made a lunge, which ordinarilywould have spitted his enemy, but at the critical moment one word cameringing clearly through the locked door. It was his own name, notIberville, but--"Pierre! Pierre!" He had never heard the voice speak that name. It put out his judgment, and instead of his sword passing through Gering's body it only grazed hisribs. Perhaps there was in him some ancient touch of superstition, some senseof fatalism, which now made him rise to his feet and throw his sword uponthe table. "Monsieur, " he said cynically, "again we are unfortunate. " Then he went to the door, unlocked it, and threw it open upon Jessica. She came in upon them trembling, pale, yet glowing with her anxiety. Instantly Iberville was all courtesy. One could not have guessed that hehad just been engaged in a deadly conflict. As his wife entered, Geringput his sword aside. Iberville closed the door, and the three stoodlooking at each other for a moment. Jessica did not throw herself intoher husband's arms. The position was too painful, too tragic, for eventhe great emotion in her heart. Behind Iberville's courtesy she read thedeadly mischief. But she had a power born for imminent circumstances, and her mind was made up as to her course. It had been made up when, atthe critical moment, she had called out Iberville's Christian name. Sherightly judged that this had saved her husband's life, for she guessedthat Iberville was the better swordsman. She placed her hands with slight resistance on the arms of her husband, who was about to clasp her to his breast, and said: "I am glad to findyou, George. " That was all. He also had heard that cry, "Pierre, " and he felt shamed that his lifewas spared because of it--he knew well why the sword had not gone throughhis body. She felt less humiliation, because, as it seemed to her, shehad a right to ask of Iberville what no other woman could ask for herhusband. A moment after, at Iberville's request, they were all seated. Ibervillehad pretended not to notice the fingers which had fluttered towards him. As yet nothing had been said about the duel, as if by tacit consent. Sofar as Jessica was concerned it might never have happened. As for themen, the swords were there, wet with the blood they had drawn, but theymade no sign. Iberville put meat and wine and fruit upon the table, andpressed Jessica to take refreshment. She responded, for it was inkeeping with her purpose. Presently Iberville said, as he poured aglass of wine for her: "Had you been expected, madame, there werebetter entertainment. " "Your entertainment, monsieur, " she replied, "has two sides, "--sheglanced at the swords, --"and this is the better. " "If it pleases you, madame. " "I dare not say, " she returned, "that my coming was either pleasant orexpected. " He raised his glass towards her: "Madame, I am proud to pledge you oncemore. I recall the first time that we met. " Her reply was instant. "You came, an ambassador of peace to the governorof New York. Monsieur, I come an ambassador of peace to you. " "Yes, I remember. You asked me then what was the greatest, bravest thingI ever did. You ever had a buoyant spirit, madame. " "Monsieur, " she rejoined, with feeling, "will you let me answer thatquestion for you now? The bravest and greatest thing you ever did wasto give a woman back her happiness. " "Have I done so?" "In your heart, yes, I believe. A little while ago my husband's life andfreedom were in your hands--you will place them in mine now, will younot?" Iberville did not reply directly. He twisted his wineglass round, sippedfrom it pleasantly, and said: "Pardon me, madame, how were you admittedhere?" She told him. "Singular, singular!" he replied; "I never knew Perrot fail me before. But you have eloquence, madame, and he knew, no doubt, that you wouldalways be welcome to my home. " There was that in his voice which sent the blood stinging throughGering's veins. He half came to his feet, but his wife's warning, pleading glance brought him to his chair again. "Monsieur, tell me, " she said, "will you give my husband his freedom?" "Madame, his life is the State's. " "But he is in your hands now. Will you not set him free? You know thatthe charge against him is false--false. He is no spy. Oh, monsieur, youand he have been enemies, but you know that he could not do adishonourable thing. " "Madame, my charges against him are true. " "I know what they are, " she said earnestly, "but this strife is notworthy of you, and it is shaming me. Monsieur, you know I speak truly. "You called me Pierre a little while ago, " he said; "will you not now?" His voice was deliberate, every word hanging in its utterance. He had acourteous smile, an apparent abandon of manner, but there was devilrybehind all, for here, for the first time, he saw this woman, fought forand lost, in his presence with her husband, begging that husband's lifeof him. Why had she called him Pierre? Was it because she knew it wouldtouch a tender corner of his heart? Should that be so--well, he wouldwait. "Will you listen to me?" she asked, in a low gentle voice. "I love to hear you speak, " was his reply, and he looked into her eyesas he had boldly looked years before, but his gaze made hers drop. Therewas revealed to her all that was in his mind. "Then, hear me now, " she said slowly. "There was a motherless younggirl. She had as fresh and cheerful a heart as any in the world. Shehad not many playmates, but there was one young lad who shared her sportsand pleasant hours, who was her good friend. Years passed; she wasnearing womanhood, the young man was still her friend, but in his mindthere had come something deeper. A young stranger also came, handsome, brave, and brilliant. He was such a man as any girl could like and anyman admire. The girl liked him, and she admired him. The two young menquarreled; they fought; and the girl parted them. Again they would havefought, but this time the girl's 'life was in danger. The stranger waswounded in saving her. She owed him a debt--such a debt as only a womancan feel; because a woman loves a noble deed more than she loves herlife--a good woman. " She paused, and for an instant something shook in her throat. Herhusband looked at her with a deep wonder. And although Iberville's eyesplayed with his glass of wine, they were fascinated by her face, and hisear was strangely charmed by her voice. "Will you go on?" he said. "The three parted. The girl never forgot the stranger. What might havehappened if he had always been near her, who can tell--who can tell?Again in later years the two men met, the stranger the aggressor--withoutdue cause. " "Pardon me, madame, the deepest cause, " said Iberville meaningly. She pretended not to understand, and continued: "The girl, believing thatwhat she was expected to do would be best for her, promised her hand inmarriage. At this time the stranger came. She saw him but for a day, for an hour, then he passed away. Time went on again, and the two menmet in battle--men now, not boys; once more the stranger was the victor. She married the defeated man. Perhaps she did not love him as much as heloved her, but she knew that the other love, the love of the stranger, was impossible--impossible. She came to care for her husband more andmore--she came to love him. She might have loved the stranger--who cantell? But a woman's heart cannot be seized as a ship or a town. Believeme, monsieur, I speak the truth. Years again passed: her husband's lifewas in the stranger's hand. Through great danger she travelled to pleadfor her husband's life. Monsieur, she does not plead for an unworthycause. She pleads for justice, in the name of honourable warfare, forthe sake of all good manhood. Will--will you refuse her?" She paused. Gering's eyes were glistening. Her honesty, fine eloquence, and simple sincerity, showed her to him in a new, strong light. UponIberville, the greater of the two, it had a greater effect. He sat stillfor a moment, looking at the woman with the profound gaze of one moved tothe soul. Then he got to his feet slowly, opened the door, and quietlycalling Perrot, whispered to him. Perrot threw up his hands in surprise, and hurried away. Then Iberville shut the door, and came back. Neither man had made anyshow of caring for their wounds. Still silent, Iberville drew forthlinen and laid it upon the table. Then he went to the window, and as helooked through the parted curtains out upon the water--the room hung overthe edge of the cliff-he bound his own shoulder. Gering had lost blood, but weak as he was he carried himself well. For full half an hourIberville stood motionless while the wife bound her husband's wounds. At length the door opened and Perrot entered. Iberville did not hear himat first, and Perrot came over to him. "All is ready, monsieur, " hesaid. Iberville, nodding, came to the table where stood the husband and wife, and Perrot left the room. He picked up a sword and laid it besideGering, then waved his hand towards the door. "You are free to go, monsieur, " he said. "You will have escort to yourcountry. Go now--pray, go quickly. " He feared he might suddenly repent of his action, and going to the door, he held it open for them to pass. Gering picked up the sword, found thebelt and sheath, and stepped to the doorway with his wife. Here hepaused as if he would speak to Iberville: he was ready now for finalpeace. But Iberville's eyes looked resolutely away, and Gering sighedand passed into the hallway. Now the wife stood beside Iberville. Shelooked at him steadily, but at first he would not meet her eye. Presently, however, he did so. "Good-bye, " she said brokenly, "I shall always remember--always. " His reply was bitter. "Good-bye, madame: I shall forget. " She made a sad little gesture and passed on, but presently turned, as ifshe could not bear that kind of parting, and stretched out her hands tohim. "Monsieur--Pierre!" she cried, in a weak, choking voice. With hot frank impulse he caught both her hands in his and kissed them. "I shall--remember, " he said, with great gentleness. Then they passed from the hallway, and he was alone. He stood looking atthe closed door, but after a moment went to the table, sat down, andthrew his head forward in his arms. An hour afterwards, when Count Frontenac entered upon him, he was stillin the same position. Frontenac touched him on the arm, and he rose. The governor did not speak, but caught him by the shoulders with bothhands, and held him so for a moment, looking kindly at him. Ibervillepicked up his sword from the table and said calmly: "Once, sir, you made it a choice between the woman and the sword. " Then he raised the sword and solemnly pressed his lips against thehilt-cross.