I CHOOSE MY FUTURE
He backed out the door, growling and threatening. I caught little of
what he said, nor did I in the least care. All I asked, or desired,
was to be alone, to be free of his presence. I swung the door in his
very face, and fastened the bar. Through the thick wood his voice
still penetrated in words of hatred. Then it ceased, and I was alone
in the silence, sinking down nerveless beside the table, my face
buried in my hands.
I had done right; I knew I had done right, yet the reaction left me
weak and pulseless. I saw now clearly what must be done. Never could I
live with this Cassion; never again could I acknowledge him as
husband. Right or wrong, whatever the Church might do, or the world
might say, I had come to the parting of the ways; here and now I must
choose my own life, obey the dictates of my own conscience. I had been
wedded by fraud to a man I despised; my hatred had grown until now I
knew that I would rather be dead than live in his presence.
If this state of mind was sin, it was beyond my power to rid myself of
the curse; if I was already condemned of Holy Church because of
failure to abide by her decree, then there was naught left but for me
to seek my own happiness, and the happiness of the man I loved.
I lifted my head, strengthened by the very thought, the red blood
tingling again through my veins. The truth was mine; I felt no
inclination to obscure it. The time had come for rejoicing, and
action. I loved Rene de Artigny, and, although he had never spoken the
word, I knew he loved me. Tomorrow he would be in exile, a wanderer of
the woods, an escaped prisoner, under condemnation of death, never
again safe within reach of French authority. Ay, but he should not go
alone; in the depths of those forests, beyond the arm of the law,
beyond even the grasp of the Church, we should be together. In our own
hearts love would justify. Without a qualm of conscience, without even
a lingering doubt, I made the choice, the final decision.
I know not how long it took me to think this all out, until I had
accepted fate; but I do know the decision brought happiness and
courage. Food was brought me by a strange Indian, apparently unable
to speak French; nor would he even enter the room, silently handing
me the platter through the open door. Two sentries stood just
without--soldiers of De Baugis, I guessed, as their features were
unfamiliar. They gazed at me curiously, as I stood in the doorway, but
without changing their attitudes. Plainly I was held prisoner also;
M. Cassion's threat was being put into execution. This knowledge
merely served to strengthen my decision, and I closed, and barred
the door again, smiling as I did so.
It grew dusk while I made almost vain effort to eat, and, at last,
pushing the pewter plate away, I crossed over, and cautiously opened
the wooden shutter of the window. The red light of the sunset still
illumined the western sky, and found glorious reflection along the
surface of the river. It was a dizzy drop to the bed of the stream
below, but Indians were on the opposite bank, beyond rifle shot, in
considerable force, a half-dozen canoes drawn up on the sandy shore,
and several fires burning. They were too far away for me to judge
their tribe, yet a number among them sported war bonnets, and I had no
doubt they were Iroquois.
So far as I could perceive elsewhere there was no movement, as my eyes
traveled the half circle, over a wide vista of hill and dale, green
valley and dark woods, although to the left I could occasionally hear
the sharp report of a rifle, in evidence that besieging savages were
still watchful of the fort entrance. I could not lean out far enough
to see in that direction, yet as the night grew darker the vicious
spits of fire became visible. Above me the solid log walls arose but a
few feet--a tall man might stand upon the window ledge, and find grip
of the roof; but below was the sheer drop to the river--perchance two
hundred feet beneath. Already darkness shrouded the water, as the
broad valley faded into the gloom of the night.
There was naught for me to do but sit and wait. The guard which M.
Cassion had stationed at the door prevented my leaving the room, but
its more probable purpose was to keep others from communicating with
me. De Tonty had evidently resorted to diplomacy, and instead of
quarreling with the three officers when they approached him, had
greeted them all so genially as to leave the impression that he was
disposed to permit matters to take their natural course. He might be
watched of course, yet was no longer suspicioned as likely to help
rescue the prisoner. All their fear now was centered upon me, and my
possible influence.
If I could be kept from any further communication with either De
Artigny, or De Tonty, it was scarcely probable that any of the
garrison would make serious effort to interfere with their plans. De
Tonty's apparent indifference, and his sudden friendliness with De
Baugis and Cassion, did not worry me greatly. I realized his purpose
in thus diverting suspicion. His pledge of assistance had been given
me, and his was the word of a soldier and gentleman. In some manner,
and soon--before midnight certainly--I would receive message from
Boisrondet.
Yet my heart failed me more than once as I waited. How long the time
seemed, and how deadly silent was the night. Crouched close beside the
door I could barely hear the muttered conversation of the soldiers on
guard; and when I crossed to the open window I looked out upon a black
void, utterly soundless. Not even the distant crack of a rifle now
broke the solemn stillness, and the only spot of color visible was the
dull red glow of a campfire on the opposite bank of the river. I had
no way of computing time, and the lagging hours seemed centuries long,
as terrifying doubts assailed me.
Every new thought became an agony of suspense. Had the plans failed?
Had Boisrondet discovered the prisoner so closely guarded as to make
rescue impossible? Had his nerve, his daring, vanished before the real
danger of the venture? Had De Artigny refused to accept the chance?
What had happened; what was happening out there in the mystery?
All I could do was pray, and wait. Perhaps no word would be given
me--the escape might already be accomplished, and I left here to my
fate. Boisrondet knew nothing of my decision to accompany De Artigny
in his exile. If the way was difficult and dangerous, he might not
consider it essential to communicate with me at all. De Tonty had
promised, to be sure, yet he might have failed to so instruct the
younger man. I clung to the window, the agony of this possibility,
driving me wild.
_Mon Dieu!_ was that a noise overhead? I could see nothing, yet, as I
leaned further out, a cord touched my face. I grasped it, and drew the
dangling end in. It was weighted with a bit of wood. A single coal
glowed in the fireplace, and from this I ignited a splinter, barely
yielding me light enough to decipher the few words traced on the white
surface: "Safe so far; have you any word?"
My veins throbbed; I could have screamed in delight, or sobbed in
sudden joy and relief. I fairly crept to the window on hands and
knees, animated now with but one thought, one hope--the desire not to
be left here behind, alone. I hung far out, my face upturned, staring
into the darkness. The distance was not great, only a few feet to the
roof above, yet so black was the night that the edge above me blended
imperceptibly against the sky. I could perceive no movement, no
outline. Could they have already gone? Was it possible that they
merely dropped this brief message, and instantly vanished? No, the
cord still dangled; somewhere in that dense gloom, the two men peered
over the roof edge waiting my response.
"Monsieur," I called up softly, unable to restrain my eagerness.
"Yes, Madame," it was De Artigny's voice, although a mere whisper.
"You have some word for me?"
"Ay, listen; is there any way by which I can join you?"
"Join me--here?" astonishment at my request made him incoherent. "Why,
Madame, the risk is great--"
"Never mind that; my reason is worthy, nor have we time now to discuss
the matter. Monsieur Boisrondet is there a way?"
I heard them speak to each other, a mere murmur of sound; then another
voice reached my ears clearly.
"We have a strong grass rope, Madame, which will safely bear your
weight. The risk will not be great. I have made a noose, and will
lower it."
I reached it with my hand, but felt a doubt as my fingers clasped it.
"'Tis very small, Monsieur."
"But strong enough for double your weight, as 'twas Indian woven. Put
foot in the noose, and hold tight. There are two of us holding it
above."
The memory of the depth below frightened me, yet I crept forth on the
narrow sill, clinging desperately to the taut rope, until I felt my
foot safely pressed into the noose, which tightened firmly about it.
"Now," I said, barely able to make my lips speak. "I am ready."
"Then swing clear, Madame; we'll hold you safe."
I doubt if it was a full minute in which I swung out over that gulf
amid the black night. My heart seemed to stop beating, and I retained
no sense other than to cling desperately to the swaying cord which
alone held me from being dashed to death on the jagged rocks below.
Inch by inch they drew me up, the continuous jerks yielding a
sickening sensation, but the distance was so short, I could scarcely
realize the full danger, before De Artigny grasped me with his hands,
and drew me in beside him on the roof. I stood upon my feet, trembling
from excitement, yet encouraged in my purpose, by his first words of
welcome.
"Adele," he exclaimed, forgetful of the presence of his comrade.
"Surely you had serious cause for joining us here."
"Am I welcome, Monsieur?"
"Can you doubt? Yet surely it was not merely to say farewell that you
assumed such risk?"
"No, Monsieur, it was not to say farewell. I would accompany you in
your flight. Do not start like that at my words; I cannot see your
face--perhaps if I could I should lose courage. I have made my choice,
Monsieur. I will not remain the slave of M. Cassion. Whether for good
or evil I give you my faith."
"You--you," his hands grasped mine. "You mean you will go with me into
exile, into the woods?"
"Yes, Monsieur."
"But do you realize what it all means? I am a fugitive, a hunted man;
never again can I venture within French civilization. I must live
among savages. No, no, Adele, the sacrifice is too great. I cannot
accept of it."
"Do you love me, Monsieur?"
"_Mon Dieu_--yes."
"Then there is no sacrifice. My heart would break here. God! Would you
doom me to live out my life with that brute--that murderer? I am a
young woman, a mere girl, and this is my one chance to save myself
from hell. I am not afraid of the woods, of exile, of anything, so I
am with you. I would rather die than go to him--to confess him
husband."
"The lady is right, Rene," Boisrondet said earnestly. "You must think
of her as well as yourself."
"Think of her! _Mon Dieu_, of whom else do I think. Adele, do you mean
your words? Would you give up all for me?"
"Yes, Monsieur."
"But do you know what your choice means?"
I stood before him, brave in the darkness.
"Monsieur I have faced it all. I know; the choice is made--will you
take me?"
Then I was in his strong arms, and for the first time, his lips met
mine.