In a Strange Fellowship
I took Marc and the ladies to the house of one Giraud, a well-tried and
trusted retainer, to whom I told the whole affair. Then I sent a
speedy messenger to Father Fafard, begging him to come at once. The
Cure of Grand Pre was a skilled physician, and I looked to him to treat
Marc's wound better than I could hope to do. My purpose, as I unfolded
it to Marc and to the ladies that same evening, sitting by Marc's
pallet at the open cottage door, was to start the very next day in
quest of the stolen child. I would take but one follower, to help me
paddle, for I would rely not on force but on cunning in this venture.
I would warn some good men among my tenants, and certain others who
were in the counsels of the Forge, to keep an unobtrusive guard about
the place, till Marc's wound should be so far healed that he might go
to Grand Pre. And further, I would put them all in the hands of Father
Fafard, with whom even the Black Abbe would scarce dare to meddle
openly.
"The Cure," said I, turning to Mizpah, "you may trust both for his
wisdom and his goodness. With him you will all be secure till my
return."
Mizpah bowed her head in acknowledgment, and looked at me gratefully,
but could not trust herself to speak. She sat a little apart, by the
door, and was making a mighty effort to maintain her outward composure.
Then I turned to where Marc's face, pallid but glad, shone dimly on his
pillow. I took his hand, I felt his pulse--for the hundredth time,
perhaps. There was no more fever, no more prostration, than was to be
accounted inevitable from such a wound. So I said:--
"Does the plan commend itself to you, dear lad? It troubles me sore to
leave you in this plight; but Father Fafard is skilful, and I think you
will not fret for lack of tender nursing. You will not _need_ me, lad;
but there is a little lad with yellow hair who needs me now, and I must
go to him."
The moment I had spoken these last words I wished them back, for Mizpah
broke down all at once in a terrible passion of tears. But I was ever
a bungler where women are concerned, ever saying the wrong thing, ever
slow to understand their strange, swift shiftings of mood. This time,
however, I understood; for with my words a black realization of the
little one's lonely fear came down upon my own soul, till my heart
cried out with pity for him; and Prudence fell a-weeping by Marc's
head. But she stopped on the instant, fearing to excite Marc
hurtfully, and Marc said:--
"Indeed, Father, think not a moment more of me. 'Tis the poor little
lad that needs you. Oh that I too could go with you on the quest!"
"To-morrow I go," said I, positively, "just as soon as I have seen
Father Fafard."
As I spoke, Mizpah went out suddenly, and walked with rapid strides
down the road, passing Giraud on the way as he came from mending the
little canoe which I was to take. I had chosen a small and light
craft, not knowing what streams I might have to ascend, what long
carries I might have to make. As Mizpah passed him, going on to lean
her arms upon the fence and stare out across the water, Giraud turned
to watch her for a moment. Then, as he came up to the door where we
sat, he took off his woollen cap, and said simply, "Poor lady! it goes
hard with her."
"My friend," said I, "will these, while I am gone, be safe here from
their enemies,--even should the Black Abbe come in person?"
"Master," he replied, with a certain proud nobility, which had ever
impressed me in the man, "if any hurt comes to them, it will be not
over my dead body alone, but over those of a dozen more stout fellows
who would die to serve you."
"I believe you," said I, reaching out my hand. He kissed it, and went
off quickly about his affairs.
Hardly was he gone when Mizpah came back. She was very pale and calm,
and her eyes shone with the fire of some intense purpose. Had I known
woman's heart as do some of my friends whom I could mention, I should
have fathomed that purpose at her first words. But as I have said, I
am slow to understand a woman's hints and objects, though men I can
read ere their thoughts find speech. There was a faint glory of the
last of sunset on Mizpah's face and hair as she stood facing me, her
lips parted to speak. Behind her lay the little garden, with its
sunflowers and lupines, and its thicket of pole beans in one corner.
Then, beyond the gray fence, the smooth tide of the expanding river,
violet-hued, the copper and olive wood, the marshes all greenish amber,
and the dusky purple of the hills. It was all stamped upon my memory
in delectable and imperishable colours, though I know that at the
moment I saw only Mizpah's tall grace, her red-gold hair, the eyes that
seemed to bring my spirit to her feet. I was thinking, "Was there ever
such another woman's face, or a presence so gracious?" when I realized
that she was speaking.
"Do I paddle well, Monsieur?" she asked, with the air of one who
repeats a question.
"Pardon, a thousand pardons, Madame!" I exclaimed. "Yes, you use your
paddle excellently well."
"And I can shoot, I can shoot very skilfully," she went on, with strong
emphasis. "I can handle both pistol and musket."
"Indeed, Madame!" said I, considerably astonished.
"Ask Marc if I am not a cunning shot," she persisted, while her eyes
seemed to burn through me in their eager intentness.
"Yes, Father," came Marc's whispered response out of the shadow, where
I saw only the bended head of the maid Prudence. "Yes, Father, she is
a more cunning marksman than I."
I turned again to her, and saw that she expected, that she thirsted
for, an answer. But what answer?
"Madame," said I, bowing profoundly, and hoping to cover my
bewilderment with a courtly speech, "may I hope that you will fire a
good shot for me some day; I should account it an honour above all
others if I might be indebted to such a hand for such succour."
She clasped her hands in a great gladness, crying, "Then I _may_ go
with you?"
"Go with me!" I cried, looking at her in huge amazement.
"She wants to help you find the child," whispered Marc.
The thought of this white girl among the perils which I saw before me
pierced my heart with a strange pang, and in my haste I cried rudely:--
"Nonsense! Impossible! Why, it would be mere madness!"
So bitter was the pain of disappointment which wrung her face that I
put out both hands towards her in passionate deprecation.
"Forgive me; oh, forgive me, Madame!" I pleaded. "But how _could_ I
bring you into such perils?"
But she caught my hands and would have gone on her knees to me if I had
not stayed her roughly.
"Take me with you," she implored. "I can paddle, I can serve you as
well as any man whom you can get. And I am brave, believe me. And how
_can_ I wait here when my boy, my darling, my Philip, is alone among
those beasts? I would die every hour."
How could I refuse her? Yet refuse her I would, I must. To take her
would be to lessen my own powers, I thought, and to add tenfold to the
peril of the venture. Nevertheless my heart did now so leap at the
thought of this strange, close fellowship which she demanded, that I
came near to silencing my better judgment, and saying she might go.
But I shut my teeth obstinately on the words.
At this moment, while she waited trembling, Marc once more intervened.
"You might do far worse than take her, Father. No one else will serve
you more bravely or more skilfully, I think."
So Marc actually approved of this incredible proposal? Then was it,
after all, so preposterous? My wavering must have shown itself in my
face, for her own began to lighten rarely.
"But--those clothes!" said I.
At this she flushed to her ears. But she answered bravely.
"I will wear others; did you think I would so hamper you with this
guise? No," she added with a little nervous laugh, "I will play the
man; be sure."
And so, though I could scarce believe it, it was settled that Mizpah
Hanford should go with me.
That night I found little sleep. My thoughts were a chaos of
astonishment and apprehension. Marc, moreover, kept tossing, for his
wound fretted him sorely, and I was continually at his side to give him
drink. At about two in the morning there came a horseman to the garden
gate, riding swiftly. Hurrying out I met him in the path. It was
Father Fafard, come straight upon my word. He turned his horse into
Giraud's pasture, put saddle and bridle in the porchway, and then
followed me in to Marc's bedside.
When he had dressed the wound anew, and administered a soothing
draught, Marc fell into a quiet sleep.
"He will do well, but it is a matter for long patience," said the Cure.
Then we went out of the house and down to the garden corner by the
thicket of beans, where we might talk freely and jar no slumberers.
Father Fafard fell in with my plans most heartily, and accepted my
charges. To hold the Black Abbe in check at any point, would, he felt,
be counted unto him for righteousness.
My mind being thus set at ease, I resolved to start as soon as might be
after daybreak.
Before it was yet full day, I was again astir, and goodwife Giraud was
getting ready, in bags, our provision of bacon and black bread. I had
many small things to do,--gathering ammunition for two muskets and four
pistols, selecting my paddles with care from Giraud's stock, and
loading the canoe to the utmost advantage for ease of running and
economy of space. Then, as I went in to the goodwife's breakfast, I
was met at the door by a slim youth in leathern coat and leggins, with
two pistols and Marc's whinger. I recognized the carven hilt stuck
bravely in his belt, and Marc's knitted cap of gray wool on his head,
well pulled down. The boy blushed, but met my eye with a sweet
firmness, and I bowed with great courtesy. Even in this attire I
thought she could not look aught but womanly--for it was Mistress
Mizpah. Yet I could not but confess that to the stranger she would
appear but as a singularly handsome stripling. The glory of her hair
was hidden within her cap.
"These are the times," said I, seriously, "that breed brave women."
Breakfast done, messages and orders repeated, and farewells all spoken,
the sun was perhaps an hour high when we paddled away from the little
landing under Giraud's garden fence. I waved my cap backwards to
Prudence and the Cure, where they stood side by side at the landing.
My comrade in the bow waved her hand once, then fell to paddling
diligently. I was still in a maze of wonderment, ready at any time to
wake and find it a dream. But the little seas that slapped us as we
cleared the river mouth, these were plainly real. I headed for the
eastern point of the island, intending to land at the mouth of the
Piziquid and make some inquiries. The morning air was like wine in my
veins. There was a gay dancing of ripples over toward Blomidon, and
the sky was a clear blue. A dash of cool drops wet me. It was no
dream.
And so in a strange fellowship I set out to find the child.