A Little Girl in Old Quebec by Amanda Minnie Douglas (kiss me liar novel english TXT) 📖

disabled than we supposed. But we shall soon know."

Oh, what if he were dead! A blackness fell over everything. She caught Wanamee's arm for support. It was growing so dark they kept closer together. The dead leaves rustled under their feet, now and then in an opening they saw the sky in the soft, whitish-gray tints before it turns to blue.

There was a shrill, prolonged whistle.

"They are coming back with news." Savignon guessed it was not cheering. He answered through his fingers.

The two scouts came hurrying forward.

"They are gone. They must have taken some other road. The campfire is out, the stones are missing. What shall we do?"

Rose gave a soft, appealing cry, that she vainly strove to restrain.

"We had better go on. We must stop for the night. It is too dark to find their trail."

It seemed to Rose as if she would sink to the ground with indescribable terror.

"Oh, do you think----" She caught Savignon's arm.

"They have started on and missed the trail," he replied, in an almost indifferent tone, but he guessed in his heart there had been some surprise. "We must find the old place and camp for the night. To-morrow we will seek out the trail."

"You do not think there can have been----" Her voice faltered for very fear.

"We had best think nothing. We should no doubt come wide of the mark. Let us push on," to the men.

There were heavy hearts and slow steps. It seemed as if it must be midnight when they reached the clearing, though it was not that late. They built their fire. Cadotte and Savignon took a survey.

"Another party has been here," Cadotte exclaimed, in a whisper. "There has been a struggle. They are carried off somewhere."

"Do not speak of it to-night. The women are tired. And Mam'selle will have a thousand fears."

They found the others busy with fire and supper. Rose sat apart, her face buried in her hands, a thousand wild fears chasing one another through her mind. Life would be dreary if--if what? If he were dead? Had he suffered long with no one to cheer? Or had he been suddenly despatched by some marauding party? Then they would find his poor body. Yes, to-morrow they would know all.

She did not want any supper and crept to bed, weeping out her fears in Wanamee's arms.

They were all astir the next morning at daybreak. It was a little cloudy. The three days had been unusually fine. Savignon had been tracing this and that clew, and presently came upon a piece of wampum, with a curious Huron design at one end. And a little further on he found a trail where things had been roughly dragged. But he came to breakfast with no explanation.

Did the Rose of Quebec care so much for this man? He had been like a father to her, perhaps it was only a child's love. But now M. Destournier was free to choose a new wife--if he were alive. He was a brave man, a fine man, but if he were dead! The Hurons would show scant pity to a disabled man. Savignon had done and would do his best, but somehow he could not feel so bitterly grieved. He loved this woman--he knew that now.

They were discussing plans when a near-by step startled them. Parting the undergrowth, a torn and dishevelled man appeared. It was Paul De Loie. He almost dropped on the ground at their feet.

"I have run all night," he cried gaspingly. "The Hurons! They took us prisoners, and the stores. They are expecting another relay of the tribe, and are going up north for the winter, to join the Ottawas. But first they are to have a carouse and dance," and the three prisoners are to be tortured and put to death. He had escaped. He supposed the party would be back for M. Destournier and the stores. They must fly at once, and return if they would save their lives. And what madness possessed them to bring women!

"Wait!" commanded Savignon. "Let us go apart, De Loie, and consider the matter," and taking the man by the arm, he raised him and walked him a little distance.

"Now tell me--M. Destournier--how did he progress?"

"Well, indeed. We made him a crutch. We decided to take what stores we could manage, and resume our journey, thinking we would be met by some of the party. _Ma foi_, if we had started a day earlier! There were not many of them, but twice too many for us. There was nothing to do, we could gain nothing by selling our lives, we thought, but now they will take them. In two days the rest of the party, thirty or forty, will join them. We cannot rescue the others. Vauban could have escaped, but he would not leave M. Destournier. And now retrace your steps at once."

Savignon buried his face in his hands, in deep thought. Should he try to rescue these men? The Hurons were superstitious. More than once he had played on Indian credulity. He held some curious secrets, he had the wampum belt that he could produce, as if by magic. He was fond, too, of adventure, of power. And he imagined he saw a way to win the prize he coveted. He was madly, wildly in love with Rose. She was heroic. If she would grant his desire, the safety of three people would accrue from it. And surely she had not loved the Frenchman, who until a brief while ago had a wife. As he understood, they had been as parents to her. She was young, but if a man could inspire her with love--with gratitude even----

He questioned De Loie very closely. The trouble with Destournier would be his inability to travel rapidly. They would soon be overtaken. Escape that way was not feasible.

"I will consider. Come and share our breakfast."

Rose was walking by herself, on the outskirts of the clearing, her slim hands clasped together, her head drooping, and even so her figure would have attracted a sculptor. The Indian was enchanted with it. To clasp it in his arms--ah, the thought set his hot blood in a flame.

She turned and raised her eyes beseechingly, her beautiful, fathomless eyes in whose depths a man easily lost himself, the curved sweetness of the mouth that one might drain and drain, and never quite have his fill.

"What is it, M'sieu? Is there any hope? Can nothing be done?" Her voice went to his heart.

"What would you be willing to do, Mam'selle?"

"If I were a man I would attempt his rescue, or die with him. It would not be so hard to die holding a friend's hand."

"You love him very much?"

The love Savignon meant had so little place in her thoughts that the question did not cause her to change color.

"He was so good to me when I was little, and ill for a long while. He used to hold me on his knee, and let my head rest on his strong breast. And when I was well again we climbed rocks, and he showed me where the choicest wild fruit grew. And we went out in the canoe. He taught me to read, he had books of strange, beautiful stories. And after he married miladi he took me in his home as if I was a child. Ah, I could not help loving one so kind, unless I had been made of stone. And I wanted to comfort him in his sorrow."

Her voice, in its pathos, the eyes luminous with tears that did not fall, swept through the man like a devouring flame. He must have her. He would risk all, he would test her very soul.

"You have not said what you would give."

"My life, M'sieu, if I could exchange it for his."

"It does not need that. Listen, Mam'selle: When I first looked upon you, I was swept away with a strange emotion. I had seen lovely girls, there are some in our own race, with eyes of velvet, and lips that tempt kisses. And I knew when I helped you get your way on this expedition, what it was; that I loved you, that I would have kissed the ground you had walked on. And on our journey here I have dreamed beautiful, thrilling dreams of you. I slept at the door of your improvised tent lest some danger should come upon you unawares. Last night when I noted your tired step I wanted to take you in my arms and carry you. You have filled my soul and my body with the rapture of love. I can think of nothing else but the bliss of straining you to my heart, of touching your lips with the fire that plays about mine, like the rosy lightning that flashes through the heavens, engendered by the heat of the day. Oh, take me for your husband, and your life shall be filled with the best I can give. You shall not weary your small hands with work, they shall be kept for a husband's kisses. I will worship you as the priests do their Virgin."

She had been transfixed at the outburst and flaming, passionate tone, that in its vehemence seemed to grow finer, loftier. Was that love's work?

"But it will not save M. Destournier," she wailed.

"Listen again." He stood up, manly and strong, and somehow touched her with a subtle influence. It is not in a woman's nature to listen to a tale of passionate love unmoved. "Once, among the Hurons an old witch woman was wild to adopt me for her son. She gave me a great many secret charms, many you white people would think the utmost foolishness. Some were curious. And my people are superstitious. I have used them more than once to the advantage of myself and others. I have brought about peace between warring tribes. I have prevented war. I will go to the Hurons, and try for M. Destournier's liberty. From what De Loie said, they mean to sacrifice the men to-morrow. There are horrid, agonizing tortures before death comes. If you will promise to marry me I will go at once and do my utmost to rescue him, them."

"And if you fail?" Her very breath seemed like a blast of winter cold.

"Then, Mam'selle, I can ask no reward, only a share in your sorrow. I will try to lighten their sufferings. That is all I can do."

She crossed her arms upon her breast and rocked herself to and fro.

"Oh, I cannot, I cannot," she said, with a cry of anguish. "Another man, our dear Madame de Champlain's brother asked this thing of me, and I could not. I do not want to marry."

"All women do in their hearts," he said moodily.

Was she not quite a woman yet? Had she just the soul of the little girl who had climbed trees, scaled rocks, and plunged headlong into the river to swim like a fish!

"It is three lives," he said, with the persuasive voice of the tempter.

Three lives! And among them her best friend! Something rose in her throat, and she thought she was dying.

"And if I cannot?" in a tone of desperate anguish.

"Then we must start homeward at once. When the Hurons have whet their appetite with their hellish pleasure, it is not easily satisfied. They will look about for more fuel to