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CHAPTER XV
GLORIOUS LIFE

When Madame found La Salle gone and the fire black in the early morning, she frowned until her eyes became hidden and went back to the palisade, passing her old servant, who was shredding ears of wild rice. She entered the windy house calling. Soon she came out, shaking a willow stick in her angry hand, and stopped opposite the old man, who continued his work, grumbling softly to himself, "Ah, Father Creator! Father Creator! Why do you send this north wind in summer time? The day is dark and cold. Send us the west wind, Father Creator."

"Have you heard noises in the night?" Madame's voice grated.

"I slept with the wind in my ears," answered the native.

"Have you seen my daughter, or the young Englishman?"

"I have seen the light struggling to break, and the grey heaven rushing, and the thick wind beating. I saw a red fox run and a blue-bird chattering across the wind," said the old man.

"Have you not seen the priest?" urged Madame.

"I was up at the dawn," replied the stolid worker. "The fire was dead and the sleeping-place white with rain. A bear was seeking warmth upon the embers."

"I have been blind and deaf," cried Madame in a rage.

At the first glance of light the cabin was as noisy as an ocean cave. Madeleine's brain became too active for sleep when she knew that the day was at hand. She rose softly, glowing with her new-found happiness, and as she stirred she murmured the intensely human line of that unhappy boy Kit Marlowe, who had perished in a tavern brawl a few years before her birth, "Whoever loved that loved not at first sight?" She darted up with that thought, but a coil of her long hair tightened, and there came a startled movement from beyond the wall.

"Hush!" she whispered, lifting a pink finger, forgetful that he could not see.

"Is it the day?" said Geoffrey.

"Yes, yes. Release me. Let me fly. Do you not hear the wind?"

"I am listening to you," he answered.

"Forget me. Listen! That was like thunder. Are you listening?"

"I am coming out with you," he said.

Reaching the open, Geoffrey discovered Madeleine, her arms outstretched, her hair rising in ripples above her head as she bathed in the wind, battling and panting, her lovely face all heather-pink.

"I can smell the pines," she gasped, "and the salt sea, and the mountains. I can hear the roaring of water and see the soaring of eagles. Oh, oh!" she panted. "It is glorious to live!"

She cried as she drew him away impetuously:

"The black priest has gone. Let us hope that he has been blown away into a swamp, where the fairies shall bewitch him into a frog to croak at the world for ever. Come now away. Tell me whether you had dreams in the night. But stay!"

She drew away from him suddenly.

"Madeleine!" he exclaimed, wondering at her changed face.

"I must remove this mask," she cried in a stately fashion, frowning and placing her hands upon her sides. "Sir, who are you that you should strive to win the heart of Madeleine Labroquerie? Why, I have sworn to wed a knight, a man of title and estate, and you, a smooth-faced boy, with long hair and cheeks as pink as mine, you come and speak to me of love. Sir, how dare you thus to use an innocent maid?"

She passed on ahead of her astonished lover and the trees of the grove closed round them.

"Madeleine – " he began, protesting.

"Madeleine," she imitated. "Here is free-speech indeed. Now, sir, stand and let me show you what you are. You are an Englishman, an adventurer, one of a small band who think themselves strong enough to attack the power of France in this new land, and you, the enemy of my people, come to me with a tale of love, believing me to be a maid of the wilds to be won and cast aside at will. Speak not to me. I will not hear you. I am no simple provincial maid that I should fall in love with a soldier's handsome face. Last night, yes, last night, after an acquaintance of but three days, you dared to own your love, and to humour you – in truth I was afraid – I confessed that I also loved you. I, a French girl, such a traitress as to love an enemy of my people! I was but fooling you. How I laughed to myself at deceiving you so readily."

She laughed disdainfully and curled her lovely lip.

"I fear I have already tarried here too long," was all that Geoffrey could say.

"Stay one moment," cried the haughty beauty. "I should be base did I not warn you. Soldiers are waiting for you upon every side. East, west, north, and south they lie in wait for you."

"There are no soldiers nearer than the fortress," said Geoffrey wildly.

"You may believe so," replied the traitress. "But you have learnt little of this country if you do not know that military posts are set about from place to place. One such post is near at hand, and thither I sent our servant after your coming. Can you not perceive that I have betrayed you?"

Had Geoffrey looked he might have seen her shiver as she spoke.

"I thank you for your warning, but I may stay no longer," the young man said, and he stepped away with his head down.

"Which way do you take?" she demanded.

"I am southward bound."

"You are – brave, friend."

"Friend!" he exclaimed, with a sobbing note of indignation. "Would you have me trust in you again?"

"I had forgot," she admitted. "Are you going now?"

He moved on through the grove; but he had not made a dozen steps before she called to him.

"Have you, then, no word of farewell?"

He turned, but did not look at her as he said: "May you live to fortune and a happy future."

"You said you loved me," said Madeleine, her figure drooping. "Why did you deceive me?"

"I loved you," he said hotly, moving back a step. "And I love you still. When I first saw you standing by the fire with the sun falling on your head I loved you. When I have left you I shall see, not the girl who desired to betray me, but her who gave me this to hold for my protection while I slept."

He drew forth a long coil of golden-brown hair and held it in the wind.

"You cut it off," she faltered. Then her manner changed again. "Throw it down. Stamp upon it. Tread it into the ground."

"I use it," he said, "as I longed to use you." And he put the lock back into his bosom.

At that she ran forward with the cry: "You love me. Take me there, Geoffrey. That is my place. I will not be held out. Geoffrey, I love you. Oh, blind, blind! I love you with all my heart and soul."

She tried to force herself into his arms, warm, loving, and irresistible.

"I am the wickedest of liars," she breathed, twisting her fingers within his. "I would not have gone so far, but I thought that you knew. I thought that you feigned to hate me in return for my cruelty. Ah, Geoffrey, I loved you when first our eyes met. I did so desire your love, but, sweetheart – foolish, credulous – I – I feared you might think I was won too easily. Will you value your prize the more, when I tell you that my treachery, the story of the soldiers, the settlement? – Oh, oh!"

He guessed what she would have said, and so had seized her.

"Betray you, blind love!" she whispered. "Dear foolish sweetheart, I would open my veins and give my blood for you. How I tortured you! Knowing what a cruel nature your love possesses, knowing it, can you still love her?"

"Madeleine – "

"Stop," she entreated, lifting her violet eyes. "Repeat that name a hundred times, and find for it a new attribute of love each time. But let the first be false and the second fair."

"Sweet Madeleine!"

"Call me so, Geoffrey," she murmured. "And I shall not wish to change."

There was a hill beyond, its sides covered with bleached grass, and above a few gaunt pines beating their ragged heads together and stabbing one upon the other with jagged arms where limbs had been amputated by previous storms. To this place Madeleine led her lover.

It was a strange day. Though long past sunrise there was barely light. The clouds swept low, grey or indigo masses rushing south with the speed of rapids. The dark, solid wind of the lowlands came in a furious succession of great waves. The lovers might have been upon an island with the ocean roaring round in storm. Out of the gloom the wet rocks glimmered and the trunks of long-fallen trees described weird shapes upon the plain.

"This is life!" cried Madeleine. "Glorious life!"

Geoffrey held her closely, looking down upon her wet and radiant face.

"We can fight together, you and I," she went on. "No wind shall conquer while we hold together. It may roar at us, but we are young and strong, and the wind is old and worn. Think you that you can bear with me always? I promise you I will never use deceit again. We shall be together when the winds have all passed under heaven, and the trees are gone, and the seas have dried. Our souls will live in the same life and the same love. Together while the old world crumbles, and the sun becomes cold, and the moon fades. There is no death. We shall close our eyes one day and change our home. Life will run on for us, the same magnificent life of love."

"There is no death," he repeated, as though the idea had not occurred to him before.

"How many thousand years has this wind rushed upon this hill? How many thousand shall it beat after we have changed our home? We are made to live, Geoffrey. It is not we who are sick, not we who are oppressed. We are made of stuff that does not perish, not flesh and blood which wither, but breath and love. Kiss me, Geoffrey, kiss me with your soul."

"Sweet, you have more knowledge than I," cried Geoffrey as he kissed her eyes.

"See that huge cloud! How the monster wishes to smother us! There it rushes, flinging its rain to spite us."

"I shall see this wild spot for ever," he murmured.

"In years to come," said Madeleine, "a city perchance may grow in this solitude, and where we now sit a palace or a cathedral may be built, a king may command, a pastor teach his people, bells may ring for Christmas, and heralds sound their trumpets. But we shall not see that city, my Geoffrey. We shall look below the brick and the stir of people, and we shall see a hill of white grass with old pines atop, and below streaming rocks and decaying trunks, with beyond a grove all covered in damp gloom and lashed by wind."

"I can see the faces of my friends," he muttered.

The girl turned upon his shoulder and drew his face lower with her cold hand, lifting her own until their eyes met.

"Look there," she entreated. "Tell me what you see."

"Heaven opening." He paused. "I see also my duty to my neighbour."

Madeleine's head drooped. Presently a small voice whispered out of the wind, "I would have you obey that message, lest by offending God we wreck our happiness."

"I live upon your will."

"You must leave me. You shall not see me shed a tear. But I must have you for this day, and afterwards" – she caught her breath. "Had ever a young soldier so brave a love?"

He kissed her hands, and her cold face, and her hair, which dripped like seaweed.

"No ifs," she implored, when her ears caught his broken words. "The doubter fails. Look upon the deed as done, and God shall pardon the presumption, because He was once a young man upon earth, and He knows the longing of a brave heart. Already I think of you, not as going forth to duty, but as returning to claim me for your bride."

"I shall succeed," he cried, in a voice which defied the winds. "Madeleine, you have made me strong. Listen, sweet. I have a home in Virginia, most fair, they say, of England's colonies, and I come to take you there. I have a house in a garden where the sun never sets, and where a river runs gently to the sea between banks of flowers. There is no hard winter or rough wind there, neither enemy nor noise of battle to terrify your dear heart. There the potato grows, and the white tobacco blooms scent the night, and there the voice of Nature sings of peace. Will come with me, sweet?"

"You have learnt your lesson," she sighed, content.

Misty rain smote them, but they strained at each other and laughed at it. The cold numbed their feet, but their hearts were so warm that they did not heed it. Nature thundered at them, but the roar of menace became a triumphal march, and the shriek of the fiends a benediction.

"This one day you shall spare to me," said Madeleine. "Let us spend it as a day to be remembered. I have a cave down yonder, around which I have trailed the bushes and taught ivy to grow. There we will build a fire and I will be your housewife. Come! let us run along the wind."

He bent to assist her, and she feigned to be stiff with cold, the lovely traitor, so that she might feel his arms about her. Hand in hand they ran, the rain and wind driven upon their backs, the angry sky lowering upon the two who thus dared to endure the perils of life so happily. But the lovers knew that behind the damp gloom and the storm smiled the kindly sun; and they knew that he would conquer in good time.

So that happy day drew to its end in mist and rain, and the wind died down, and the storm clouds went out of the sky one by one. The moon broke wanly into light and a pale star of hope gazed serenely down. Nature wearied of her tumult, and old Æolus drove the turbulent north wind back into its cave and set his seal upon the mouth.

Geoffrey and Madeleine stood struggling to part. There was no tear in the violet eyes of brave beauty as she looked up smiling, dwelling always upon the future to sweeten the bitterness of the present. "Love must be tested," she murmured with her radiant philosophy. "Hearts must be tried. Geoffrey, I love you."

"Madeleine, I love you."

She stood alone, swaying weakly, her face as pale as the moon. Then she laughed to drown the beating of her heart, threw out her hands, and ran breathlessly up the hill where the ragged pines merely nodded, and down into the plain towards the grove, crying to the solitude:

"Life is glorious – glorious!"

CHAPTER XVI
CLAIRVOYANCE

While Geoffrey Viner was winning the love of Madeleine Labroquerie, and escaping the snare which La Salle had contrived for his capture, history was being made around the river and the heights. The priest's daring venture into the forbidden country acted upon the tribes of the Iroquois confederacy as a spark upon gunpowder; and when it became known from one camp-fire to another that George Flower, and Richard, son of Gitsa, had fallen upon Cayuga territory by the hand of a Frenchman, the native stoicism was changed into madness and the signal for a general uprising went throughout the land. It was the eve of that great assault upon the French position which lives in oral tradition among those degraded descendants of a once great people who occupy the maritime provinces of to-day.

Previous to that struggle, one phase of which was shown through the portent of the mirage to La Salle while he stood in the haunted grove, many deeds occurred which the chronicler cannot afford to pass over. The narrative must therefore be resumed upon the second morning following the dispersion of the venturers, that morning which saw Mary Iden set forth on her mission of vengeance, and Oskelano returning to his fastness in the north to prepare his men for battle.

The sun had fought down the mists, and black craft of the fishermen were already leaping along the river, when Van Vuren abandoned the fortress and climbed the cliff, hoping, as every day he hoped, to find some trace of his missing men. The night had been cold with north wind, and the rock country, was still haunted with wet and flickering shadows. One shadow, so dark and angular as to attract the Dutchman's eyes, lurked under a crag, as a patch of sheltered ice might linger in the midst of a land steaming with sunshine; but when Van Vuren approached, this shadow moved and took upon itself a semblance of humanity, and with the dispelling of the illusion the Dutchman beheld the evil face of Gaudriole.

"Adversity finds hard resting-places, my captain," said the dwarf, as he crawled forth. "Your rock makes a bed rougher than a paving-stone, but methinks a safer. Here a rogue may snore in his sleep without bringing the king's men upon him. I have a message for you, my captain."

"Hast any tidings of my men?" asked the Dutchman eagerly.

The head of the dwarf was on a level with his elbow; his matted hair was wet with mist. His habiliments, partly native, partly civilised, surrounded his crooked body in a ragged suit of motley; and a long knife was driven into his belt.

"He who answers must be paid," answered the hunchback, grinning.

"Perchance you have already been paid," said Van Vuren suspiciously.

"The honourable captain possesses the gift of Divination," sneered Gaudriole. "See you how low yonder warship sits in the water?" he went on, pointing down at the St. Wenceslas, which had lately arrived at that coast. "Is it true, as I have heard the settlers say, that she is loaded with gold from the shore of Labrador? 'Tis said that a man may there see the precious metal shining at his feet, and has but to bend to gather sufficient for a knight's ransom."

"I pray you give me the message, good dwarf," said Van Vuren flatteringly.

"The cloak upon my captain's shoulders is of a truth a thing to be desired," Gaudriole went on, fingering the rich stuff with his grimy fingers. "Were it upon my back, 'twould handsomely conceal some very clumsy work of nature. 'Tis the cloth that makes the courtier." He burst into a raucous laugh, as he danced the cold out of his limbs.

"His Excellency the commandant shall loosen that insolent tongue," cried Van Vuren hotly.

Gaudriole snapped his fingers in the Dutchman's face as he retorted: "This is not the old world, my brave captain, and there is no restraint upon lying here. Gaudriole is now a citizen of the New World. The Cardinal himself is but a shadow here. Even a mountebank of the gutter may turn traitor in the wilderness. Gaudriole is a man this side o' the sea. Were we in Paris I might bow to kiss your garments, and call you Holiness an you desired it. Here the jester is as good as the general. Hunt me into yonder forest at your sword-end, bold captain, and bid me play the will o' the wisp. I should but disappear into a thicket ahead, rise up at your back, and this knife and a moss-swamp would settle all your business. Doff your hat to a fool, captain, and give him pipe and tobacco."

Van Vuren clenched his teeth. He would then have given even his cloak to effectually silence that biting tongue. But he was a stranger upon French territory, and he knew that the slender tie of alliance would not stand a strain. He prudently choked down his anger, and satisfied the dwarf's more reasonable demand.

"Never was a better gift sent to man than this same tobacco," said Gaudriole. "See you, captain, how excellent are its qualities. It shall manage the warrior beyond the arts of woman. No man shall use the good smoke in anger, because at the first taste peace settles upon his body and his soul desires to be alone. But 'tis a dangerous drug upon an empty stomach."

"The message," said Van Vuren impatiently.

"Yonder comes in a good burden of fish," resumed Gaudriole, gazing down indifferently to indicate a boat grating across the shingle. "I know the oaf, one Nichet, who at home had not the wit to make a living. Here he becomes a man with a name. This land is Paradise for those not wanted across sea. Nichet shall presently leave his boat, to find himself a stone to anchor her, and then I shall pass that way and take of his best fish for my breakfast. The knave profits by the fool's work. Fare you well, brave captain."

"The message, villain," broke in Van Vuren.

"Ah! I grow forgetful. 'Tis said that the Abbé La Salle is to go from here to the land which the Scotch discovered and the valiant French took from them, to that country upon the gulf which we call Acadie. A happy quittance, say I. The abbé is too perilously apt with his long sword. Let them send the fat pig Laroche after him, and this fortress shall grow more peaceful than the streets of Versailles. Let there be trouble, you shall always find a fat priest at the root of it."

"Let La Salle descend into the bottomless pit," cried the Dutchman violently. "And Heaven be praised if he drags you down with him. Deliver me the message, hunchback."

"Now Nichet moves away to search for a fitting stone," went on Gaudriole. "Had I a message for you, captain? Let me consider. My memory is weak of a morning." He struck out his long arm suddenly. "Dost see that man signalling from yonder shore?"

Van Vuren turned quickly. "Where?" he exclaimed.

"This is the message," shouted Gaudriole, and as he spoke he rushed under the Dutchman's arm, and shambled swiftly down the road. "To the man who has to live upon his wits the Dutchman is a gift from Heaven itself. Remember, my captain! The tobacco leaf is a brave cure for ill humour."

Van Vuren hurled a curse after him, and turned to ascend. From the summit of the heights he scanned the prospect, and quickly learnt what Gaudriole might have told him had he exercised greater forbearance. The expedition had at last returned. Almost as soon as Van Vuren looked out he heard a welcome cry, and presently perceived a figure, clad in the distinctive dress of Holland, crossing the valley at a rapid walk. With an exclamation of relief the captain hastened down, and met Dutoit, his lieutenant and the leader of the exploration party, upon the plain.

Hurriedly the survivors collated their gloomy experiences.

"Twenty-eight left of our seventy-five," muttered Van Vuren, when he had heard Dutoit's report of two men lost and one dead of fever, "our supplies and ammunition gone, our ship destroyed. We have nothing now to hope for, except a safe passage home. Hast seen any Englishmen?"

"Yesterday we sighted a spy making south, and him we pursued until he escaped us in the bush," answered Dutoit.

"These men never recognise defeat," went on Van Vuren. "They shall spread upward from the south, flow into this land, and push the French back from fort to fort. They have a wondrous knack of gratifying the savages. Know you if any new expedition has come over?"

"We came upon a man mortally sick, who babbled as he died about a ship supplied by the wool-staplers, which started from Bristol some nine months ago and was lost upon the reefs. This fellow had his face set due north, and believed that he was travelling towards Boston – "

"Who comes here?" cried Van Vuren, breaking in upon the other's story with a note of fear.

They saw the tall, stern figure of Mary Iden descending towards them, armed as for the chase. She crossed the ridge and halted when she sighted the men. Her face was ghastly, and her eyes roved wildly over the prospect. Presently she put out her hand, and the Dutchmen waited when they saw her sign.

"Soldiers," cried a wild English voice, "have you seen the French priest known as La Salle pass into the fortress?"

Van Vuren, who had touched at most of the New World colonies in his time, knew the Anglo-Saxon well enough to answer; but he started, and said bitterly to his subordinate:

"The very savages speak English. Where is the Indian who has a knowledge of French in all this country, which the French rule? Did not I say to you that it is as impossible to keep the men of King Charles out of this land as it is to dam the ocean behind a bank of sand?"

He turned to the Englishman's wife, and demanded further knowledge.

The woman struggled to return the answer which policy advised, but passion overmastered her. Her eyes flashed wildly as she answered:

"Your race has ever been friendly with mine. 'Tis true you are foes of the English, but all nations hate England, even as the birds of the forest hate the eagle because of the strength of his flight. Soldiers, show me where I may find this priest. I have walked through the night seeking him. But a few hours ago I was a mother. To-day my son gives no answer to my voice. He was a great hunter was my son, though but a boy, and he feared no man. This day we bury him where the waters shout. He was good to look upon, he was strong like the young bear. He had brave eyes. Soldiers, it is the priest who has slain my son."

The anguished woman had spoken thus aloud as she walked through the cathedral-like aisles of the forest, addressing the columnar pines, the fretted arch of foliage, the dim bush shrines; so she had called as her heart bled to the climbing tits, the ghostly moths, and the long grey wolf as he slunk away.

"Who is the father of your son?" pressed the Dutchman.

Awaking to the consciousness that the question was not wholly dictated by sympathy, Mary Iden drew herself erect, and, pointing over the heads of the men, indicated the impregnable heights whereon waved the flag azure a fleur-de-lys or, that emblem which dominated the land from the islands in the gulf to the country where the foot of white men had never trod.

"I have learnt the story of the wanderings of the children of England," she said in a strained prophetic voice. "Of the journey of the man Cabot, who passed into the places of wind, into the great sea of ice, and reached the land where the Indians dare not walk. Of the seaman Frobisher, who touched the iron coast and lived. These men passed out like spirits into the unknown, and came back with their great story as men restored from the dead. As the crow follows the eagle, to take of that which the strong bird leaves, so Frenchmen followed the great adventurers of England. And now I see the French driven from their fortress, from Tadousac and St. Croix. Those who dwell in Acadie shall be driven out, and go as exiles into a strange country. I see soldiers sweeping the great cliffs, freeing the valleys and plains. I see the French settled upon their farms, and their flag no longer shines in the sun, and the people bend themselves to the rule of an English Queen, whose name is Victory and whose reign is peace. Many moons shall come and go, many suns shall heat the Father of Waters before these things shall be, and I shall not live to see that day." She pressed her hands to her aching eyes, and shivered as she swayed, and once more cried: "Soldiers, have you seen the priest who has slain my son?"

"A witch!" exclaimed Van Vuren hoarsely. "Let us escape before she overlooks us."

The superstitious Dutchmen hurried out to rejoin their men, who were camping in the forest; while Mary Iden made her way across the plain, and so into the great red eye of the sun.