CHAPTER XVI

AT BEAULIEU

Gabriel altered his course with the satisfaction of a man confirmed in his superior judgment. "'II y a remede a tout, fors a la mort,' madame, and this has come at the last hour," he cried, in great satisfaction. "I suppose le pere Jean would say you were going to Louisbourg all the time, only it would look to an ordinary sinner like a precious long way round," and he chuckled at his jest as he bustled about, filling every one with somewhat of his brimming content.

Favoured by the tide and a strong wind, we made a good run during the night, and when we awoke we were again coasting along the peaceful reaches of the South Shore with its frequent settlements and clearings--a pleasant change after the wilderness of the North.

Early in the afternoon, Gabriel pointed to a long point stretching out into the river.

"That is the Beacon Point of Beaulieu, madame. A beacon is piled there, ready for firing, winter and summer. The entrance to the river is just on this side, and on the other is the great bay where the porpoise fishery takes place. The manor cannot be seen from the river; it is safe and snug from the storms, a little inland."

Before long we entered the mouth of the little river, to the right of which stretched a broad expanse of tidal meadow, dotted with small platforms, each supporting its load of coarse salt hay, safe above the reach of the highest tides; to the left was the dense pine wood covering the Beacon Point. Fields and woods wore the sombre colours, the browns and purples of autumn, though here and there a sturdy maple still hung out its banner of yellow or red, lighting up the dark greens of the unchanging pines. As we advanced, the windings of the river disclosed stretches of bare meadow and empty fields, for the harvest had long been gathered. The whole was set in a background of low, purple hills. But soon we caught a new interest, as a windmill, and then a long wooden house, having a high-pitched roof, broken by a row of pointed dormer-windows, with a detached tower at each end, came into view.

"There, madame, that is the manor!" Gabriel announced with evident pride, to which I made suitable return, for despite its humble form, like a substantial farm-house, its great length and the two towers gave to it an appearance which removed it out of the common.

Our boat was made fast to a little landing-place, and we disembarked; but, to my surprise, no one appeared to welcome or to question us. Gabriel led the way up to the house through a garden, which must have been a model of neatness in summer-time, but was now stripped and blackened by the early frosts. Though the door of the house stood hospitably open to us, no answer came to our echoing knock.

Going round to the back proved equally fruitless, but I espied two women working in a field at a short distance, and, bidding Gabriel await me, I took my way towards them. I found them engaged with spade and fork digging up reddish-looking roots, which they piled in little heaps.

"I bring letters to Mme. de Sarennes," I said, addressing the younger woman, who seemed confused, but whose face I could barely see for the great bonnet which covered her head like a cowl, "but I find no one in the house. Can you tell me what to do?"

"If madame will return and find a seat in the house, I shall bring some one," she answered, prettily enough, and, dropping her fork, she ran towards the house.

"What are those things you are digging up?" I asked the elder woman.

"Potatoes, madame."

"But do the people eat them?" I inquired, for I knew they were not used in France.

"'Only the Bostonnais and cattle,' we used to say, madame, but now the Intendant has ordered them to be planted and eaten by all."

"And they will obey?"

"'Le miel n'est pas pour les anes,' madame; those who do not, will go hungry," she answered, laughing.

I was interested in the news, as well as in the calm philosophy with which the innovation was accepted, and after a few more questions I returned to the front of the house.

The room into which the entrance gave--for it was more of a room than a hall--was large and low, with a ceiling painted white, supported by heavy beams; it was carpeted and furnished with much comfort--much more than one would find in a similar house either in Scotland or France.

In a short time a young lady entered, her dark olive face well set off by her brown hair, becomingly though simply dressed, with a light girlish figure showing to advantage in her flowered gown.

"I am Mlle. de Sarennes, madame, and I regret that you should have been kept waiting." She began gravely enough, but catching some wonderment in my face, she continued, laughing merrily: "Oh, 'tis of no use; I can never masquerade! I am Queen of the Fields, madame, and you surprised me a moment ago, sceptre in hand," whereupon she made me a grand courtesy, nearly sinking to the floor.

"And I am Mme. de St. Just," I answered, joining in her girlish fun, "a poor rescued prisoner seeking for shelter; and this is my waiting-woman and very good friend, Lucy Routh. I come to you with letters from M. de Montcalm, trusting our presence may not prove a burthen to you."

"But here is my mother," said the young girl, quickly. "Not a word to her of how you discovered me; she will never acknowledge that such a thing as field-work is necessary, though there is not a man left to share it, except myself. We hide it from her as we would a sin."

At the words a gray-haired lady supporting herself on a cane entered. In a few moments all explanations were made, and I received from her a welcome scarcely less warm than that of her daughter, but with the difference, that it was only given after she had carefully read the letter of the Marquis de Montcalm and its enclosure.

"Your own presence would command my hospitality in any case, madame; but these letters, and especially that of le pere Jean, change a duty into a pleasure; it is much to have gained the friendship of such a man. I fear, though, you will have to put up with our poor company for some time, as my son has but left for his post in Acadie, and I do not look for his return until the snows come; but we will do all we can to make you happy until such time as you can leave to join your friends."

Nothing could be more charming than her address, even though it bore a trace of condescendence; but that was merely the reflection of an older school of manners, to which I had been well accustomed in Lady Jane.

As soon as we had settled these matters, I agreed with Gabriel that he should go on to Quebec, there to obtain some necessaries of which I stood in much need, as did poor Lucy.

"You do not expect to find shops there, surely!" laughed mademoiselle. "But my friend Mme, de Lanaudiere will gladly undertake the buying of the material, and we will make such shift for the fitting as is possible here."

So we were installed as guests, and on the morrow Gabriel was despatched on his important errand; before he returned we had taken our places as members of the little household.

Mlle. de Sarennes--Angelique, as she insisted on my calling her--would not consent to my helping in the fields, so Lucy and I took charge in the house, where Lucy did marvels in the kitchen, even to eliciting approbation from Mme. de Sarennes, which Angelique assured us was praise indeed, for her mother was a housekeeper of the school which did not acknowledge that excellence of performance called for anything beyond a refraining from criticism. How could I be other than content? I was surrounded by a daily round of interest, almost of affection, and, most precious of all, by a gentle courtesy which accepted me as a guest without question or curiosity as to my past. Le pere Jean had answered for me, and that was enough.

When Gabriel returned I paid him for his services, though it was only when I had assured the honest fellow I was amply able to do so that he consented to receive anything from me. When he was leaving me he charged me with great earnestness:

"Madame, should you need me at any time, either by day or night, all you have to do is to light the beacon. If by night, let it burn brightly; if by day, do as you saw le pere Jean, and go on repeating it, until you see the answering smoke from the Island, or my sail."

"But, my good Gabriel, I am not likely to trouble you, as when I go from here it will be by land, and in a different direction."

"'Qui dit averti, dit muni,' madame; no one can tell what may happen, and it may do no harm to know you have one near at hand who would be proud if you called on him for help."

I was greatly touched by his thoughtfulness, a frank offer coming direct from the heart of a brave man to a woman whom he fears may some day be in need of his service.

"Gabriel, is every one kind in Canada? I do not know why I should meet with such care."

"We are all saints, no doubt, madame; but that is not the reason!" he returned, gaily, and set off for his boat.

After his departure our life together went on without interruption. By the end of November the whole country was covered with snow, which we hailed with delight, for it meant the speedy arrival of M. de Sarennes, and then--Louisbourg! I had often seen snow as a child at home in Scotland, but there it meant storm and desolation, and, alas! only too frequently suffering and death to man and beast; while here it came as a beauty and a blessing, welcomed by all. Angelique took us over miles of snow-covered fields and through woods that had a charm of softness unknown in summer-time, until we could manage our snow-shoes without mishap.

"You must harden your muscles and exercise your lungs for the journey you have before you," she declared, "and not shame my training when you take the high-road with Charles."

Like her mother, she was never tired of talking of M. de Sarennes. He was their only pride, and never was son or brother more precious than was their Charles to them, so I looked forward with keen satisfaction to the day I should start under his care.

They hoped for him by the New-Year, and we all busied ourselves in preparation for the little feast which we agreed should be delayed, if necessary, to welcome his return.

On the last night of the year we sate together about the fire, Angelique laughing and chattering incessantly; her mother sitting with her spinning-wheel, her wedding-gift from the Marquis de Beauharnois--a dainty construction of mahogany tipped with ivory and silver--whirring peacefully, as with skilful fingers she guided the fine flax from her spindle; Lucy at a little distance knitting methodically; and I expectant, excited by Angelique's unrest.

"Ah, Marguerite, what a shame Charles must tack on that odious 'madame,' every time he addresses you!" exclaimed Angelique, merrily. "Had I my way, I'd banish the 'madame,' as I would banish every one who has a claim on you, and keep you all for our very own. What nonsense! to have other people in the world when we want you so much! Stay with us! I'll marry you myself; I'm sure I'm worth all the men in the world put together!"

"Be sensible, my daughter! be sensible," interrupted Mme. de Sarennes, in her unruffled voice. "I cannot think how you find such nonsense amusing."

"Now, maman, be fair! Do you know any man in the whole world, except Charles, you like better than me? There! There! I told you! And my mother has the very best taste in the world--eh, 'Mademoiselle' Marguerite?" And the madcap jumped up, and running over to her mother, embraced her in spite of her remonstrances.

In the midst of this turmoil a soft knock was heard, and we all sprang to our feet.

"Come in! Come in!" called Angelique, running to the door; but it opened before she could reach it, and there, in the bright light, stood an Indian holding his snow-shoes in his hand.

As soon as I saw him I could not repress a cry of terror, for he was the very chief from whom le pere Jean had rescued me.

"Do not be alarmed, Marguerite. He is Luntook, my son's man. He always brings word of my son's return."

The Indian explained to Angelique, in his broken French, that his master had but sent him to announce his coming, and paid not the slightest attention either to Lucy or myself. As soon as he had answered Angelique's eager questionings, he took himself off again, and we began our preparations.

"He will be here in an hour!" sang Angelique, as she danced about the room like a mad thing. Fresh wood was piled on the fire; the table was set with the best linen and silver, and loaded with every delicacy we had prepared; candles were placed in each window, of which the heavy wooden shutters were thrown back, and soon the whole house was a blaze of light.

Into all this entered the long-expected guest, who, after tenderly embracing his mother, was caught in a whirl of kisses and questionings showered on him by Angelique. Suddenly she released him, crying: "But stop, Charles! you make me forget myself. Here is Mme. de St. Just, for whose sake, most of all, we have been waiting for you."

While I acknowledged his salutation, Angelique rattled on: "She has waited for you all this time to take her to Louisbourg, she and her waiting-woman. Where is Lucie? Oh, she has gone--frightened by the Indian, no doubt. She--I mean Marguerite--is so glad you have come. When do you go back?"

"Not to-night, at all events, ma belle. I'm sure even madame would not ask that. In any case not until I've tasted some of these good things. We can boast no such table at Mire."

With much laughter we gradually settled down. When M. de Sarennes had doffed his outer wrappings and appeared in a close-fitting suit of some dark blue stuff, I thought I had seldom seen a handsomer type of man, and did not wonder at the pride his womenkind displayed. He was very tall, had a dark olive face like his sister, great flashing eyes, and black hair that rolled handsomely off his well-shaped forehead; and I could easily imagine that more usual clothing would transform him into a prince among his fellows.

Before taking his place at table he left us for a little to see after his men, who were provided for in the kitchen. When he returned, he said:

"Luntook, my Indian, tells me that it was he who carried you off, madame. He had taken you for English women, and even now can scarce be persuaded he was mistaken, though he gave you up to le pere Jean."

"We are English women, monsieur."

"And you would go to Louisbourg?" he asked, I thought sharply, with a flash of his great eyes.

"Yes, monsieur," I said, quietly.

But he said nothing further, beyond assuring me that the Indian was thoroughly trustworthy, and I need be in no fear of him.

Thereupon we sate down to table, and as her brother ate, Angelique related to him our story, or, rather, a merry burlesque of our adventures, at which he laughed heartily.

"Well, madame, I have news for your waiting-woman, at least; though why she should run away when she must be dying to hear it, is more than I can imagine. Tell her that her son arrived safely at Louisbourg, where he was soon a hot favourite with every one in the garrison, and most of all with the Chevalier de Maxwell." Here he paused to raise his glass, looking hard at me the while. To my distress, the tell-tale blood leaped to my face at the unexpected mention of that dear name. "Being a stirring lad and much attached to me," he continued, without apparently noticing my confusion, "he begged to be allowed to join me on an expedition. We were surprised by the English, and he was slightly wounded--oh, nothing, I assure you, madame, a mere scratch!--and carried off a prisoner, but no doubt is even now as great a favourite with them as he was with us. Should they come to look us up in the spring, I doubt not he will be found in their ranks. At all events, he is with his friends, and is safe."

So rejoiced was I to hear this news for Lucy's sake, that I excused myself and withdrew to my room, where I found the dear, patient soul on her knees, awaiting whatever tidings I might bring.

"Oh, my dear mistress," she said, quietly, when I had told her all, "I have prayed and hoped, but at times my poor faith would almost fail me; and even now, when trembling at what I might have to bear, His message comes, that all is well with the child."