We reached the beach where I had tied Father Carheil. We rounded the point. The garrison, the board roofs of the Jesuit houses, the Indian camps,—all were as usual. They were peaceful, untouched. I swallowed, for my throat and tongue were dry.
CHAPTER XXIV
I MEET VARIOUS WELCOMES
It was Father Carheil who first sighted us. He sounded the cry of our arrival, and came skurrying like a sandpiper, his scant gown tripping him, his cap askew.
I leaped from the canoe and hurried to him. The man must hate me, but he could not refuse me news. I stretched out my hand.
"Is all well here, father? Is all well?"
He disdained my hand, and held his arms wide. "All is well with us.
But you—— We feared the Iroquois wolf had devoured you."
And I had thought the man capable of petty spite. I dropped on my knees to him. "Father Carheil, I grieve for what I did, yet I could not have done otherwise."
He drew back a little and rumpled his thin hair with a bloodless hand. His face was frowning, but his restless, brilliant eyes were full of amusement.
"So your conscience is not at ease? My son, you are as strong as a Flemish work horse. I limped to mass for the next fortnight, and my gown was in fiddle-strings,—you may send me another. As for the rest, we need new altar hangings. Now, come, come, come. Tell us what has happened."