Because of conscience

by Amy Ella Blanchard

This was another matter for consideration, but the decision was not repealed. “The head is Red Feather’s, the body belongs to François Sharp Eyes. If François takes away the head which is Red Feather’s, how, then, will any one know that it belongs to his brother?”

It was François who solved the difficulty. “It will not be so bad as it might be, and it is that or his head,” he said in an undertone to Petit Marc. “François Sharp Eyes, your brother, will tell you what to do,” he went on to say. “Let Red Feather put his mark upon the man; let him brand him upon the cheek, so will all know that it is the head of Red Feather though the body follow François.”

The old chief nodded approval. “Our brother speaks with wisdom; it shall be as he desires. Yonondio will then perceive that we have done as he would command, and it will be a sign to him that the man was in our hands but that we desire to please our father, and that we have delivered the prisoner to François.”

Finding that they were not to be deprived of all entertainment, the company proceeded, with much ceremony, to see to it that upon Lendert’s cheek was branded a queer, small red feather. Then followed a feast and much powwowing, and at last Lendert was free.

As he faced his old enemy he felt that he would almost rather have suffered greater torture than to be handed over to this man. What further diabolical intention had he, who was mighty even in his helplessness? He had not opened his lips during all this ceremony, not even to ask word of his friends, of Alaine, whom Jeanne had left lying on the ground in feigned mortal hurt. Nor did he speak when his stiffened and cramped limbs followed the litter to Jeanne’s lodge. Jeanne tramped along by his side, but turned her talk to Petit Marc, for she saw that Lendert was in no mood for conversation. It was only when they were arrived at her door that she turned to François and said, “And Alaine, what of her?”

“To-day she is with her friends,” François told her. “She is in New Rochelle, poor little soul.” He turned his eyes upon Lendert. “Come here, if you please, my friend. I have done you and Mademoiselle Hervieu much wrong. I do not know why I disliked you; probably because you are Dutch and the enemy of my country, and because you came between me and my revenge. She will tell you all, for I send you to her. I am not going to live, and I made this journey to attain this object, to find you. I send you back to her you love and to her I have wronged. I believe she will forgive me. I know what a great love is, and I respect yours. Go with it to Mademoiselle Hervieu and say, I am François Dupont’s gift to you. I love you so deeply that I can even endure it that he whom I hate has been the means of liberating me and that it is from his hands that you receive me back to your heart. I do not ask your forgiveness, Lendert Verplanck; only angels can forgive utterly, and it is an angel who waits for you there in New Rochelle.”

“I thank you, mynheer,” said Lendert, brokenly. “God knows I love her.”

“And you will marry her. Yes, I know. I have heard it all from the lips of that little Trynje and from her good mother and her better lover.” His eyes softened as he spoke of Adriaen. “Good boy! good boy! I love that lad,” he said, thoughtfully. “I know your mother’s feeling, but you will say to her that the man who gave up his revenge and his will that he might go out of the world worthy of one who waits for him up there——” He gave a quick, short sigh. “I believe that! I believe that!” he said, passionately. “She waits for me. Well, then, say to your mother this man, half dead, took his poor body over hill and dale, through forest and down-stream, that he might right a wrong, and he gives you back your son, but in return he asks that you do not stand between him and happiness. This man, François Dupont, you will tell her what became of his strong will, and how Heaven treated him for his vainglory and stubbornness. I am not good; I am not religious, not I, but I know when I am beaten, and I can recognize the stroke when it comes. I am so near death that I can see the meaning of things. You will tell her of me and of what I say. Yet, because even then, in her strength and her power of health, she still refuses, there is something else. It will be told you in good time. Now, boys, we rest here for to-night, and to-morrow take me on to Quebec. I wish to die under the flag which waved above me when I fought there upon the heights of Quebec. I shall live to get there,—I shall do that. You will take me, Ricard, and you, Edouard, and Toito, my man? So now, you, M. Verplanck, must have safe escort to the other side of the river, and then you can go on.”

Lendert bowed his head in assent. He had not even words now for this strange man, whose devotion to a purpose rose above his egotism and ambitions. But the young Dutchman carried all this in his heart, and when the next morning he saw François placed in the canoe which was to bear him upon his last journey before he should enter that darker river, the feeling of angry resentment, of hatred and revenge, gave way. It had been slowly growing less and less ever since the hour when he was freed, and he leaned over from the side of his own canoe to touch the hand of François, not now in anger nor in assault, but in pity and gratitude.

“Mynheer Dupont,” he said, “you told me that Mademoiselle Hervieu would forgive you, that it was an angel I should find when I return. Then, I cannot go to her with a black heart, and if I am your gift to her, one does not give angels as worthless a thing as a man who hates his deliverer. And so, mynheer, if you wish my forgiveness, here it is, and if you have aught against me, I pray you, in turn, let me ask your pardon for it.”