“Bob, Bob!” she called. There was no answer. “He gone too,” she muttered between her teeth. Taking the key of the back kitchen from the hiding place where she put it every night, she entered, looked round, went into the pantry, examined the safe in which cold meats and other provisions were kept, lifted the cover of the bread-bin, and counted the loaves. While she was thus occupied Marcus entered.
“What are you doing, Nokomis?” he asked, watching her curiously for a few seconds.
“Where’s Loïs?” she asked, looking up at him.
“Not yet up, I suppose,” he answered. “She’s overslept herself—an unusual thing for her.”
“You go and look in her room. I tell you she’s gone.”
“Gone! Where should she be gone?” said Marcus.
“To bring the lads home,” said Nokomis; and then for the first time Marcus heard of the arrival of the Indian lad, the story he related, and how he had disappeared.
“Why did she not tell me?” he thought bitterly; and yet his faith in Loïs was so great that he checked the angry feeling, and went straight up to her room. There he found the confirmation of Nokomis’ words. The bed had not been slept in; Loïs was gone! But surely not without a word! No, there on the table was a letter addressed to himself.
“Dear Marcus,—Forgive me,” she wrote. “For the last two days and nights I have prayed unceasingly for God to guide me, and it has been borne in upon me that, notwithstanding all the Indian lad tells me, Charles and the child are still living. At first I did not think so; but now I do. I know where Charles put the child—in the Convent of the Ursulines at Quebec; I am going there. Tell Father Nat and the mother that I have had news of Charles; that he needs me, therefore I am gone to him. They shall hear soon; but do not let them know the rumour of his death. Why should they grieve, perhaps without a cause? I have taken money, my Indian guide, and Bob. Have no fear for me; God and His angels will guide my steps. I am going forth in His strength, without fear, to bring our dear ones home. Pray for me, and tell John Cleveland to pray for me in the congregation on the Sabbath Day, until I come back to you all, and we settle down in peace. I go without warning you; not from mistrust, but because I know you would wish to go in my stead, and that must not be. You are all that is left to us. If harm befell you, the Marshes would indeed be without a master and desolate. I am only a woman!
“Your loving sister,
“Loïs.”
“And truly a brave one!” said John Cleveland, when he had read the letter, which Marcus took straight down to the minister’s house. “You can but do as she says; tell Father Nat she has been sent for, and is gone on the road to meet Charles. You may be sure she’ll manage to send us news before many days are over; we’ll just live from day to day in hope and prayer. If any one can bring the lads home, Loïs can. Go about your work as usual, Marcus; tell Nokomis to keep a silent tongue in her head. I’ll come up and see your mother and Father Nat. No need to say she’s gone to Quebec: we don’t know whether she’ll ever get there; maybe she’ll meet them on the road.”