“Ay, father; it will be a terrible war,” he answered. “Brother against brother. How shall I endure?”
“The Lord’s will be done. He will surely give you strength. Now let us go to rest, my son,” said the elder man; and, putting out the lights, father and son went up the broad oak staircase together, the summer moon shining in through the casement window lighting their darkness. But their hearts were heavy within them.
CHAPTER V
A HERO
“Grandmother, where is Canada?” and a small dark girl of about sixteen years of age leant, as she asked the question, over the back of a garden chair, in which sat an old lady of nearly seventy years of age.
The scene was the terrace of the Château of Candiac in Languedoc. It was evening, and the crimson light of the setting sun illumined the whole valley, and was reflected in the numerous windows of the Castle, until the ancient fortress seemed almost on fire. It was the setting of a Southern sun, which had poured down the whole livelong day, scorching up the grass and driving men and beasts to seek refuge in sheltered spots; no breath of air stirred the trees, no animal had even yet ventured abroad. A dead silence still reigned over the landscape, as if exhausted nature were waiting patiently for the soft and refreshing night dews to restore her energies.
“Canada, Mercèdes, is at the other end of the world, my child,” answered Madame de St. Verin. “And I greatly fear if your father goes thither he will never return again. It is a land of savages, where they eat one another;” and her eyes filled with tears, and the white bejewelled hands resting on her lap were clasped together with nervous energy.
“Nay, madame,” said a younger lady, turning round, for she had been gazing earnestly along the white road which ran through the valley, “why terrify the children? If their father accepts this post of danger and of honour, surely it is more for their sakes than his own! We are noble, but we are poor, and there are many children to establish in the world—a serious matter as times go.”
“I know, my daughter,” said Madame de St. Verin gently; “but if you have six sons and daughters, I have only one son left to me in my old age.”
“Pardon me, dear madame,” replied Madame de Montcalm. “It is a hard necessity for us all; if it were not a necessity my dear husband would assuredly not separate himself from us, for you know how well he loves his home.”
“Well said, wife!” and an arm was thrown round her and a kiss imprinted on her forehead by a cavalier, dusty and travel-stained.