The young man’s features worked; there was a moment’s hesitation, then he shook his head, stooped and kissed again his sister’s upturned face, and, pushing her gently towards a grey-headed man who had stood a silent spectator of the scene, said huskily,—
“Take care of her, take care of them all, Father Nat.”
“A man has no right to shift his burdens upon other men’s shoulders. You will live to rue this day, Charles Langlade,” was the stern answer.
“I trust not,” said the young man; “but this I know, go forth I must! Farewell, mother; farewell, Father Nat; farewell, all of you. If troubles threaten you I will come to your aid. Farewell;” and turning away, he strode rapidly across the greensward in front of the house, bounded over the paling, and, dashing down the hill-side, entered the forest, and so disappeared. As they lost sight of the tall lithe figure, fully accoutred in his hunting garb, his blanket rolled round him, his gun and ammunition slung across his shoulders, Martha and the two little girls who were clinging to her wept aloud.
“Don’t, mother dear,” said Loïs, throwing one arm round Martha’s neck and kissing her.
“Ah, Loïs, I never thought he’d do it—never! It is your poor father’s fault, taking the lads amongst the heathen. I told him no good would come of it,” and her sobs redoubled.
Father Nat had kept silence since his last words to Charles Langlade; he seemed oppressed with a weight of care. He had never really believed in the oft-threatened desertion, and now the blow had fallen he was for the time stunned; but he roused himself, gave vent to a long deep sigh, then, laying his hand kindly on Martha’s arm, said,—
“It’s no use fretting; what is to be will be. Come, mother, be brave. Don’t ye grieve over much; remember the little ones. We’ve done all we could to hold him back. It seems almost as if the Spirit constrained him. And ye know it is not well to fight against the will of God.”
“The will of God!” exclaimed Martha angrily, wiping her eyes and checking her sobs. “Call it rather the machinations of the Evil One! How can you dare say it is the will of God that a son of mine, my eldest born, should choose to go and live amongst those cannibals, forsaking his father’s house and taking to himself a wife from amongst the idolaters? I never thought to hear you say such a thing, Father Nat! I’m minded you’ll think differently when your Roger goes off after him.”
“My Roger will never do that,” said Father Nat. “I know the two lads love each other dearly—it’s in the blood—as I loved your husband, and as it has ever been from generation to generation, since the first Charles Langlade saved the life of a Roger Boscowen from the Red Indians, and the two joining hands established themselves together on this then waste land.”