“Yes, worse than death,” said a low, deep voice behind her. “Death means peace, reunion, love. Why should we fear it, if we but remember His promise, ‘Fear not, I am with thee’?” Loïs turned round, and met the kindly eyes of Brigadier Howe bent on her.
“Yes,” she answered, “there are many worse things than death—this continuous warfare, the horrors of the savages, brother warring against brother. Oh! when will it end? when shall we have peace?” and the tears which she had striven to restrain rolled down her face.
“There, there, Loïs,” said Marcus soothingly. “It will come in due time; we are all striving after it.”
“The war is drawing to a close,” said Brigadier Howe. “England has taken up the gauntlet in good earnest at last; William Pitt is at the helm, and he will not rest until Canada is a settled English Protestant colony.”
“Amen,” said Minister Cleveland; “and now, mistress, it’s time we went home; it is getting late, and the travellers will be glad to go to rest. Good-night to you all,” and there was a great hand-shaking. Loïs helped Mistress Cleveland on with her cloak and hood, commending her to be careful not to take a chill; then the lantern was lit, and the young people trooped down to the gate to start them on their way home. Martha took this opportunity of speaking to Father Nat.
“You must not take all the five guests, father,” she said; “have you forgotten that we also have our guest-chamber?” and she drew herself up with dignity.
“Not likely I should forget,” he answered; “choose which of them you will have, Martha, or shall they cast lots? Women rule the roost here, sir, as they do elsewhere,” he said, turning to Howe. “Mistress Martha will have it she has a right to the honour of entertaining some of your party; you went to her gate first, it seems.”
“True,” said Howe, smiling. “We are flattered by your desire, madam. We think there is one amongst us who has already found a flame, and is trying to singe his wings; if she lead the way, he will not refuse to follow,” and as he spoke he looked towards where Marie and William Parkmann were talking to each other.
“Tut!” said Martha. “Marie’s only a child.”
“To our mothers we are always children,” said Howe sweetly.