By noon the women and children were far on their way; some had joined company, and on the whole they were not as depressed as they might have been. In two or three days they hoped to be recalled. The settlement they were going to was comparatively at a short distance, though better protected than the Marshes, which lay quite on the borderland.
Nathaniel Boscowen and the men generally were in good spirits; they had plenty of ammunition and were prepared. The great danger of these night attacks was in being surprised, and, thanks to Nadjii, this had been avoided. Very quietly and without any display they took their precautions. To all outward appearance the usual daily life went on: the men drove the cattle into the meadows, they worked in the fields, some even fished in the river, and towards evening they returned to the village, and apparently rested from their labours, standing smoking and talking outside their houses, and a few gathered in groups on the square in front of the church; but a close observer might have noticed that there was a strained look on most of the men’s faces, as if they were listening for some distant sound, and their eyes seemed to turn instinctively towards the dark forest. In the kitchen of Omega Marsh sat Father Nat, Marcus, the minister, and half a dozen of the principal men of the settlement. At Alpha Marsh lights were lit when night fell, and for some time figures moved to and fro in the rooms, so that its uninhabited condition should not be perceptible from outside.
The clock had struck nine, when suddenly the kitchen door opened, and some one entered. There was no mistaking who it was. Father Nat and Marcus both rose.
“Loïs!” they exclaimed together, in a tone of reproach.
She went straight up to the elder man, and, laying her hands on his shoulder, said,—
“Dear Father Nat, my place is surely beside you and Marcus. I am the eldest of my race. That my mother should seek safety in flight for the sake of Marie and Susie was right. I knew she would not go without me, so I went; but when we got into the waggons and she was safely off, I slipped out and came home. She will probably not miss me for some hours, so she will be spared all anxiety.”
“I am sorry you have done this thing, Loïs,” said Father Nat anxiously.
“I am not,” said Loïs; “and now give me some supper. I have had nothing since morning, and it has been a long tramp.”
“It has indeed,” said the men present, looking at her with affectionate pride. They had all known her from her birth, and loved her almost as well as their own children, and somehow they were glad to have her back amongst them.
“Are you ready?” asked Loïs.