"How did you get on through the hurricane, Monsieur Glover?"
"We scarce felt it. We were in a cave with a very small entrance, and after the first outburst slept through it in comfort."
"It is more than any of us did in the town," the other said with a laugh. "It was tremendous. I should say that half the houses were unroofed, and in the poor quarters many of the huts were blown down, and upwards of twenty negroes were killed."
"Do you think, Monsieur Laurent," Myra said, moving across to him, "that we are likely to meet any people on foot whom we could hire?"
"No, I hardly think so, mademoiselle. All the gentlemen in the town who could get away rode out with the troops, and the rest of the whites are patrolling the streets armed, lest the negroes employed in the work of the port should rise during the absence of the troops. Why do you ask, mademoiselle?"
"Because Monsieur Glover had a rib broken by a pistol-ball the day before yesterday, and I am sure it hurts him very much to carry my mother."
The young man leapt from his horse.
"Monsieur," he exclaimed, "pray take my horse. I will assist in carrying Madame Duchesne."
"I do not like"—Nat began, but his remonstrance was unheeded.
"But I insist, monsieur. Please take the reins. You can walk by the side of the horse or mount him, whichever you think will be the more easy for you."