"But there are still four or five days of the time," said Edith, "and----"
"I've been a fool, Miss Prevost," replied Woodchuck, bitterly, "and there's no use of concealing it from you. I have mistaken moons for months. The man who brought me the news of what that stern old devil Black Eagle had determined, said the time allowed was six months, and I never thought of the Indians counting their months by moons till I heard those Honontkoh saying something about it this morning. No, no, it's all useless now! It's all useless!"
Edith turned deathly pale, and remained so for a moment or two, but then she lifted her eyes to a spot of the blue sky shining through the trees above, and with a deep sigh she answered: "We must trust in God, then, and hope He has provided other and less terrible means. He can protect and deliver according to His will, without the aid or instrumentality of man. You have done your best, Woodchuck, and your conscience should rest satisfied."
"No! no!" he answered, bitterly. "If I had but thought of what I knew quite well, I should have gone a fortnight sooner, and the poor boy would have been saved. It's all the fault of my stupid mistake. A man should make no mistakes in such emergencies, Miss Edith!"
He fell into a fit of thought again, and seeing that all attempt to comfort him was vain, Edith returned to the side of the black woman, and inquired eagerly if she had heard any tidings of Walter amongst the Oneidas.
Sister Bab was more cautious than poor Woodchuck had been, however, and denied stoutly having heard anything; adding that she could not think they had done any harm to her young "massa," or they would not be so eager to help her young "missy."
The smallest gleam of hope is always a blessing; but still the day passed sadly enough to poor Edith. The commandant of the redoubt was occupied with military business which she did not comprehend, and which afforded no relief to her thoughts even for a moment. She saw the soldiers parading, the sentinels relieved, the earthworks inspected, and the Indians harangued, without one thought being withdrawn from the painful circumstances of her own fate.
Shortly after dusk, however, the same sergeant who had brought the despatch in the morning appeared with another letter, which the French commandant read, and then carried to Edith in the little hut where she was seated, with her lamp just trimmed and lighted. "The Marquis of Montcalm informs Captain Le Comtois that it will be greatly inconvenient to receive any additional mouths into Fort Carillon. Should he think fit, he can send the lady who has fallen into his hands, with the English gentleman, her companion, back to Crown[[4]] Point or Fort St. Frederick, as early to-morrow as he thinks fit. If the lady earnestly prefers to retire to Fort Carillon at once, the Marquis of Montcalm will not be so wanting in courtesy as to refuse; but he begs to warn her that she may be subjected to all the inconveniences of a siege, as he cannot at all tell what course of operations the enemy may think fit to pursue. The Indians, if willing, as they say, to serve may be usefully employed within the redoubt, but with caution, and must not be suffered to operate upon the flanks, as usual."
"It is for you to say, mademoiselle," said Monsieur Le Comtois, "whether you will now go to the fort or not."
Edith, however, declined, saying that the reasons given by Monsieur de Montcalm were quite sufficient to induce her to remain till it was convenient to send her elsewhere; and thus ended that eventful week. The following day was Sunday, a day not fit to be desecrated by human strife, but one which was destined to behold, on that very spot, one of those bloody scenes which write man's shame in letters of blood upon the page of history.