The Indian grunted.
“The Great Spirit knows, not I. But, maiden, while we waste words the priest comes, and Jean Jacques is no longer of his faith; the faith of the Micmac is the faith of the Wild Deer. Wilt thou come, or no?”
Margot started. “Then Gabriel is in truth a heretic!”
Whilst she hesitated, Jean Jacques, who was in no mood for delay, led her deeper into the woods.
Now Margot, though, as we know, possessed of that kind of courage which will bravely choose and do the right, and even be physically brave for those she loved, was naturally timid, and now she was worn and exhausted and scarcely mistress of herself. Her inborn terror of Indians got the upper hand, and she uttered a piercing shriek, promptly stifled by the Micmac’s hand upon her mouth. Then he suddenly released her.
“Maiden,” he said, “Jean Jacques can do no more. Thou wilt not seek safety? So be it then. The priests come—Jean Jacques goes.”
The girl made a great effort, and though still very pale, held out her hand with a smile to the Indian.
“Forgive me, Jean Jacques,” she said in tones which would have won forgiveness anywhere; “my heart is sick, I know not what I do. Take me whither thou wilt—whither Wild Deer wills.”
“And it shall not be to the redcoat braves,” said the Indian, as together they sped through the undergrowth. “Down beside the crimson Missaguash there are homes in which thy race still dwells in peace, even as those who remain beside the Annapolis. Thither will the Micmac take the maiden of Wild Deer.”
“Halt!” thundered a familiar voice. “A straying lamb, indeed—a lamb in sore need of chastisement.”