CHAPTER III.
Herald, save thy labor;
Come thou no more for ransom, gentle herald;
Shakspeare.
The arrival of some fishermen on the following morning confirmed the intelligence of father Gilbert—the name by which the priest, who succeeded Father Ambrose, had announced himself at the fort. They had eluded the enemy by night, and reported that several vessels lay becalmed in the Bay of Fundy; and, though they had not been near enough to ascertain with certainty, no doubt was entertained, that it was the little fleet of M. la Tour, returning with the expected supplies.
The holy character and mission of father Gilbert was his passport in every place; and, as his duty often called him to remote parts of the settlement, and among every description of people, it was natural that he should obtain information of passing events, before it reached the ears of the garrison. The mysterious manner in which he had communicated his intelligence on the preceding evening, occasioned some surprise; but Mad. la Tour, in listening to the relation of her page, made due allowance for the exaggerations of excited fancy; and she was also aware, that the Catholic missionaries were fond of assuming an ambiguous air, which inspired the lower people with reverence, and doubtless increased their influence over them. Till within a day or two, father Gilbert had never entered the fort; but he was well known to the poor inhabitants without, by repeated acts of charity and kindness, though he sedulously shunned all social intercourse, and was remarked for the austere discipline, and rigid self-denial to which he subjected himself.
The spirits of the garrison revived with the expectation of relief, which was no longer considered a matter of uncertainty. In the fulness of these renovated hopes, a boat from M. d'Aulney approached with an officer bearing a flag of truce. He was received with becoming courtesy, and immediately shewn into the presence of Mad. la Tour. In spite of his contempt for female authority, and his apathy to female charms, a feeling of respectful admiration softened the harshness of his features, as the sturdy veteran bent before her, with the almost forgotten gallantry of earlier years. At that period of life, when the graces of youth have just ripened into maturity, the lady of La Tour was as highly distinguished by her personal attractions, as by the strength and energy of her mind. Her majestic figure displayed the utmost harmony of proportion, and the expression of her regular and striking features united, in a high degree, the sweetest sensibilities of woman, with the more bold and lofty attributes of man. At times, an air of hauteur shaded the openness of her brow, but it well became her present situation, and the singular command she had of late assumed. She received the messenger of D'Aulney with politeness, but the cold reserve of her countenance and manner, convinced him, that his task was difficult, if not hopeless. For an instant, his experienced eye drooped beneath her piercing glance; and, perceiving her advantage, she was the first to break the silence.
"What message from my lord of D'Aulney," she asked, "procures me the honor of this interview? or is it too bold for a woman's ear, that you remain thus silent? I have but brief time to spend in words, and would quickly learn what brave service he now demands of me?"
"My lord of D'Aulney," replied the officer, "bids me tell you, that he wars not with women; that he respects your weakness, and forgives the injuries which you have sought to do him."
"Forgives!" said the lady, with a contemptuous smile; "thy lord is gracious and merciful,—aye, merciful to himself, perhaps, and careful for his poor vessels, which but yesterday shivered beneath our cannon! Is this all?"