Things came to be understood between myself and Marget, and the Black Colonel had a part in this, far away as he had taken himself and his troubles. He was not out of the picture, because he might return to it, but we could paint him in or out as we liked, and that left us canvas room. One day he was returning to set us all by the heels again; another day he was gone, to return no more, leaving us to fashion our own lives, as we were doing.
"Marget," I asked, "suppose the Colonel comes back, is he to find us just as he left us?"
"Not very friendly—or more friendly?" she replied vaguely, teasingly.
And then a little anxiously, as I thought, "Did you and the Black
Colonel make any bargain about our old Forbes property which need ever
call him back?"
"Dear me, no! But if it would give you pleasure to see him again soon, why, let us pray for his coming."
Marget was hurt at this, for she said, "I was only wondering whether the Black Colonel will renew the quest here, if he does not reach his ends through the New France venture."
That question was to be answered by a last long epistle from him, which came to me about this time, and which tells his further part in our story, a wandering story, like Jock Farquharson.
XVII—-A Song of Other Shores
"Quebec, North America.
My Worthy Kinsman,
"You have not written me in reply to a previous letter of mine, nor did I expect you would, but I hope you have not lost all interest in my fortunes, and I make sure that the great events which have happened here, in New France, must interest you, when told with some particularity by me.