"I say, gentlemen," exclaimed José, "when you are done your conversation with my lady moon—I don't know how you find so much to say to her—would it please you to notice what a noise they are making in St. Thomas yonder?"
All listened intently. It was the church bell pealing wildly.
"It is the Angelus," exclaimed Jules D'Haberville.
"Oh, yes," exclaimed José, "the Angelus at eight o'clock in the evening."
"Then it's a fire," said Archie.
"But we don't see any flames," answered José. "Whatever it is let's make haste. There is something unusual going on yonder."
Driving as fast as they could, half an hour later they entered the village of St. Thomas. All was silence. The village appeared deserted. Only the dogs, shut up in some of the houses, were barking madly. But for the noise of the curs they might have thought themselves transported into that city which we read of in the Arabian Nights whose inhabitants had all been turned into marble.
Our travelers were on the point of entering the church, the bell of which was still ringing, when they noticed a light and heard shouts from the bank by the rapids near the manor house. Thither they made their way at full speed.
It would take the pen of a Cooper or a Chateaubriand to paint the scene that met their eyes on the bank of South River.