“And why not? To wait will cost us a day; nor, so far as I can see, would it be of the slightest value to Hugo Chevet. The priests here will attend to the ceremony, and this handful of silver will buy him prayers. 188 Pouf! he is dead, and that is all there is to it; so come along, for I will wait here no longer.”
The man’s actions, his manner, and words were heartless. For an instant I stood in revolt, ready to defy openly, an angry retort on my lips; yet before I found speech, Père Allouez rested his hand on my shoulder.
“’Tis best, my child,” he said softly. “We can no longer serve the dead by remaining here, and there are long leagues before us. In the boat your prayers will reach the good God just as surely as though you knelt here beside this poor body. ’Tis best we go.”
I permitted him to lead me out through the door, and we followed Cassion down the steep path to the shore. The latter seemed to have forgotten all else save our embarkation, and hurried the soldier off on a run to get the boats in the water. The père held to my arm, and I was conscious of his voice continually speaking, although I knew nothing of what he said. I was incapable of thinking, two visions haunting me––the body of Hugo Chevet outstretched on the bench in the mission house, and Rene de Artigny far away yonder on the water. Why had it happened? What could ever excuse a crime like this?
On the beach all was in readiness for departure, and it was evident enough that Moulin had already spread the news of Chevet’s murder among his comrades. 189 Cassion, however, permitted the fellows little time for discussion, for at his sharp orders they took their places in the canoes, and pushed off. The priest was obliged to assume Chevet’s former position, and I would gladly have accompanied him, but Cassion suddenly gripped me in his arms, and without so much as a word, waded out through the surf, and put me down in his boat, clambering in himself, and shouting his orders to the paddlers.
I think we were all of us glad enough to get away. I know I sat silent, and motionless, just where he placed me, and stared back across the widening water at the desolate, dismal scene. How lonely, and heart-sickening it was, those few log houses against the hill, the blackened stumps littering the hillside, and the gloomy forest beyond. The figures of a few men were visible along the beach, and once I saw a black-robed priest emerge from the door of the mission house, and start down the steep path.
The picture slowly faded as we advanced, until finally the last glimpse of the log chapel disappeared in the haze, and we were alone on the mystery of the great lake, gliding along a bare, uninhabited shore. I was aroused by the touch of Cassion’s hand on my own as it grasped the side of the canoe.
“Adele,” he said, almost tenderly. “Why should you be so serious? Cannot we be friends?”
My eyes met his in surprise.