"All right, lad! I understand," he said heartily, his former indifference vanished. "Derned if I wouldn't jist as soon leave that Parley-Voo behind; but I 'm with ye, an' I reckon Ol' Burns 'll give them thar redskins another dern good jolt. Take hold here, boy, an' we 'll run this yere man-o-war outside, where we kin ship the rest o' her crew."
The back-water rippling among the old piling was shallow, but the boat had little aboard and floated free, so that we worked it forward with little difficulty until we succeeded in rounding the slight promontory and held its bulging sides close against the mud wall. Leaving Burns to keep it in place, I crept silently up the bank.
"Come!" I whispered, making my way to the side of Mademoiselle more by instinct than sight. "The boat we sought is here and ready! I have even found a boatman to aid us, in the form of Ol' Burns, who, you remember, aided De Croix and me at the time of our famous race. Let us waste no more of the night here, but do the rest of your talking in greater safety on the water."
They came with me down to the edge of the stream without a word of protest. I had taken Mademoiselle in my arms and lifted her slight form into the boat, when she turned suddenly, as it by an unrestrainable impulse, and held out her hands toward the dim figure of the silent girl who yet remained motionless several feet away.
"Marie!" she said, anxiously, "it may be wrong of me to urge it, but I beg you to think again in this grave matter. Surely such horrible massacre as you have witnessed must absolve you from your vow, and yield you freedom to return eastward with those you love."
The other did not respond to this passionate appeal, but stood facing us silent as a statue.
"What mean you, Mademoiselle?" I asked. "Will not this Sister Celeste consent to leave the Indians?"
"Nay, she has made a sacred vow of religion which binds her to this sacrifice. I implore you, John Wayland, urge her to go with us! 'T is but waste of her life here. She is an old schoolmate of mine, and 't will be hard to leave her alone in this wilderness. Captain de Croix, she was far from being a stranger to you in those other days at Montreal,—will you not add your entreaties to ours?"
I saw him step forward toward that quiet bowed figure, and she straightened perceptibly, even in the darkness, as he drew near. His words were in French, and spoken so low I missed their meaning; yet we all heard plainly her calm answer, while marking the faltering accents of her lips.
"Dear, dear friend!" and I felt her eyes, blinded by tears, were seeking out Mademoiselle through the gloom, "it breaks my heart to answer you nay in this hour of sore trial to us both. Yet my vow to God is more sacred than any earthly friendship; nor could peace ever again abide in my heart were I to break the vow so lightly. My duty is here, be it for life or death; and here I must abide until the Master sets me free."