"By the God that makes and breaks hearts," Dunvegan breathed, "you'll never look on him again. You belong to me by first and only right of worship."
There sounded a step on the stairs. Whoever had arrived was coming up.
The door opened softly. Father Brochet stepped in.
"My son, my son," he murmured reproachfully but compassionately.
They had told him all below. He came across the room, clasping hands with Bruce, greeting Desirée parentally.
"Go to bed, child," he ordered kindly, assuming authority over the odd situation. "You look tired out. Go to bed! Bruce and I want to talk."
Wondering at her own obedience, Desirée vanished into the adjoining chamber. Marveling at his own sufferance, Dunvegan watched her go.
He turned to Brochet. "Everything unexpected seems to be happening to-night!" he exclaimed. "But I didn't think you were near. Where have you come from, Father?"
"From Loon Lake."
"You knew we had captured Fort Brondel, then?"