“He has lost his head, poor boy. I thought him of better stuff. And the girl––Ah, if he had only gone alone! I could forgive his rashness, Father, his disobedience, if only he could go down with a clear name.”
“There is still doubt,” said the priest, cautiously. “We know only what Tegakwita said.”
“I’m afraid,” Menard replied, shaking his head, “I’m afraid it’s true. You said he wore the hunting clothes. Some one freed him. And the girl is gone. I wish––Well, there is no use. I hoped for something better, that is all.”
Just outside the door the maid was talking 179 gaily with the two children, who now and then raised their piping voices. Then it was evident that they were going away, for she was calling after them. She came into the hut, smiling, and carrying a small willow basket full of corn.
“See,” she said, “even now it is something to have made a friend. We shall not go hungry to-day, after all. Will you partake, Father? And M’sieu?”
She paused before the Captain. He had stepped forward, and was staring at her.
“Where are they?” he asked.
“The children? They are wandering along the path.”
“Quick, Mademoiselle! Call them back.”
She hesitated, in surprise; then set the basket on the ground and obeyed. Menard paced the floor until she returned.