“And it may be,” he whispered softly, “that we, like the flowers, shall be spared.”
She turned slowly away, and sank upon the bench. Menard, with a strange, new lightness in his heart, went out into the sunlight.
The day wore on. The warm sunbeams, that slipped down through the foliage, lengthened and reached farther and farther to the east. The bright spots of light crept across the grass, climbed the side of the hut and the tree-trunks, lingered on the upreaching twigs, and died away in the blue sky. The evening star shot out its white spears, glowing and radiant, long before the light had gone, or the purple 185 and golden afterglow had faded into twilight. Menard’s mind went back to another day, just such a glorious, shining June day as this had been, when he had sat not a hundred yards from this spot, waiting, as now, for the end. He looked at his fingers. They were scarred and knotted; one drunken, frenzied squaw had mangled them with her teeth. He had wondered then how a man could endure such torture as had come to him, and still could live and think, could even struggle back to health. The depression had gone from him now; his mind was more alert than since the night of the capture. Whether it was the bare chance of help from the Big Throat, or the gentle sadness in the face of the maid as she bowed her head to the single daisy on her breast,––something had entered into his nerves and heart, something hopeful and strong, He wondered, as Father Claude came up the path, slowly, laboriously, why the priest should be so saddened. After all, the world was green and bright, and life, even a few hours of it, was sweet.
“What news, Father?”
The priest shook his head. “Little, M’sieu.”
“Not yet. They are assembling before the Long House.”
“Are they drinking?”
“Yes.”
There was no need for talk, and so the two men sat before the hut, with only an idle word now and then, until the dark came down. The quiet of the village was broken now by the shouts of drinking warriors, with a chanting undertone that rose and swelled slowly into the song that would continue, both men knew, until the break of day, or until none was left with sober tongue to carry the wavering air. A great fire had been lighted, and they could see the glare and the sparks beyond a cluster of trees and huts. Later, straggling braves appeared, wandering about, bottle or flask in hand, crazed by the raw brandy with which the English and Dutch of New York and Orange and the French of the province alike saw fit to keep the Indians supplied.