“I go now to Kenneticook, to the yellow-haired English Anderson. Neither he nor his house will see another sun.
“I had thought perhaps you were right, Paul, and that Yvonne had promised herself to the Englishman more in esteem than love; but she cried out, with a piteous, shaken voice, that he must be warned—that some one must go to him and save him. With that she rushed from the house, and we have not seen her since. But stay—what have you said or done to her, Paul? Now that I see her face again, I see remorse in it. What have you done to her?”
I made no answer to this sharp question, it being irrelevant and my haste urgent. But I demanded:
“Where could she go for help?”
“I don’t know,” he answered, “unless, perhaps, to the landing.”
“The tide is pretty low,” said I, pondering, “but the wind serves well enough for the Piziquid mouth. Where do you suppose the savages left their canoes?”
“Oh,” said he positively, “well up on the Piziquid shore, without doubt. They came over on the upper trail, and they must be now hurrying back the same way. They cannot get up the Kenneticook, by that route, till a little before dawn.”
“I have time, then!” I exclaimed, and rushed away.
“Where are you going? Paul! Paul! What will you do?” he cried after me.
“I will save him!” I shouted as I went. “Come you down to the landing, the Gaspereau wharf, and get Yvonne if she’s there.”