Chapter XX
But Mad Nor-nor-west
The steps came close to me, moved away, and were still. A sick man’s curiosity soon works, and here, surely, were incalculable matters for me to find out. I turned over suddenly.
It was a fantastic figure that faced me, sitting on a billet of wood not far from the door. Withered herbs were in the high, peaked cap. The black-and-yellow mantle was drawn forward to cover the folded arms. The steely eyes were at my inmost thought.
There is no doubt I was still a sick man. I was unspeakably disappointed. Looking back upon it now, I verily believe that I expected to see Yvonne, as in a fairy tale.
“Why did you come in,” I asked peevishly, twisting under those eyes, “without proclaiming—
“Woe, woe to Acadie the Fair, for the hour of her desolation cometh?”
“It has come,” said he quietly.
I sat up as if a spring had moved me. My eyes alone questioned.
“Beauséjour has fallen. France is driven back on Louisbourg. The men of Acadie are in chains. The women await what fate they know not. Their homes await the flame.”
Here was no madman speaking.