“And—Yvonne?” I whispered.
“They all are safe, under shelter of the governor—and of Anderson,” he added icily.
I had no more words for a moment. Then I asked—“And the Black Abbé?”
His sane calm disappeared. His face worked; his hands came out from under his cloak, darting like serpents; his eyes veered like pale flame. As suddenly he was calm again.
“He is at Louisbourg,” said he, “at Isle St. Jean—here—there—anywhere; free, busy, still heaping and heating the fires which shall burn his soul alive.”
I like a man who is in earnest; but I could think of nothing appropriate to say. After a pause I changed the subject.
“I am thirsty,” said I, “and hungry too, I think, though I have eaten all the barley bread. And I’m sorry, but I’ve broken the jar.”
From a niche in the wall he at once brought me more barley cake, with butter, and fresh milk, and some dried beef. The wholesome, homely taste of them comes back to me now. Having eaten, I felt that nothing could be quite so good as sleep; and with grateful mutterings, half spoken, I slept.
When I woke it was the cold light of early morning that came in at the cave-mouth; and I was alone. I felt so much better that I got up at once; but ere I could reach the door a dizziness came over me, and I staggered back to my place, feeling that my hour was not yet. As I lay fretting my heart with a thousand hot conjectures, my host came in. He looked at me, but said not a word; nor could I get his tongue loosened all through our light breakfast. At last, to my obstinate repetition of the inquiry: “When shall I be strong enough to go down into Grand Pré?” he suddenly awoke and answered:
“A little way to-morrow, perhaps; and the next day, further; and within the week, if you are fortunate, you should be strong enough for anything. You will need to be, if you are going down into Grand Pré!” he added grimly.