“Oh, mon père!” I cried, shuddering, and holding closer to him.
He stepped in front of me and faced the Canadian. “Go!” he commanded. “Go! You may succour Louisbourg or not, as you will, but before I would raise my hand in such a sacrilege as you have dared to insult your God in proffering, I would see it withered to the bone. I will try to believe you led astray by your evil passions, that you are not sane for the moment; and if God see fit to leave you in your present evil possession, He will have punished you more fearfully than any curse of mine can do. Go, and may God pity you! Come, my daughter,” he said to me.
Holding my hand in his strong, assuring grasp, he led me beside him, safe in his protecting presence. Before we gained the open path he stopped, and, motioning me to be seated on a log, he remained standing. The moment he withdrew his hand the distance between us seemed immeasurable; all his protection, all his comradeship were withdrawn with his grasp, and he stood before me as the priest and judge only.
“I have no wish to add to your trouble,” he began, slowly, and almost unwillingly, I thought, “but for your own safety I must make it clear to you, beyond further question or casuistry, what your position now is, and to what your disobedience has led. For yourself, you are in a position sevenfold worse than you were before; you have carried the harmless deception I authorised to a point that has placed you in a most dangerous and humiliating situation. Sarennes has become infatuated with you to an extent which threatens ruin to himself, disgrace to those nearest him, and, perhaps, disaster to greater and more important interests. Nay, do not rise or speak. I know you would disclaim any part in the matter, but unfortunately your intention does not alter facts; it is your presence here that is at fault. Beyond this you are personally in extreme peril; you must realise that this man knows nothing of the restrictions which should govern his conduct towards you. Blinded as he is by his passion, he will not hesitate a moment to carry you off, if need be, and his conscience will never suffer a moment's pang, provided he find a priest to patter the words of the marriage-service over you, if, indeed, he even hold such a concession to your feelings necessary. The presence of his mother and sister is no real protection, and even his absence is no assurance of safety, for he can readily find means to carry out his purpose without appearing on the scene himself. You had better stay within-doors, or at least within sight of the house, until the immediate danger is past. I will not go with you farther now, as I have no wish to offer more explanations than may be absolutely necessary, and I must follow this unhappy man, if haply I yet may turn him to his duty. Do you go on to the house, and when I return, perhaps on the morrow, I will see what can be done.”
“Oh, mon père, mon père, forgive me before I go!” I cried, kneeling at his feet.
“There is no question of my forgiveness,” he answered, coldly. “You must learn that wrong-doing need not be personal to produce evil. There is no question of me or thee in the matter at all. It is much greater, much more serious than any personal feeling, and the results may swell out of all proportion, that you can see, to your action. All that can be done now is to remedy it in so far as in us lies. Go, my daughter, go and ask for guidance, the one thing needful, far above any mere human forgiveness. But do not go thinking you have forfeited either my sympathy or my help. I owe both to you, as to every helpless creature God sends into my path; and, believe me, no one could appeal more strongly to my poor protection than do you. Go, my daughter, and may God keep and comfort you!”
I found my way back, dazed and confounded, and could only with the greatest effort command myself sufficiently to return some coherent answer to Angélique's inquiry as to her brother; but she covered my confusion with her own liveliness.
“Never marry a soldier, 'mademoiselle!'” she exclaimed. “They worry one's life out with their eternal comings and goings. As likely as not Charles is off again, and will never come near us to say farewell; but that is a bagatelle. The real trouble is that my mother is an old woman; she realises keenly that any day Charles may say good-bye for the last time, and to spare her the pain of parting, he has more than once slipped off quietly like this. Never was a man so tender of women as my brother Charles! But you are pale; you look tired out. It is often so in spring-time in this country. What you should do is to get to bed at once, and have Lucie bring you a tisane when you are ready for sleep. Go, that is wise.”
It was such a relief to be alone, to lie broken and wretched, but safe and by myself, in my own chamber, that for the moment this sufficed me; then sleep came to me, and when I awoke, quieted and refreshed, the house was still, and Lucy lay sleeping in her cot near by.
With the waking, came back the whole dreadful scene through which I had just passed, and in my ears rang the warnings of le père Jean touching my safety. Alas! I realised the danger only too vividly, and I trembled in the darkness at the pictures I could not help forming in my mind. There seemed no outlet and no end to my misery. Even the thought of facing the mother, who saw naught but the chivalrous soldier in her son, and the sister, who so firmly believed in the tenderness and magnanimity of her brother, was a torture to me. In Lucy it would be impossible as well as dishonourable to confide, and, with the priest gone, I stood alone against a danger the very existence of which would be a degradation to reveal.