My work with the children was the greatest boon which could have been granted me; it kept me sane and healthy, and my heart went out to the little ignorant souls so full of life and affection. It was no task; it was a welcome labour of love; and the children saw and felt it as such; on their side, their little feet were never too weary nor their little hands too tired to respond to any service I might ask of them.
But despite their love and the unfailing kindness of Mme. Dufour, it was impossible to escape from my pain. My daily refuge was the altar of the little church, where night and morn, often in company of some other lonely woman anxious for the safety of son or husband far at sea, I laid bare my soul in an agony of supplication for the safety of the one dear to me above all others; and I found support, too, in the thought of the devoted priest pursuing his lonely way, consecrating his life and effort for others, most of whom made no return, for they knew not the greatness of his sacrifice.
The rumours that reached us during the next two months brought no assuagement to our fears, and when le père Jean came, towards the middle of August, men, women, and children gathered on the beach to welcome him. His white, worn face and wearied bearing told his message before he spake a word, and my heart failed me at the sight.
With his unfailing consideration, he turned to me the moment he saw my distress. “Le Chevalier de Maxwell is safe; he escaped the night the capitulation was signed,” he whispered, and then turned with his news towards the anxious people.
Like one afar off I heard him tell of the long siege, of the hardships endured, the courage displayed, the surrender of the ruined fortress, and the removal of the garrison to the ships of war; but in the selfishness of love my heart was too full of gratitude to have understanding for aught else.
When the story was ended, and the eager questioners answered, he turned to me again, and, inviting me to follow, we took our way towards the church.
“You are anxious to hear more,” he said, gently. “Let me tell you all I know. M. de Maxwell left the town only after the capitulation was reluctantly agreed to by M. de Drucour, who, with all his officers, had protested against it, and would willingly have held out even beyond hope. He ran the gantlet of the batteries the whole length of the harbour in safety; he was at Miramichi only two days before I arrived there, and took command of some Canadians in charge of a number of English prisoners to lead them to Quebec. So you may comfort yourself with the thought of his safety, and that your prayers have been answered.”
“What will happen now, mon père?”
“That is impossible to say; except that the English will certainly push every advantage they have gained, and, unless substantial help comes from without, the outlook is desperate.”
“Did no help come to Louisbourg, mon père?”