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She stopped speaking. She heard footsteps. Her father entered. Hugh Tryon had done his task gently, but the old planter, selfish and hard as he was, loved his daughter; and the meeting was bitter for him. The prop of his pride seemed shaken beyond recovery. But the girl’s calm comforted them all, and poignancy became dull pain. Before parting for the night Marie said to Hugh: “This is what I wish you to do for me to bring over two of your horses to Point Assumption on the river. There is a glen beyond that as you know, and from it runs the steep and dangerous Brocken Path across the hills. I wish you to wait there until M. Laflamme and Carbourd come by the river–that is their only chance. If they get across the hills they can easily reach the sea. I know that two of your horses have been over the path; they are sure-footed; they would know it in the night. Is it not so?”

“It is so. There are not a dozen horses in the colony that could be trusted on it at night, but mine are safe. I shall do all you wish.”

She put out both her hands and felt for his shoulders, and let them rest there for a moment, saying: “I ask much, and I can give no reward, except the gratitude of one who would rather die than break a promise. It isn’t much, but it is all that is worth your having. Good-night. Good-bye.”

“Good-night. Good-bye,” he gently replied; but he said something beneath his breath that sounded worth the hearing.

The next morning while her father was gone to consult the chief army-surgeon at Noumea, Marie strolled with Angers in the grounds. At length she said: “Angers, take me to the river, and then on down, until we come to the high banks.” With her hand on Angers’ arm, and in her face that passive gentleness which grows so sweetly from sightless eyes till it covers all the face, they passed slowly towards the river. When they came to the higher banks covered with dense scrub, Angers paused, and told Marie where they were.

“Find me the she-oak tree,” the girl said; “there is only one, you know.”

“Here it is, my dear. There, your hand is on it now.”

“Thank you. Wait here, Angers, I shall be back presently.”

“But oh, my dear–“

“Please do as I say, Angers, and do not worry.” The girl pushed aside some bushes, and was lost to view. She pressed along vigilantly by a descending path, until her feet touched rocky ground. She nodded to herself, then creeping between two bits of jutting rock at her right, immediately stood at the entrance to a cave, hidden completely from the river and from the banks above. At the entrance, for which she felt, she paused and said aloud: “Is there any one here?” Something clicked far within the cave. It sounded like a rifle. Then stealthy steps were heard, and a voice said:

“Ah, mademoiselle!”

“You are Carbourd?”

“As you see, mademoiselle.”

“You escaped safely then from the rifle-shot? Where is the soldier?”

“He fell into the river. He was drowned.”

“You are telling me truth?”

“Yes, he stumbled in and sank–on my soul!”

“You did not try to save him?”

“He lied and got me six months in irons once; he called down on my back one hundred and fifty lashes, a year ago; he had me kept on bread and water, and degraded to the fourth class, where I could never hear from my wife and children–never write to them. I lost one eye in the quarries because he made me stand too near a lighted fuse–“

“Poor man, poor man!” she said. “You found the food I left here?”

“Yes, God bless you! And my wife and children will bless you too, if I see France again.”

“You know where the boat is?”

“I know, mademoiselle.”

“When you reach Point Assumption you will find horses there to take you across the Brocken Path. M. Laflamme knows. I hope that you will both escape; that you will be happy in France with your wife and children.”