Meanwhile the abbe and Jessica were making their way swiftly towards the manor-house. They scarcely spoke as they went, but in Jessica’s mind was a vague horror. Lights sparkled on the crescent shore of Beauport, and the torches of fishermen flared upon the St. Charles. She looked back once towards the heights of Quebec and saw the fires of many homes—they scorched her eyes. She asked no questions. The priest beside her was silent, not looking at her at all. At last he turned and said:

“Madame, whatever has happened, whatever may happen, I trust you will be brave.”

“Monsieur l’Abbe” she answered, “I have travelled from Boston here—can you doubt it?”

The priest sighed. “May the hope that gave you strength remain, madame!”

A little longer and then they stood within a garden thick with plants and trees. As they passed through it, Jessica was vaguely aware of the rich fragrance of fallen leaves and the sound of waves washing the foot of the cliffs.

The abbe gave a low call, and almost instantly Perrot stood before them. Jessica recognised him. With a little cry she stepped to him quickly and placed her hand upon his arm. She did not seem conscious that he was her husband’s enemy: her husband’s life was in danger, and it must be saved at any cost. “Monsieur,” she said, “where is my husband? You know. Tell me.”

Perrot put her hand from his arm gently, and looked at the priest in doubt and surprise.

The abbe said not a word, but stood gazing off into the night.

“Will you not tell me of my husband?” she repeated. “He is within that house?” She pointed to the manor-house. “He is in danger, I will go to him.”

She made as if to go to the door, but he stepped before her.

“Madame,” he said, “you cannot enter.”

Just then the moon shot from behind a cloud, and all their faces could be seen. There was a flame in Jessica’s eyes which Perrot could not stand, and he turned away. She was too much the woman to plead weakly.

“Tell me,” she said, “whose house this is.” “Madame, it is Monsieur Iberville’s.”

She could not check a gasp, but both the priest and the woodsman saw how intrepid was the struggle in her, and they both pitied.

“Now I understand! Oh, now I understand!” she cried. “A plot was l............