the ground beneath my feet.

"Marc," I called softly, "I'm coming, lad!"

The drooped head was lifted.

"Father!" he exclaimed. And there was something like a sob in that cry of joy. It caught my heart strangely, telling me he was still a boy for all he had borne himself so manfully in the face of sudden and appalling peril. Now the long tension was loosed. He was alone with me. As I sprang to him and cut the thongs that held him, one arm went about my neck and I was held very close for the space of some few heart-beats. Then he fetched a deep breath, stretched his cramped limbs this way and that, and said simply, "I knew you would come, Father! I knew you would find a way!"

Chapter IV

The Governor's Signature

The clouds slipped clear of the moon's face, and we three—Marc, I, and the stake—cast sudden long black shadows which led all the way down to the edge of the increeping tide. I looked at the shadows, and a shudder passed through me as if a cold hand had been laid upon my back. Marc stood off a little,—never have I seen such quick control, such composure, in one so inexperienced,—and remarked to me:—

"What a figure of a man you are, Father, to be sure!"

I fell into his pretence of lightness at once, a high relief after the long and deadly strain; and I laughed with some pleasure at the praise. In very truth, I cherished a secret pride in my body.

"'Tis well enough, no doubt, in a dim light," said I, "though by now surely somewhat battered!"

Marc was already taking off his clothes. As he knotted them into a convenient bundle, there came from the woods, a little way back of the point, the hollow "Too-hoo-hoo-whoo-oo!" of the small gray owl.

"There's Tamin!" said I, and was on the point of answering in like fashion, when the cry was reiterated twice.

"That means danger, and much need of haste for us," I growled. Together we ran down into the tide, striking out with long strokes for the fine white line that seethed softly along the dark base of the point. I commended the lad mightily for his swimming, as we scrambled upon the beach and slipped swiftly into our clothes. Though carrying his bundle on his head, he had given me all I could do to keep abreast of him.

We climbed the bluff, and ran through the wet, keen-scented bushes toward the creek where lay the boat. Ere we had gone half-way Tamin met us, breathless.

"What danger?" I asked.

"I think they're coming back to tuck the lad in for the night, and see that he's comfortable!" replied Tamin, panting heavily. "I heard paddles when they should have been long out of earshot."

"Something has put them in doubt!" said Marc.

"Sure," said I, "and not strange, if one but think of it!"

"Yet I told them a fair tale," panted Tamin, as he went on swiftly toward his boat.

The boat lay yet some yards above the edge of tide, having been run aground near high water. The three of us were not long in dragging her down and getting her afloat. Then came the question that was uppermost.

"Which way?" asked Tamin, laconically, taking the tiller, while Marc stood by to hoist the dark and well-patched sail.

I considered the wind for some moments.

"For Chignecto!" said I, with emphasis. "We must see de Ramezay and settle this hound La Garne. Otherwise Marc stands in hourly peril."

As the broad sail drew, and the good boat, leaning well over, gathered way, and the small waves swished and gurgled merrily under her quarter, I could hardly withhold from laughing for sheer gladness. Marc was already smoking with great composure beside the mast, his lean face thoughtful, but untroubled. He looked, I thought, almost as old as his war-battered sire who now watched him with so proud an eye. Presently I heard Tamin fetch a succession of mighty breaths, as he emptied and filled the ample bellows of his lungs. He snatched the green and yellow cap of knitted wool from his head, and let the wind cool the sweating black tangle that coarsely thatched his broad skull.

"Hein!" he exclaimed, with a droll glance at Marc, "that's better than that!" And he made an expressive gesture as of setting a knife to his scalp. To me this seemed much out of place and time; but Tamin was ever privileged in the eyes of a de Mer, so I grumbled not. As for Marc, that phantom of a smile, which I had already learned to watch for, just touched his lips, as he remarked calmly:

"Vraiment, much better. That, as you call it, my Tamin, came so near to-night that my scalp needs no cooling since!"

"But whither steering?" I inquired; for the boat was speeding south-eastward, straight toward Grand Pré.

Tamin's face told plainly that he had his reasons, and I doubted not that they were good. For some moments that wide, grave mouth opened not to make reply, while the little, twinkling, contradictory eyes were fixed intently on some far-off landmark, to me invisible. This point being made apparently to his satisfaction, he relaxed and explained.

"You see, M'sieu," said he, "we must get under the loom o' the shore, so's we'll be out of sight when the canoes come round the point. If they see a sail, at this time o' night, they'll suspicion the whole thing and be after us. Better let 'em amuse themselves for a spell hunting for the lad on dry land, so's we won't be rushed. Been enough rush!"

"Yes! Yes!" assented I, scanning eagerly the point behind us. And Marc said:—

"Very great is your sagacity, my Tamin. The Black Abbé fooled himself when he forgot to take you into his reckoning!"

At this speech the little wrinkles gathered thicker about Tamin's eyes. At length, deeming us to have gone far enough to catch the loom of the land, as it lay for one watching from the sand-spit, Tamin altered our course, and we ran up the basin. Just then we marked two canoes rounding the point. They were plainly visible to us, and I made sure we should be seen at once; but a glance at Tamin's face reassured me. The Fisher understood, as few even among old woodsmen understand it, the lay of the shadow-belts on a wide water at night.

Noiselessly we lowered our sail and lay drifting, solicitous to mark what the savages might do. The sand-spit was by this so small that from where we lay it was not to be discerned; but we observed the Indians run their canoes upon it, disembark, and stoop to examine the footprints in the sand. In a moment or two they embarked again, and paddled straight to the point.

"Shrewd enough!" said Marc.

"Yes," said I, "and now they'll track us straight to Tamin's creek, and understand that we've taken the boat. But they won't know what direction we've taken!"

"No, M'sieu," muttered Tamin, "but no use loafing round here till they find out!"

Which being undoubted wisdom of Tamin's, we again hoisted sail and continued our voyage.

Having run some miles up the Basin, we altered our course and stood straight across for the northern shore. We now felt secure from pursuit, holding it highly improbable that the savages would guess our purpose and destination. As we sat contenting our eyes with the great bellying of the sail, and the fine flurries of spray that ever and again flashed up from our speeding prow, and the silver-blue creaming of our wake, Marc gave us a surprise. Thrusting his hand into the bosom of his shirt he drew out a packet and handed it to me.

"Here, perhaps, are the proofs on which the gentle Abbé relied!" said he.

Taking the packet mechanically, I stared at the lad in astonishment. But there was no information to be gathered from that inscrutable countenance, so I presently recollected myself, and unfolded the papers. There were two of them. The moon was partly clear at the moment, and I made out the first to be an order, written in English, on one Master Nathaniel Apthorp, merchant, of Boston, directing him to pay Master Marc de Mer, of Grand Pré in Nova