My strength, under one compelling purpose, had come back; and it seemed to me that I saw events and their chances with radiating clearness. So up-strung were my nerves that the long tramp seemed over in a few minutes, and I found myself, almost with surprise, at the lower ford of the Gaspereau, just under the hill which backs Grand Pré. Here was the thick wood wherein I planned to lie perdu, in the event of dangerous passers. In a little while there came in view a woman, heavy-eyed and dishevelled, carrying a basket of new-baked barley bread, very sweet to smell. It was clear she was one with an interest in the prisoners at the chapel. In such a case I could have no fear of stumbling upon a traitor. I stepped out to her.
“Would that he, too,” said I significantly, “had gone to the woods in time!”
Her eyes ran over with the ready and waiting tears; but she jerked her apron jealously over the loaves, and looked at me with a touch of resentment, as if to say, “Why had you such foresight, and not he?”
“He went to hear the reading, and they took him,” she moaned. “And who will keep the little ones from starving in the winter coming on?”
“It is where I, too, would be now—in the chapel prison yonder,” said I gently. “But I lay in the woods, wounded, too sick to go to the reading, so I escaped.”
The resentment faded out. She saw that I was not one of those who shamed her husband’s credulity. I might have been caught too, had I been given the same chance.
“For the little ones, I pray you accept this silver, and count it a loan to your husband in his prison,” said I, slipping two broad Spanish pieces into her hand.
She looked grateful and astonished, but had no words ready.
“And do, I beg of you, a kindness to one in bitter need of it,” I went on. “You know Father Fafard?”
“He grieves for me, thinking me dead,” said I. “Tell him, I beg of you, that one who loves him waits to see him in the wood by the lower ford.”
“How shall I know—how shall he know—you are honest?” she asked.
“_You_ must judge by your woman’s wit,” said I. “And he will come. He fears no one. But no, tell him Paul Grande waits at the lower ford.”
“The traitor!” she blazed out; and, recoiling, hurled the money in my face. It stung strangely.