On getting out of the canoe she was perplexed what step to take next. To her enquiries, made in English and imperfect French, the Indians shook their heads, and merely pointed her to the mission-buildings. Approaching the nearest of these, from whose open door streamed the glowing light of a log-fire, she paused at the threshold on seeing a woman kneeling, and who, on hearing her, coolly turned, surveyed her with an inquisitive and deliberate stare, and then calmly resumed her devotions. When the last bead was told, the woman rose and bade her welcome. Maggie told her of her errand. The woman grew curious as to what she could want with an Indian. Yes, she knew Hemlock, but had not seen him; he is a pagan and never comes near the presbytery. The father had gone into the garden to repeat his office and had not returned; she would ask him when he came in. Mademoiselle could have had no supper; mon Dieu, people did not pick up ready-cooked suppers in the woods, but she would hasten and give her of her best. It was a treat to see a white woman, even if she was an Anglais and, she feared, a heretic. The embers on the hearth were urged into a blaze, and before long a platter of pottage, made from Indian corn beaten into a paste, was heated, sprinkled over with maple-sugar and set down with a bowl of curdled-cream on the table. Maggie had finished her repast when the priest entered. He was a lumpish man with protruding underlip, which hung downwards, small eyes, and a half-awakened look. “Ah, good-day,” he said with a vacant stare. Maggie rose and curtsied, while the housekeeper volubly repeated all she had learned of her and her errand. “Hemlock!” he exclaimed, “we must take care. He is a bad Indian and this young woman cannot want him for any good.” “True; I never thought of that.” “Ah, we must keep our eyes always open. What can a girl like this want with that bold man?” “And to run after him through the woods, the infatuate! We must save her.” “I will have her sent to the sisters, who will save her body and soul from destruction. She would make a beautiful nun.” And the priest rubbed his chubby hands together. “May it please your reverence,” interposed Maggie, who had caught the drift of their talk, “I seek your aid to find Hemlock. If you will not help me, I shall leave your house.” The priest gasped for a minute with astonishment. “I thought you were English; you understand French?” “Enough to take care of myself, and I wish ministers of your robe were taught in college to have better thoughts of us poor women.” “It is for your good we are instructed; so that we can guard you by our advice.” “For our good you are taught to think the worst of us! I look for Hemlock that he may go and give evidence that will save a man condemned to die. For the sake of innocency I ask your help.”