“It cannot and it will not be,” he said; “so be of good comfort and have no fear.” Roger also got up from the settle and went over to look from the window. “The storm has blown itself out,” he observed, “and there is a heavy fog rolling in from the sea. It is long past midnight and such of the men of Hopewell who have not given up the search in weariness have gone up over the hill. The French ship must be lying somewhere off-shore in this darkness: now is the time to try to signal to her from the shore if it is to be done in safety. Do you wait here, while I see what I can do.” “I will come with you,” said Master Simon, taking down his lantern once more and putting in his pocket a handful of Margeret’s bayberry candles. “We may have to go to the far end of the headland before the ship sees us and the time is none too long. And should any one knock at the door while we are gone, Margeret—well, the big cupboard upstairs is the safest hiding place. It must be your quick wit and courage that can avail to save us all in such a case.” The priest spoke very little after they had gone, and finally dropped into a doze in the big chair. Margeret looked at him many times as she tip-toed about the kitchen, looked at his white hair, his gentle wrinkled face and his thin shoulders bowed with toil and suffering. How was it possible that people of her own dear Hopewell could be seeking to take the life of such a man? Would the Gospel of Fear always have such a hold upon kindly people’s hearts? She became so absorbed in her thoughts that she failed to hear an almost noiseless movement outside and turned with a gasp of dismay when, without a sound, the door swung slowly open. But it was not the Puritans who had found out where the hunted Jesuit was hiding that night. Margeret gave almost a sob of relief when she saw that it was a tall, blanketed Indian who had come in and that the faces filling the door behind him were all dusky ones, heavy, stolid and red of skin. The priest awoke and greeted the newcomers with a happy smile. “These are my dear, dark children,” he explained to her, “and they have followed to bid me a last good-bye.” Their faces lighted as he spoke to them and they responded in the thick gutturals of a tongue quite strange to Margeret. More and more came crowding into the fire-lit kitchen while a greater and greater company stood silent and patient outside. Their movements were so utterly without a sound that it was small wonder they had slipped, like unseen ghosts, past the searching white men. They seemed to be asking something of the priest, for he shook his head distressfully again and again as one after another spoke. But the look that he turned to her now and again grew ever more wistful.