“And it shall not be to the redcoat braves,” said the Indian, as together they sped through the undergrowth. “Down beside the crimson Missaguash there are homes in which thy race still dwells in peace, even as those who remain beside the Annapolis. Thither will the Micmac take the maiden of Wild Deer.” “Halt!” thundered a familiar voice. “A straying lamb, indeed—a lamb in sore need of chastisement.” But for once the fierce priest had reckoned amiss. Quicker than the lightning’s flash the hand of the Indian went to his tomahawk, his eyes glittering balefully. With a motion almost as rapid the whistle wherewith Le Loutre summoned his lambs was at his lips, while with his disengaged hand he held a crucifix aloft. But that almost might have ruled betwixt life and death had not Margot sprung forward and placed her slight body as a shield for the priest. “Jean Jacques,” she cried, “is this thy new faith? to strike the anointed of God?” The upraised tomahawk dropped, and the Indian grunted sullenly. But Le Loutre, the full violence of whose fanaticism was aroused by the ‘perversion’ of one of his lambs, was not to be so easily pacified, though life itself were at stake; and the influence of the paleface maiden might not have availed to save him, so irritating was the language he used toward the already enraged Micmac, had not Margot, aghast at the prospect of beholding the _abbé_ murdered before her very eyes, hastily promised to go with him whither he would, if so be he would permit the Indian to depart in peace. “Swear upon the crucifix,” insisted Le Loutre, “that you will follow me back to the true fold.” Scarcely realized by herself, the girl’s heart and sense, and perhaps also the recollection of Gabriel’s persecution, were combining to lead her in spirit away from that fold; and now she drew back. “I will take no oath, _mon père_,” she said gently, “but I promise to go with thee now; more I cannot promise.” Then she turned to Jean Jacques, holding out her hand in grateful farewell. [Illustration: “But Gabriel had neither eyes nor ears for the priest.”] “Seek thine own safety,” she said hurriedly, “and if _mon cousin_ lives, tell him——” Her voice broke, and she started to follow the already moving priest. “If Gabriel lives!” cried another voice, and in a moment she was in the arms of its owner. What matter that he wore the scarlet coat of the British soldier, that he had forsworn the faith of their common forefathers? Was he not Gabriel still, the playmate of her childhood, and now, as she suddenly understood, the lover of her youth? It was but for a moment, and then the priest tore them asunder. “Heretic boy!” he exclaimed, regardless of the Micmac, who once more approached threateningly, “release this maiden, unworthy as thou art to touch the hem of her garment.”