Margot’s eyes brightened, and oblivious of fear she approached the Indian, who she now perceived was no Micmac. He held toward her a little billet which she eagerly took. Now the good _curé_ at Annapolis, at Gabriel’s earnest entreaty, had taught the cousins to read and write, and never was Margot more thankful than at this moment for the blessed privilege, though she had often times found the lesson hour a toilsome one. “Ah!” she cried. “I have nothing to give thee, Bent Bow, to reward thy faithfulness. The poor Acadians have not so much as a handful of beads.” “It is enough that I bring thee the billet,” replied the Indian, “and that I serve Wild Deer. Together, many moons from here, we drove before us the foreign devils, and there came a night on which the paleface youth saved the life of the Indian brave.” “Wilt thou see him again?” cried the girl eagerly. Bent Bow shook his head, and with a sign of farewell began to crawl away through the marsh grass. “Is it well with Wild Deer?” she called after him. “It is well.” And she saw the messenger no more. Still walking behind the cows, she read the precious letter: MA COUSINE: Would that I knew it was as well with thee as it is with me. But, alas! this I cannot know. Yet Jean Jacques is faithful, and he has vowed to care for my pearl of price. Long ere this he will have told thee why I failed to meet thee. Margot, I have for leader one of the noblest young men God ever created. It was a happy day for me when, through my father’s name, I was appointed to serve under such an one. Sad it is that a soldier’s life takes me far from thee, but I shall come again, sweet cousin, to find thee safe and sheltered beside the Missaguash, far from the cruel priest. The family to whom Jean Jacques was to carry thee are known by me, and will protect and cherish thee. “Ah, Gabriel,” said Margot to herself, the tears upon her cheeks, “well is it that so much is hid from thee.” For I am coming back. Little is said, but Washington himself thinks that some great move is to be made, and that the men of New England are gathering, and that the governor of Massachusetts and the governor of our poor distraught country are planning alike against the French. Then I and others who came southward with me will return. Till then, _ma cherie, mon amie_, adieu. In English, though I have grown to like my father’s tongue, methinks these words are not so sweet. GABRIEL. And all the way along the meadows her heart sang, “He is coming back.” But at home a scene of confusion and distress awaited her.