Yet he judged Gabriel entirely by himself, by his own capacity for righteous (?) hatred: Gabriel was at the head of the party searching for him betwixt Beauséjour and Baye-Verte, and it was for this reason that he had made a wide détour, appointing the meeting with his factotum, Cope, at a house where dwelt one who could be depended upon not to betray him. Her influence over the young heretic, he believed, could also be depended upon, should the fugitives be intercepted by him in their flight. Honor, loyalty to duty, counted for nothing in the estimation of the religious fanatic. “It is for her soul’s salvation,” he repeated to himself with pious emphasis. From the woods near by floated the quavering cry of a night owl. “Await me here, Margot,” exclaimed the priest authoritatively, and stepping backward was lost in the shadows. Force of habit was strong, and still leaning from the window she instinctively obeyed. A few minutes elapsed, and then the terrifying Indian, who no longer had terrors for her, re-appeared. But this time no words passed. A brawny arm seized her by the waist, while at the same time a cloth was pushed into her mouth. Unable to utter a sound, she was dragged from the window, and borne away. CHAPTER VII When Gabriel, two or three days later, rode up to rejoin Monckton’s command under the walls of Beauséjour, his heart—despite his failure to capture the fugitive priest—beat high with joyful anticipation, for Monckton had promised that upon his return he should be given a few hours to visit his cousin and assure himself that all was indeed well with her. The general himself was subject to the orders of Governor Shirley, and Gabriel had come to him with a letter of recommendation from George Washington. Washington, himself a Virginian, rightly guessed that the young soldier, of English birth and bound to Virginia by ties of blood and sympathy, would not harmonize comfortably with the New England Puritans under Winslow. “The maiden were best at Halifax,” had been Monckton’s comment on hearing Gabriel’s briefly told tale. “There abide many of her people.” Best! Yes, how far best! But wishes were vain. The general, when Gabriel arrived in camp, was busy in his tent, and merely waved his hand hurriedly as the young man saluted and began to make his report. “I know, I know!” he exclaimed. “The rascally priest has slipped through our fingers, disguised as one of his infernal Micmacs, I understand. Well, the country is well rid of him. I shall soon have other work for you.” Chancing to glance up, something in his lieutenant’s face struck him—something in the tense eagerness of the fine, soldierly figure. “Speak,” he said kindly, “what is it?” Then suddenly he remembered, and a smile illumined his anxious, rather worn face, while that of Gabriel flushed in response.