“Whom I may trust, that also I know,” exclaimed Louis vehemently, turning upon his friend. . . Then more calmly, “No matter for that. _M. l’Abbé_ is out of Acadie ere now, and we, say I, are well rid of him. Only grief and trouble did he bring us.” He glanced around defiantly, but the little group remained passive. Gabriel stood apart, his face hidden in his horse’s mane. At length he spoke: “And thou knowest no more, good Louis? Thou hast no clue?” “This only: that from Baye-Verte _M. l’Abbé_, and his brother priest made sail for Quebec, and it was said that he would leave our Margot at Isle St. Jean, where is a goodly colony of our people, driven out of Acadie long since and living miserably.” Gabriel groaned. Julie stepped forward and laid a kindly hand upon his shoulder. “Better that than the Indians,” she exclaimed in the sanguine tones habitual to her. “And something tells me that _la petite_ escaped. Who knows? She may have made her way to Halifax.” “Impossible!” returned Gabriel sadly. “All alone, those many leagues?” “But,” put in Herbes confidently, “there was a party of our country people landed at Baye-Verte from that melancholy isle, on their way to Halifax to take the oath of allegiance. One party had already done so, with the result that they were reinstated in their old homes and furnished by the heretic English with provisions for the winter. This second party looked for the same indulgence, if not too late. Who knows? the maiden may have joined them. One coming hither from Baye-Verte vowed that he saw her not with the priests.” “And I?” exclaimed Gabriel, in a sudden burst of anger with himself, “why did not I capture that man, who over and over again has brought misery into my own life and the lives of all dear to me? From Beauséjour to Baye-Verte it is but twelve miles, and meseemed I rode with my company over every inch of it, yet saw neither priest nor Indian.” The face of Louis took on a peculiar expression. “_M. le Capitain_,” he said, “it hath been related of us that we, the Acadians, love gold. And why not?” shrugging his shoulders and spreading his hands. “Gold, it is good, and we are poor. _M. l’Abbé_ has gold always, and so there are those who would hide and help him, even though he be shorn of his strength. Also, is he not our father in God?” Here his expression became devout, and he crossed himself. “Also, there are some who have wearied of his rule—worse, say I, than that of a dozen kings—and would speed him in his flight.” But Marie interrupted her husband: