"You do me very much honor, Sir Arthur," replied Law. "Here is your sword, sir." Stooping, he picked it up and handed it to the other. "I did but ill if I refused to accord satisfaction to one bringing me such speech as that. 'Tis well you wear your weapons, Sir Arthur, since you come thus as emissary of the Great Peace! I know you for a gentleman, and I shall ask no parole of you to-night; but meantime, let us wait until to-morrow, when I promise you I shall be eager as yourself. Come! We can stand here guessing and talking no longer. I am weary of it." They came now to the gate of the stockade, and there Pembroke stood for a moment in surprise and perplexity. He was not prepared to meet this dark-haired, wide-eyed girl, clad in native dress of skin, with tinkling metals at wrist and ankle, and on her feet the tiny, beaded shoes. For her part, Mary Connynge, filled with woman's curiosity, was yet less prepared for that which appeared before her--an apparition, as ran her first thought, come to threaten and affright. "Sir Arthur!" she began, her trembling tongue but half forming the words. Her eyes stared in terror, and beneath her dark skin the blood shrank away and left her pale. She recoiled from him, her left hand carrying behind her instinctively the babe that lay on her arm. Sir Arthur bowed, but found no word. He could only look questioningly at Law. "Madam," said the latter, "Sir Arthur Pembroke journeys through as the messenger of Lord Bellomont, governor at Albany, to spread peace among the Western tribes. He has by mere chance blundered upon our valley, and will delay over night. It seemed well you should be advised." Mary Connynge, gray and pale, haggard and horrified, dreading all things and knowing nothing, found no manner of reply. Without a word she turned and fled back into the cabin. Sir Arthur once more looked about him. Motioning to the others of the party to remain outside the gate, Law led him within the stockade. On one hand stood Pierre Noir, tall, silent, impassive as a savage, leaning upon his gun and fixing on the red coat of the English uniform an eye none too friendly. Jean Breboeuf, his piece half ready and his voluble tongue half on the point of breaking over restraint, Law quieted with a gesture. Back of these, ranged in a silent yet watchful group, their weapons well in hand, stood numbers of the savage allies of this new war-lord. Pembroke turned to Law again. "You are strongly stationed, sir; but I do not understand." "It is my home." "But yet--why?" "As well this as any, where one leaves an old life and begins a new," said Law. "'Tis as good a place as any if one would leave all behind, and if he would forget." "And this--that is to say--madam?" Sir Arthur stumbled in his speech. John Law looked him straight in the eye, a slow, sad smile upon his face.