Menard was struggling to put the maid out of his thoughts, to keep in view only the safety of the column and the welfare of New France. And as the words came rapidly to his lips and fell upon the ears of that silent audience, he began to feel that they believed him. "My brothers," he said, with more feeling than they knew, "it is five seasons since I left your village for the land of the white man. In that time you have had no thought that I was not indeed your brother, the son of your chief. You have known other Frenchmen. Father Claude, who sits by my side; Father Jean de Lamberville, who has given his many years to save you for the great white man's Manitou; Major d'Orvilliers, who has never failed to give food and shelter to the starving hunter at his great stone house,--I could name a hundred others. You know that these are honest, that what they promise will be done. But in every village is a fool, in every family is one who is weak and cannot earn a name on the hunt. You have a warrior in this house who to-day raised his hand against a visitor in the great council. My brothers,--it is with sadness that I say it,--not all the white men are true warriors. You are wise chiefs and brave warriors; you know that because one man is a dog, it is not so with all his nation. The Great Mountain sends me to you, and I speak in his voice. I tell you that Captain la Grange is a dog, that he has broken the faith of the white man and the redman, that the father at Quebec and the Great-Chief-Across-the-Water, who are so quick to punish their red children, will also punish the white. The white men are good. They love the Onondagas. And if any white man breaks the faith, he shall be punished." His voice had risen, and he was speaking in a glow that seemed to drop a spark into each listening heart. He knew now that they believed. He turned abruptly for the present. Father Claude was so absorbed in following the speech, and in watching the maid, who sat with flushed cheeks and lowered eyes, that he was not ready, and Menard stooped and took the book. He could not avoid seeing the maid, when he looked down; and the priest felt a sudden pain in his own heart to see the look of utter weariness that came into the Captain's eyes. Menard turned the leaves of the book for a moment, as if to collect himself, and then held it open so that the Indians could see the bright pictures. There was a craning of necks in the outer circles. "In these picture writings is told the story of the 'Ceremonies of the Mass applied to the Passion of Our Lord,'" he said slowly. "And our Lord is your Great Spirit. It brings you a message; it tells you that the white man is a good man, who punishes his own son as sternly as his red child."