en face had firm
mouth-corners. Marie rose up without pause to meet him. He was freshly
and carefully dressed in clothes carried for this purpose across the
wilderness, and gained favor even with Lady Dorinda, as a man bearing
around him in the New World the atmosphere of Europe. He made his
greeting in French, and explained that he was passing through Acadia on
a journey to Montreal.

"We stand much beholden to monsieur," said Marie with a quizzical face,
"that he should travel so many hundred leagues out of his way to visit
this poor fort. I have heard that the usual route to Montreal is that
short and direct one up the lake of Champlain."

Van Corlaer's smile rested openly on Antonia as he answered,--

"Madame, a man's most direct route is the one that leads to his object."

"Doubtless, monsieur. And you are very welcome to this fort. We have
cause to love the New Netherlanders."

Marie turned to deliver Antonia her guest, but Antonia stood without
word or look for him. She seemed a scared Dutch child, bending all her
strength and all her inherited quiet on maintaining self-control. He
approached her, searching her face with his near-sighted large eyes.

"Had Madame Bronck no expectation of seeing Arendt Van Corlaer in
Acadia?"

"No, mynheer," whispered Antonia.

"But since I have come have you nothing to say to me?"

"I hope I see you well, mynheer."

"You might see me well," reproached Van Corlaer, "if you would look at
me."

She lifted her eyes and dropped them again.

"This Acadian air has given you a wan color," he noted.

"Did you leave Teunis and Marytje Harmentse well?" quavered Antonia,
catching at any scrap. Van Corlaer stared, and answered that Teunis and
Marytje were well, and would be grateful to her for inquiring.

"For they also helped to hide this priest from the Mohawks," added
Antonia without coherence. Marie could hear her heart laboring.

"What priest?" inquired Van Corlaer, and as he looked around his eyes
fell on the cassocked figure at the other table.

"Monsieur Corlaer," spoke Father Jogues, "I was but waiting fit
opportunity to recall myself and your blessed charity to your memory."

Van Corlaer's baffled look changed to instant glad recognition.

"That is Father Jogues!"

He met the priest with both hands, and stood head and shoulders taller
while they held each other like brothers.

"I thought to find you in Montreal, Father Jogues, and not here, where
in my dim fa