uietly laid on the table a number of swords. "If I should
survive this duel, monsieur," questioned Gering, "shall I be free?"

"Monsieur, escape will be unnecessary."

"Before we engage, let me say that I regret your brother's death."

"Monsieur, I hope to deepen that regret," answered Iberville quietly.
Then they took up their swords.

CHAPTER XXIII

AT THE GATES OF MISFORTUNE

Meanwhile the abbe and Jessica were making their way swiftly towards the
manor-house. They scarcely spoke as they went, but in Jessica's mind was
a vague horror. Lights sparkled on the crescent shore of Beauport, and
the torches of fishermen flared upon the St. Charles. She looked back
once towards the heights of Quebec and saw the fires of many homes--they
scorched her eyes. She asked no questions. The priest beside her was
silent, not looking at her at all. At last he turned and said:

"Madame, whatever has happened, whatever may happen, I trust you will be
brave."

"Monsieur l'Abbe" she answered, "I have travelled from Boston here--can
you doubt it?"

The priest sighed. "May the hope that gave you strength remain, madame!"

A little longer and then they stood within a garden thick with plants
and trees. As they passed through it, Jessica was vaguely aware of the
rich fragrance of fallen leaves and the sound of waves washing the foot
of the cliffs.

The abbe gave a low call, and almost instantly Perrot stood before them.
Jessica recognised him. With a little cry she stepped to him quickly and
placed her hand upon his arm. She did not seem conscious that he was her
husband's enemy: her husband's life was in danger, and it must be saved
at any cost. "Monsieur," she said, "where is my husband? You know. Tell
me."

Perrot put her hand from his arm gently, and looked at the priest in
doubt and surprise.

The abbe said not a word, but stood gazing off into the night.

"Will you not tell me of my husband?" she repeated. "He is within that
house?" She pointed to the manor-house. "He is in danger, I will go to
him."

She made as if to go to the door, but he stepped before her.

"Madame," he said, "you cannot enter."

Just then the moon shot from behind a cloud, and all their faces could
be seen. There was a flame in Jessica's eyes which Perrot could not
stand, and he turned away. She was too much the woman to plead weakly.

"Tell me," she said, "whose house this is." "Madame, it is Monsieur
Iberville's."

She could not ch