Hope once more sprang up in the hearts of those who had been so sorely tried, when the storm continued with greal fury. The electrical portion of the tempest appeared to have pa.s.sed away, leaving the raging wind and pelting rain to guard the settlers who of a verity had descended into the very valley of the shadow of death.

When it was understood that that which was at first supposed to be a summer gale had developed into a furious northeast storm, giving no token of subsiding, Mark said as he rose to his feet:

"When the rain first came it seemed as if my throat was parched dry with thirst, and now that water is to be had in abundance, all hands of us appear to have forgotten that we wanted a drink."

"We might catch some of the water that is finding its way through the roof," Mistress Pemberton said as if such a possibility had never occurred to her before.

"We can do better than that, mother dear. I'll go to the spring for a full bucket, and when it has been strained we shall have what will be an improvement on rainwater."

"But possibly some of the enemy may be lurking outside," Mistress Harding said, becoming timorous once more, now that the imminent danger had pa.s.sed.

"Whoever has been out in the storm all this while will be harmless, aunt, for his musket would be filled with something other than powder," Mark replied with a laugh, and then he unbarred the door, surprised to find that it was only with difficulty he could make headway against the furious blasts.

So powerful was the wind that it became necessary for Susan and Luke to unite their strength in order to close the door while Mark was absent, and when he returned with a br.i.m.m.i.n.g bucket of discolored water, the three had no little difficulty in putting the bars into place again.

"It is the fiercest storm I ever saw!" Mark exclaimed as he dashed the rain-drops from his face. "We'll pray that the _Future Hopes_ is in a snug harbor, otherwise she will have to scud, for I don't believe they could heave her to."

"Do you think there is any probability your father and uncle may be out in this tempest?" Mistress Pemberton asked, more anxious now for the safety of the absent ones then she previously had been concerning herself.

"They are too good sailors, mother dear, to take many chances, and we had fair warning of this storm. If we hadn't been in such sore straits, there's no question but that we would have been prepared for it. I noticed the clouds gathering, but at the time thought only that it would be our misfortune, since we could not keep watch of the Indians. Close-reefed, and with plenty of sea-room, the _Future Hopes_ will ride out this gale without doing more harm to herself than the straining of a seam, perhaps."

"The Frenchmen could not have had time to get their vessel under way," Mistress Pemberton said as if thinking aloud, and Mark sprang to his feet in excitement.

"Of course they couldn't, and it is well for them if they didn't succeed in getting on board, for the craft never had been built that can ride at anchor to the eastward of the brook while the wind is so heavy. It would have been impossible to get under way, for she'd be on the rocks before her nose could be brought around into the wind!"

"Do you suppose they are yet on the island?"

"I think, unless all hands are good sailors, that they'd try to get on board, and that could have been done because the sea wouldn't grow heavy in an instant."

Further speculation as to the fate of their foes was checked very suddenly by what sounded like the groaning of a human being in deepest distress, coming from one corner of the room in which they were seated.

Instinctively the inmates of the dwelling clutched each other, for it was impossible to see anything in that profound darkness, and during many seconds no one spoke.

Then the dismal sound could be heard once more, and Mark, forcing himself to beat down the fear which a.s.sailed him, said, with an effort:

"Can you find one of the candles, mother? Some one here must be dying. Where are the children?"

"Johnny and Jimmie are with me," Ellen said, and Mary added:

"I'm here with Luke."

"No one could have got inside without our knowing it," Mistress Pemberton said, as she groped around for the scanty store of candles, which were reserved for use on especial occasions.

Mark did not reply until his mother succeeded, after many fruitless efforts, in striking a spark from the steel and flint on the tinder, and as the feeble flame of the candle flickered and flared in the wind which made its way through the crevices, the lad began to tear away the barricade of household goods which had been thrown up to screen the window.

"It is useless to search there," Mistress Pemberton said, quickly, as if a sudden thought had come to her. "One of those whom you wounded is lying outside, and we hear his moans because he is close beside the building."

Mark was at the door in an instant, forgetting that he was hastening to the succor of one who, a short hour previous, was bent on killing him, and Susan seized the lad by the arm, as she said in a tone of caution:

"It may be some trick to get you outside. Be careful what you do; we have heard that the Indians often make use of such means to get a victim in their clutches."

"I'll warrant there is no Indian living who could stay out in this storm an hour or more, and then be able to do very much mischief,"

Mark replied as he unfastened the bar, waiting only long enough for Luke and Susan to get hold of the door, lest it should be torn from its hinges by the wind, before he darted out into the blackness.

A moment later it was possible to hear his voice, as if he spoke to someone, and then all was still, save for the raging of the tempest, until he cried from the outside:

"Open the door, youngsters. I've got a Frenchman here, who must be very near death!"

Then, as Luke and Susan gave him admittance, he came staggering into the room with an apparently lifeless body in his arms, while Mistress Pemberton shielded the candle as best she might, lest the wind extinguish the feeble flame.

Mark laid his burden on the bed, heeding not the fact that the water was running from every angle of the stranger's garments.

Like Mark, the two women forgot that a bitter enemy was before them; but with gentle care set about ministering to his wants, if, indeed he would have any more in this world.

Now all the occupants of the dwelling were too much engrossed with the work of saving the life which had so nearly been taken by one of their number to be able to tell whether the storm was yet raging, or if the morning had come.

In a very short time it was learned that the man lived, although how he survived after being exposed to the fury of the tempest so long, could not be understood. He had an ugly-looking wound in the thigh, and another in the left breast; but Mistress Pemberton gave it as her opinion that he was not mortally hurt.

"With good nursing, I doubt not but that he will live," she said, as she dressed the wounds to the best of her ability. "But if he does, what shall we do with him?"

"There is no need to answer that question now, mother dear," Mark said, gently. "We'll try to pull him through, even if we have already done our best to kill him, and then he'll know what it is to have coals of fire heaped on his head; that is," he added, after a brief pause, "if his comrades allow us to live long enough to do the job."

A fire was built, tea of herbs made and administered to the sufferer, and before morning came it was possible for him to speak.

He was sufficiently acquainted with the English language to make them understand him, and his first words were expressive of surprise.

"Save when you attack us without cause, we have no desire for your death," Mistress Pemberton replied. "Now you are no longer a soldier, striving to do us grievous injury, but a suffering fellow creature, and so long as it is in our power we will do whatsoever we may toward giving you aid."

The wounded man turned his face away, as if ashamed to look the good woman in the face, and after a time Mark questioned him as to how the chanced to be so near the house.

From his story, told little by little because of the difficulty experienced in talking, the facts were soon known.

He had been among the first to burst through the gate, and was not wounded until when the last shot was fired. Then instinct prompted him to gain a shelter under the wall of the building, where it would not be possible for those on the inside to see him, immediately after which he lost consciousness. During a long while he remained as if dead, and it is probable that the deluge of rain served to revive him after a time; but he was ignorant of having made any outcry. He remembered of realizing that he was alone, exposed to the storm, and the next knowledge was that the women were striving to nurse him back to life.

[Ill.u.s.tration: The next knowledge was that the women were trying to nurse him back to life.]

It was morning before the inmates of the dwelling gave much heed to anything save the wounded soldier, and then Mark, after cautioning the remainder of the family to stay inside the dwelling unless they heard his cry for help, ventured out into the tempest, which continued with but little decrease of violence.

The sun had not yet risen, and it the gray light of early dawn it was not possible to distinguish objects at any great distance. He had, in the immediate vicinity of the stockade, however, good proof of the violence with which the storm raged.

A portion of the palisade itself had been overthrown, leaving an opening through which the entire force of the enemy might have marched shoulder to shoulder. Trees were uprooted; the small boat, which had been drawn beyond reach of the tide, was now within ten feet of the battered gate, having been carried there by the wind.

That the buildings within the stockade remained un-injured was due, doubtless, to the thicket in the rear which served to shield them from the full fury of the elements.

Turn where he might, the same scene of devastation met his gaze, and he understood that if any of the Frenchmen remained on the island they would be powerless to depart, for their vessel could not have outlived the night.

The wind was yet so violent that only with difficulty could he make his way from one point to another, and the rain beat upon his face until it became necessary to shield his eyes in order to see anything twenty paces distant; but he struggled against the elements, making his way along the sh.o.r.e toward the place where the Frenchmen's schooner had been moored.