"It was a great trial for him to leave his old home, I suppose."

"In a way it was. But he was very brave through it all. He did what he could to encourage others, and many were helped by his cheerful manner. He told them that it was a great privilege to suffer in a n.o.ble cause, and that it was an honour to be loyal pioneers in a strange land."

No sooner had Jean uttered these words than she wished them unsaid.

But the man appeared not to have heard them.

"Tell me about your old home," he requested. "Also about the war, and your coming to this country. It will help to pa.s.s the time."

Jean was only too glad to do this, so quietly and simply she told about her old happy home in Connecticut, her mother's death, the war, and all that it meant to them, of their arrival at Portland Point, the voyage up the river, and the settlement in the wilderness. Of Dane Norwood she did not speak, for it was not her nature to reveal to a stranger the deep things of the heart. Neither did she mention the rangers and their march with the men of the settlement against the rebels. A natural caution restrained her from speaking of this to one who so hated the Loyalists and King George.

When she had finished she waited for the man to make some remarks.

When, however, he did not speak, she rose, went into the other room, and busied herself in preparing dinner. It was a simple repast, but it satisfied the invalid, and he showed his pleasure by a faint smile, the first that the girl had seen upon his face.

"It is good of you to stay here and wait upon me," he said, "especially after what I said about the Loyalists and King George. I owe my life to you, Miss, and I am not ashamed to acknowledge it."

"It was Sam who saved you, Mr. Timon," Jean smilingly replied.

"Ah, yes, in actually shooting the moose. But for you, though, Sam would not have been on hand at the right minute. It was you who suggested going to the mast-cutters on behalf of those Loyalists."

"The real credit, then, should be given to the ones who plotted to carry me away from home. But for them I would not be here now."

"And my body would be lying out there in the snow, gored, torn and trampled. Wonderful, indeed, is the chain of events."

"It is wonderful," Jean agreed. "I have been thinking so much about it ever since Sam rescued me that night from Seth Lupin. I was in absolute despair, but just when help was needed most it seemed as if G.o.d reached out His hand and saved me. The words of that beautiful hymn, 'The Lord's My Shepherd,' have been often in my mind. I sang it one night to Sam and Kitty, and they were greatly pleased."

"Will you sing it to me?" the man asked. "It has been many years since I have heard any singing, except rough camp songs."

Although surprised at this request, as well as the sudden change in the man's manner, Jean did as she was requested. In a clear, sweet voice she sang the first verse, The Lord's my shepherd, I'll not want, He makes me down to lie In pastures green; He leadeth me The quiet waters by.

She was about to begin the next verse when a step was heard outside, and then a heavy knock sounded upon the door.

CHAPTER XXV

UNMASKED

As Jean rose and opened the door a man at once entered, who stared at her in amazement. He was of medium size, clad in a short fur jacket, belted at the waist, heavy cap, rough homespun trousers, stuck into coa.r.s.e socks, and moccasins on his feet. His face was covered with a ragged, bushy beard, flecked with frost, while particles of ice clung to his moustache. His small piercing eyes attracted Jean most of all, causing her to retreat a step or two. This the visitor noted, and laughed.

"I won't hurt ye, Miss," he said. "But, Lord! where have you dropped from? I didn't know there was a wench like you on this side of h.e.l.l."

"Hold your tongue, Dave, and come over here," the man on the couch ordered.

The visitor at once obeyed, and crossed the room. He looked upon the invalid with surprise.

"h.e.l.lo! what's wrong with you?" he asked.

"Oh, I met with an accident. But what are you doing here, Dave? What do you want?"

Dave, however, made no reply, but turned and stared hard at Jean who was now standing near the table.

"Did you hear what I said, Dave? What do you want?"

"Guess there's only one thing I want now, chief. Where did ye git her?

My! she's a beauty."

At these words the injured man's eyes flashed with anger. He lifted himself to a sitting position, and seized Dave by the arm.

"She's my daughter," he lied, "and if you harm her I'll kill you. See?"

The visitor cowered and shrank back at this fierce threat.

"I didn't mean to harm her," he muttered. "But I didn't know ye had a daughter like that. Where have ye kept her all this time?"

"That's none of your business, Dave. Tell me what you want, and then get out. But, wait, I know you're thirsty. Bring in some rum, daughter," he ordered, looking over at Jean.

The latter was only too glad to get out of the room, and away from the man who in such a short time had filled her heart with fear. Her hands trembled as she picked up a mug and filled it with liquor. She then glanced toward the muskets in the opposite corner, and wondered if they were loaded. She felt more lonely now than ever, and wished for Sam and Kitty. She feared that stranger, and longed to close and bolt the door until he was out of the house. At present, however, there was nothing else for her to do but to be as brave as possible. No trace of fear did she show as she went into the other room, and paused just inside the door. The two men were talking very earnestly, and the invalid seemed to be quite excited.

"You must not let them come here," he was saying. "Keep them away for a day or two, at least."

"I can't," the other replied. "They are on their way now, and should be here sometime to-night."

At this Jean stepped forward and held out the noggin of rum. Dave eagerly seized the mug, and drained it to the last drop.

"My, that's great!" he declared, smacking his lips. "Fill it again, won't you?"

"No more now, Dave," his chief told him. "You may have another, though, before you leave. And you must leave soon and stop those men.

They must wait until I am better."

"But I can't stop them, chief. They won't listen to me. They're out for a big time, an' they're goin' to have it. An' besides, there's that gang comin' from the Washademoak, an' they expect to meet them."

"Oh, Lord! I know it," the injured man groaned. "But that doesn't make any difference. I want you to stop that first gang from coming here. Tell them that I am very sick and can't see them now."

"Don't stop them, chief," Dave pleaded. "This is about the last chance they'll have. The rangers are on the way, so I hear, so we must get ahead of them. Davidson, the devil, has got wind of this."

"How did he hear?"

"How did he hear?" Dave repeated with a laugh. "How did he hear about that meeting on the Wed-nee-bak, an' round up that bunch at the lake?

I guess you know as well as anybody."

"Never mind about that now, Dave. All I want you to do is to stop those men from coming here to-night. Tell them to leave me out this time, and to march straight overland until they meet the men coming eastward. I can't talk any more now, as my side hurts me very much.

Daughter, give this man some more rum."

Jean started at this order, and quickly left the room. She was greatly excited, for she realised that serious trouble of some kind was on foot. She believed that the rebels were about to attack that helpless band of Loyalists on the A-jem-sek as others had planned to do to the ones at Loyal. What she had gathered from Dave's words led her to believe that the latter attempt had failed. This was the first news she had received, and it greatly relieved her mind. But what about the others, those suffering men, women and children but a short distance away?

She was thankful when Dave at last left the house, and she was once more alone with the invalid. The latter was very still, staring straight before him. Jean crossed the room and stood by his side.

"I want to know the truth," she began. "Is an attack to be made upon those Loyalists?"