At that same hour rumour went about the fortress--set in motion by a sentry, who had seen the governor rushing down to the forest during the night--to the effect that Roussilac was lying under a spell of witchcraft. This rumour became an established fact when the Abbe Laroche was seen proceeding from the church upon the hill with asperges brush and a sh.e.l.l of holy water.

"Such is the end of ambition," murmured St Agapit, when they had brought him the evil tidings. "Can a clay body resist free spirits of the dead?"

CHAPTER XXIX.

WOMAN'S LOVE IS LIFE.

Before we leave the fortress, to return thither no more, a glance must be taken at Madeleine, evading the power of the Church and the secular arm, escaping from the mother who had grown to hate her and the cousin who had not courage to shield her. Her rescuer was not a man--if it be true that man was made in the image of G.o.d--yet his actions upon that night went far to prove that he owned a human heart.

So soon as Roussilac had gone from his cousin's sight for ever, the tramp of the sentry's feet began again beating out the seconds like a clock. The girl was unable to see the soldier, but at regular intervals his shadow blackened the cracks along the door, and sometimes she heard him growl when a mosquito p.r.i.c.ked his neck. Life became strangely mechanical as she lay half-asleep, her eyes opening and closing at intervals, her ears half unconsciously admitting the sounds of the outer world, her body subdued for the time and yielding to languor. But soon she stirred, hearing voices outside her cell. A grating laugh hurt her nerves, and after it came the order of the sentry calling on some unwelcome visitant to depart. Then the heavy tramp sounded monotonously again.

"Would rather be a toad gnawing the root of a tree, than a machine to pace a dozen yards of gra.s.s," taunted an ugly voice. "Admit me into the hut, Sir Sentry. Know you I have this day been ordained a priest of Holy Church, and 'tis my duty to reason with the fair impenitent.

Shall defy me, rascal? I can mutter a spell that shall knock the sword from your hand and shake your body with ague."

"Begone!" muttered the soldier. "I talk with none while on my duty."

Madeleine stirred uneasily. Something fell lightly against her arm, and she looked up to the aperture which made a window. Nothing unusual met her eyes; but when she moved again a soft odour brushed her face, and her delighted hand caught up a bunch of wild bush roses.

"I go." The fully aroused girl felt that the hideous voice was intended for her ears. "There is no moon to-night, and after dark, when none shall see, I will be here to ease your duty by a song of roses and woman's love, brave comrade. Mayhap I shall then meet with a less churlish welcome."

"That may be," answered the soldier sullenly. "Another shall have taken my place. Sing to him if you will."

"Oh, the lovely flowers!" murmured Madeleine. The blooms had opened since noon and their yellow hearts were wet, because the gatherer had dipped each one into the river, before tying them together with a blade of scented gra.s.s.

She brushed these sweet companions against her cheek, wondering who could have dared to show himself her friend. The time pa.s.sed happily while she waited in tingling expectancy for the coming of dark.

First came Laroche, full of bl.u.s.ter and talk of the wickedness of self-will, of the fate of the unbeliever in the next world, and the punishment of the heretic in this. The abbe had employed the afternoon in putting an edge to his sword with his own clerical hands, and his mind was fully occupied with the fineness of the bright steel and the excellence of the point while he talked.

"We must save a soul from the everlasting burning," he said with menace, as he made to depart. "When the body is put to pain the mind is said to yield with wondrous readiness, and there is joy in Heaven over the sinner that repenteth. Impenitence in one so young is surely the work of the devil. The power of exorcism has been conferred upon the priests of Holy Church. Pray to our Lady and the saints, daughter, that they strengthen you for the ordeal."

Laroche swaggered out conscious of having well performed an unpleasant duty, and hurried down to the street of fishermen, to convince himself that Michel had not again dared to adulterate his wine.

After vespers came St Agapit. He had spent the day over his ma.n.u.scripts, endeavouring to unravel some of the perplexities of the human mind. The ascetic was liberal beyond his time. He regarded Madeleine as rather an object for pity than for punishment. Her brain had been worked upon and her mind possessed by some spirit of darkness; and it became his duty to deliver her from the benumbing influence and to point out to her the way of life.

But when he came to leave the stone hut, he was for the first moment in his life a doubter. Madeleine had spoken with such happiness of the joy of life; had held out to his colourless face her blushing rosebuds, bidding him note that their smell was as fragrant to her the Protestant as to him the Catholic; had dwelt upon her faith, which was pure and perfect even though it excluded the aid of saints and the help of the Mother of G.o.d. And thus had she answered his final argument:

"In the free country birds would surround me, and each one had its own way of showing me affection. One would peck at my gown, another caress me with its wings, another, too shy to approach, would sit on a bough and sing as best it could. But I loved them all, and the shyest the best. Father, if the birds have each a different way of showing us love, may not we, who are better than many sparrows, be allowed to worship G.o.d after our own different promptings?"

St Agapit blessed her less sternly than usual, and returned perplexed to his studies, there to search for proof of what Madeleine had said, praying like the holy man he was for light and understanding.

Reluctantly he was compelled to admit that it was an evil spirit which had spoken to him out of the mouth of Madeleine. So he went into his little chapel and prayed for her and for himself that the doubt of his heart might be forgiven him.

But in years to come, after those days when the Islanders had stirred up the Iroquois to avenge their wrongs, a sachem of the Oneidas would narrate the story of the death of the white doctor, dwelling upon those last moments when the priest had turned to him to say: "Tell me, is it true that you worship the sun?"

"Surely," answered the sachem. "For the sun is our life."

"In worshipping the sun," cried the exultant priest, "you have surely worshipped the one G.o.d."

And over the horde of bloodthirsty natives, who were preparing his fiery torment, St Agapit made the sign of the cross.

Evening came, soft and fragrant, with a rush of sweet wind when the door opened to admit food and drink for the prisoner. Madeleine caught a glimpse of the sentry who took up his post after the proclamation of the evening gun; a thick-set man, swarthy and black-bearded, a Cyclops in appearance, but a Cerberus for watchfulness, as the girl knew; for once, when she had timidly tried the door, the brute had growled at her like a dog.

Darker grew the air. Madeleine stood against the wall, listening to the rush of water far beneath, the drone of beetles, and the scarcely audible murmur from the heart of the fortress. The last beam went out, the tired day was asleep, and Cerberus tramped, growling out his thoughts.

It became so dark that the walls disappeared. Clouds hung low, dark as the under-world; the stars were blotted out; not a gleam of phosphorus nor a smoky ray shot upward from the north. The land whirled blackly into s.p.a.ce.

Madeleine moved her forehead from the cold stone and sighed softly.

She crept to her bed and sat shivering gently, holding fast her treasured blooms. The night damp had revived the flowers and drawn out their odour, so that the girl pleased herself with the fancy that she was sitting in a rose-bower.

She heard the screech of an owl far away, the rattle and splash of oars, the running out of a chain, the snap of a belated locust. She heard the ticking of an insect in the walls; and she heard the growl of Cerberus:

"A plague upon that ghost-light!"

She heard a sound which made her shiver, though it might have been nothing more than a heavy foot struck sharply upon the turf; but hardly had the thrill pa.s.sed when a gasp and a great groan made the dark night wild, and the hill-top and every stone in the building seemed to jar as the ground was smitten. The silence that followed was unbroken by the solemn tramp which had become a part of the girl's life. The human clock was broken.

Then a subdued voice began to sing, harsh and unmusical, straining to be sympathetic, and its song was of peace and love in an old-world garden. Harsher grew the voice, though the effort to be tender underlay each note.

"Friend," whispered Madeleine

The song was stilled.

"Oh, friend, open the door and let me feel the air."

"Prepare your eyes for a hideous sight," muttered the voice, dull and grating like a saw.

"My deliverer cannot make me fear," she murmured.

The iron bolt grated, the door opened, and Madeleine beheld in the gloom the shapeless outline of the dwarf.

"Thank the night, lady," he said. "It is kind because it hides one of nature's failures. A spider, they say, once saved a Scotchman. A hunchback may do as much for a queen."

Madeleine stepped out to the balmy night.

"What made you come to my aid?" she murmured. "It is death for you."

"Lady," said Gaudriole, "I bow to the Church, because hypocrisy drives many a sinner to play the saint. When the fat Laroche calls me to my duty, I confess with my tongue in my cheek and burn a rushlight. That is for policy. Before you I am a Protestant. By myself I am a believer in living long and cheating the gallows. That again is policy. I hate the Church and its priests, therefore I have released you. Also, by some strange mischance, nature has placed a man's heart within this contemptible body. But let us hasten."

"The sentry!" exclaimed Madeleine.

"Look not in that direction," said Gaudriole. "Lady, which way? I will guide you to safety, stay by your side while I can serve you, and when you say, 'Back, dog!' I disappear."

"You have done murder," cried the girl. "Let me see. Stand aside.

Ah, poor wretch! He was but doing his duty, and his blood is on my head."

"The deed is mine, both in this world and the next," said Gaudriole.

"I had a grudge against the knave. He stunned me once with his fist when I stumbled by mischance across his foot. Lady, you must come quickly. I see lights moving yonder. There is no time to lose."