escaped to make his way to Quebec and bring back help? Especially as the days drew nearer to the time her mother had set for her return did a wild terror seize her, lest the beloved mother should return all unknowing, and be slain before her eyes. She had gone to her father's house, to be alone there for a few minutes, and to wrestle with the terror and discouragement which had laid hold upon her. In the room where she and her mother had talked less than two weeks before, she laid her gun upon the table, and, throwing her arms across it, bowed her head upon them, and gave way to the heavy sobs which shook her from head to foot.
“O dear Father in heaven, if my earthly father knew the danger his little girl was in, he would send help most speedily,” she prayed; “hold Thou my dear mother safe; guard her and guide her, Keep her from coming back until all is safe again. Oh, do Thou, Who knowest all and Who lovest more than an earthly father, send deliverance, I pray Thee, for we are sore beset.”
There came upon the tired child suddenly a great calm; a wave of peace seemed to pass over her, and she was not afraid nor anxious any more; and the heavy burdens she had been carrying seemed to roll away.
For the first time in days, she slept a deep, quiet sleep, whether for moments or hours she could not tell. Suddenly, as often happens when some slight unusual noise occurs, she roused, conscious that the sentinels’ regular, “All ’s well,” had changed to the quick “Qui vive?” of challenge.
A moment later, Louis de Verchères, whom Madeleine had charged to summon her if the slightest change occurred, came to her, calling, “Madeleine, Madeleine, come quickly! Help has come at last!”
Even in this supreme moment, her girlish love of fun showed itself, for she snatched an old military hat of her father’s, and placed it on her dark, curling hair. Then she ran lightly across the inclosure and up into the bastion, where faithful old Laviolette stood shaking and trembling with eagerness.
“We must make quite sure, Laviolette, that this is no ruse, [t would not do, to make a mistake now. Whence did the sound come?”
“From the river, M’m’selle.”
Then she sent her clear young voice ringing out into the night, just merging into the dim light of dawn:
“Qui vive? qui vive?”
And in answer came the call:
“It is La Monnerie, come to bring you aid.”
Oh, the welcome sound of the French tongue and the well-known name!
Posting Laviolctte as sentinel at the gate, she herself went down to meet the lieutenant with his company of forty men. A brave, quaint little figure she was, walking with stately step, her girlish face half hidden by the military chapeau. Removing the hat with a stately, sweeping bow, she said, as she met them:
“Verchères welcomes you and your men, Monsieur de La Monnerie.”
“What mummery is this?” cried the officer. “I expect to see the commander of the fort, and there comes to meet me a girl, pranked out as for a masquerade!”
“Even so, Monsienr,” she said, with quiet dignity. “The commander of the fort, it is I! Will you come with me?”
Recalling with a thrill of gratitude the different circumstances under which she had traversed this path within ten days, she walked confidently over it now, by the side of Monsieur de La Monnerie, the tramp of soldiers’ feet surrounding them on all sides.
As they reached the white stone in the path, the gate of the fort swung open, showing old Laviolette and little ten-year-old Alexandre standing as sentinels on either side.
“Our oldest soldier and our youngest one, Monsieur,” said Madeleine, as they presented arms, “Will it please you lo inspect the fort?”
Making the rounds with her, La Monnerie found all in due military order, despite the pitifully small garrison. As they ended their rounds in the great-room of the block-house, where the children crowded eagerly around to see the gold lace and brave uniforms, La Monnerie burst out enthusiastically:
“It is wonderful, M’m’selle, wonderful! Tell me now, how can we help you most?”
“Post new sentinels at once, Monsieur,” she replied. “We have been on duty day and night for a week.”
“It shall be done immediately, but first—”
He gave a low-toned order to his men, at which they formed in ranks; then, with his hand upon his heart, he bowed low before Madeleine, saying:
“Great thanks and great glory are due to you, Mademoiselle de Verchères, for this most gallant defense.”
Then turning to his men, he cried, in ringing tones:
“Present arms!”
The sensitive color rushed over the girl’s face at this tribute, but she answered simply, raising her large dark eyes to La Monnerie’s face:
“’T is naught, Monsieur, I only did my duty. All thanks are due to le bon Dieu, and the glory is our king's.”
