carried off captive.

"We can die like men; that is all that is left to us!" said
Pringle, pressing up to Roche to whisper in his ear. "Heaven grant
they kill us quickly; it is the only grace we can hope for now."

Dizzy and faint and exhausted, they were hurried along by their
captors they knew not whither. They had come out from the forest,
and the sun was beginning to shine round them, when they suddenly
heard a voice shouting out something the meaning of which they
could not catch; and the next moment a body of white men came
running up wearing the familiar uniform of French soldiers and
officers.

"Uncle!" cried a lad's clear voice, speaking in French, a language
perfectly intelligible to Fritz, "that tall man there is the one
who saved Corinne and me in the forest that day when we were
surrounded and nearly taken by the Rangers. Get him away from the
Indians; they shall not have him! He saved us from peril once; we
must save him now."

"Assuredly, my son," came the response, in a full, sonorous voice;
and Fritz, rallying his failing powers, shook off for a moment the
mists which seemed to enwrap him, and saw that a fine-looking man
of benevolent aspect, wearing the habit of an ecclesiastic, was
speaking earnestly to the Indians who had them in their hands,
whilst several French officers and soldiers had formed up round
them.

There was some quick and rather excited talk between the Abbe and
the dusky savages; but he appeared to prevail with them at length,
and Fritz heard the order given:

"Take these men into the fort, and give them every care and
attention. I shall come later to see how my orders have been
carried out."

The men saluted. They cut the cords which bound the prisoners. They
led them away kindly enough.

The lad who had first spoken pressed up to the side of Fritz.

"I will take care of you, and my uncle will heal your wound. You
remember how Corinne promised some day to return the good favour
that you did us. You are our guests; you are not prisoners. My
uncle, the Abbe, has said so, and no one will dare to dispute his
word. He is the Abbe de Messonnier, whom all the world loves and
reveres."

Chapter 3: Albany.

"You are not our prisoner," said Colin; "you and your friends are
our guests, welcome to stay or go as you will. Only we hope and
desire that you will not go forth into the forest again until the
snow has melted, and you are sound and whole once more."

The bright-