ley is actually gone. Did you
know of his departure?"

"What are you saying, sir?"

Helm jumped to his feet, not angry, but excited.

"Keep cool, you need not answer if you prefer silence or evasion. You
may want to go yourself soon."

Helm burst out laughing, but quickly growing serious said:

"Has Beverley been such a driveling fool as that? Are you in earnest?"

"He killed two of my scouts, wounded another, and crossed the Wabash in
their canoe. He is going straight towards Kaskaskia."

"The idiot! Hurrah for him! If you catch your hare you may roast him,
but catch him first, Governor!"

"You'll joke out of the other corner of your mouth, Captain Helm, if I
find out that you gave him aid or countenance in breaking his parole."

"Aid or countenance! I never saw him after he walked out of this room.
You gave him a devil of a sight more aid and countenance than I did.
What are you talking about! Broke his parole! He did no such thing. He
returned it to you fairly, as you well know. He told you he was going."

"Well, I've sent twenty of my swiftest Indians after him to bring him
back. I'll let you see him shot. That ought to please you."

"They'll never get him, Governor. I'll bet high on him against your
twenty scalp-lifters any day. Fitzhugh Beverley is the best Indian
fighter, Daniel Boone and Simon Kenton excepted, in the American
colonies."

On her way home Alice met Father Beret, who turned and walked beside
her. He was so overjoyed at her release that he could scarcely speak;
but held her hand and stroked it gently while she told him her story.
It was beginning to rain, a steady, cold shower, when they reached the
house, and for many days and nights thereafter the downfall continued
almost incessantly.

"Dear child," said Father Beret, stopping at the gate and looking
beseechingly into Alice's face, "you must stay at home now--stay in the
house--it will be horribly dangerous for you to pass about in the
village after your--after what has happened."

"Do not fear, Father, I will be careful. Aren't you coming in? I'll
find you a cake and a glass of wine."

"No, child, not now."

"Then good-bye, good-bye," she said, turning from him to run into the
house. "Come soon, I shall be so lonesome."

On the veranda she suddenly stopped, running her fingers about her neck
and into her bosom.

"Oh, Father, Father Beret, I've lost my locket!" she cried. "See if I
dropped it there."

She went back to the