"

Farnsworth smiled, rubbing his side reminiscently; but he shook his
head.

"I'm sure it's puzzling, indeed."

Hamilton sat in thoughtful silence for a while, then abruptly changed
the subject.

"I think, Captain, that you had better send out Lieutenant Barlow and
some of the best woodsmen to kill some game. We need fresh venison,
and, by George! I'm not going to depend upon these French traitors any
longer. I have set my foot down; they've got to do better or take the
consequences." He paused for a breath, then added: "That girl has done
too much to escape severest punishment. The garrison will be
demoralized if this thing goes on without an example of authority
rigidly enforced. I am resolved that there shall be a startling and
effective public display of my power to punish. She shot you; you seem
to be glad of it, but it was a grave offence. She has stabbed Barlow;
that is another serious crime; but worst of all she aided a spy and
resisted arrest. She must be punished."

Farnsworth knew Hamilton's nature, and he now saw that Alice was in
dreadful danger of death or something even worse. Whenever his chief
talked of discipline and the need of maintaining his authority, there
was little hope of softening his decisions. Moreover, the provocation
to apply extreme measures really seemed sufficient, regarded from a
military point of view, and Captain Farnsworth was himself, under
ordinary circumstances, a disciplinarian of the strictest class. The
fascination, however, by which Alice held him overbore every other
influence, and his devotion to her loosened every other tie and
obligation to a most dangerous extent. No sooner had he left
headquarters and given Barlow his instructions touching the hunting
expedition, than his mind began to wander amid visions and schemes by
no means consistent with his military obligations. In order to reflect
undisturbed he went forth into the dreary, lane-like streets of
Vincennes and walked aimlessly here and there until he met Father Beret.

Farnsworth saluted the old man, and was passing him by, when seeing a
sword in his hand, half hidden in the folds of his worn and faded
cassock, he turned and addressed him.

"Why are you armed this morning, Father?" he demanded very pleasantly.
"Who is to suffer now?"

"I am not on the war-path, my son," replied the priest. "It is but a
rapier that I am going to clean of rust spots that are gathering on its
blade."

"Is it yours, Fath