through the trees. "Yes, the White Prophet never sleeps," assented Le
Corbeau Rouge.

The light which marked our almost ended journey came from a window in
one of those low, square log houses, fortress-dwellings, so common in
the provinces.

Here, however, the strong pine palisades were broken down in many
places; the iron-studded gate hung unhinged and open, the accumulated
sand at its base showed it had not been closed in many years.

But the decay and neglect everywhere manifest in its defenses extended
no further, for inside the enclosure was a garden carefully tended; a
trailing vine clung lovingly to a corner of the wide gallery, and even
a few of the bright roses of France lent their sweetness to a place it
seemed impossible to associate with a thought of barbaric warfare.

I loved this humble home, for in such a one my mother and I had spent
those last years of sweet good-comradeship before her death--the roses,
the rude house, all reminded me of her, of peace, of gentler things.

The character of its lone occupant protected this lowly abode far
better than the armies of France, the chivalry of Spain, or the
Choctaw's ceaseless vigilance could possibly have done. He came there
it was said, some fifteen years before, a Huguenot exile, seemingly a
man of education and birth. He built his castle of refuge on a knoll
overlooking the sheltered bay, hoping there to find the toleration
denied him in his native land. The edict of Nantes had been revoked by
King Louis, and thousands of exiled Frenchmen of high and low degree
sought new fortunes in newer lands.

Many had reached America, and strove with energetic swords and
rapacious wallets to wrest blood and gold and fame from whatsoever
source they might.

This man alone of all those first explorers had shown no disposition to
search out the hidden treasures of the wilderness, to prey upon the
natives. He became their friend and not their plunderer.

His quiet life, his kindness, his charity, his knowledge of the simple
arts of healing, so endeared him to every warring faction that at his
house the Choctaw and the Chickasaw, the Frenchman, Spaniard and the
Englishman met alike in peace. So the needless fortifications fell
into unrepaired decay.

Many an afternoon I had paddled across the bay and spent a quiet hour
with him, as far from the jars and discord at Biloxi as if we were in
some other world.

As, this night, we drew nearer the house we saw no