"My lord, I had not thought it until he showed such readiness to move
toward yon fort."

"Did you examine the trench?"

"No, my lord. I hurried the friar hither at your command."

"It was the part of a prudent soldier," sneered his master, "to leave a
dark trench possibly full of La Tour's recruits, and trot a friar into
camp."

"But the sentinels are there, monsieur, and they gave no alarm."

"The sentinels are like you. They will think of giving an alarm
to-morrow sunrise, when the fort is strengthened by a new garrison. Take
a company of men, surround that trench, double the guards, send me back
that friar, and do all with such haste as I have never seen thee show in
my service yet."

"Yes, my lord."

While the officer ran among the tents, D'Aulnay walked back and forth
outside, nervously impatient to have his men gone. He whispered with a
laugh in his beard, "Charles de Menou, D'Aulnay de Charnisay, are you to
be twice beaten by a woman? If La Tour hath come back with help and
entered the fort, the siege may as well be raised to-morrow."

The cowled soldier taxed his escort in the speed he made across that
dark country separating camp and fortress.

"Go softly, good father," remonstrated one of the officers, stumbling
among stones. "The Sieur D'Aulnay meant not that we should break our
necks at this business."

But he led them with no abatement and a stern and offended mien;
wondering secretly if the real Father Vincent would by this time be able
to make some noise in the trench. Unaccountable night sounds startled
the ear. He turned to the fortress ascent while the trench yet lay
distant.

"There is an easier way, father," urged one of the men, obliged,
however, to follow him and bend to the task of climbing. The discomfort
of treading stony soil in sandals, and the sensibility of his uncovered
shins to even that soft night air, made him smile under the cowl. A
sentinel challenged them and was answered by his companions. Passing on,
they reached the wall near the gate. Here the hill sloped less abruptly
than at the towered corner. The rocky foundation of Fort St. John made
a moat impossible. Guards on the wall now challenged them, and the
muzzles of three guns looked down, distinct eyes in the lifted
torchlight, but at the sign of truce these were withdrawn.

"The Sieur D'Aulnay de Charnisay sends this friar with dispatches to the
lady of the fort," said one of the officers. "Call your lady to recei