e horses backward and aside with
deftness and presence of mind. The margin of safety was not more than a
foot, but the child was saved.

The philosopher of the Manor Cartier seemed to come out of a dream
as men and women applauded, and cries arose of "Bravo, M'sieu' Jean
Jacques!"

At any other time this would have made Jean Jacques nod and smile, or
wave a hand, or exclaim in good fellowship. Now, however, his eyes were
full of trouble, and the glassiness of the semi-trance leaving them,
they shifted restlessly here and there. Suddenly they fastened on the
little group of which Judge Carcasson was the centre. He had stopped his
horses almost beside them.

"Ah!" he said, "ah!" as his eyes rested on the Judge. "Ah!" he again
exclaimed, as the glance ran from the Judge to Sebastian Dolores. "Ah,
mercy of God!" he added, in a voice which had both a low note and a high
note-deep misery and shrill protest in one. Then he seemed to choke, and
words would not come, but he kept looking, looking at Sebastian Dolores,
as though fascinated and tortured by the sight of him.

"What is it, Jean Jacques?" asked the little Clerk of the Court gently,
coming forward and laying a hand on the steaming flank of a spent and
trembling pony.

As though he could not withdraw his gaze from Sebastian Dolores, Jean
Jacques did not look at M. Fille; but he thrust out the long whip
he carried towards the father of his vanished Carmen and his Zoe's
grandfather, and with the deliberation of one to whom speaking was like
the laceration of a nerve he said: "Zoe's run away--gone--gone!"

At that moment Louis Charron, his cousin, at whose house Gerard Fynes
had lodged, came down the street galloping his horse. Seeing the red
wagon, he made for it, and drew rein.

"It's no good, Jean Jacques," he called. "They're married and gone to
Montreal--married right under our noses by the Protestant minister at
Terrebasse Junction. I've got the telegram here from the stationmaster
at Terrebasse.... Ah, the villain to steal away like that--only a
child--from her own father! Here it is--the telegram. But believe me, an
actor, a Protestant and a foreigner--what a devil's mess!"

He waved the telegram towards Jean Jacques.

"Did he owe you anything, Louis?" asked old Mere Langlois, whose
practical mind was alert to find the material status of things.

"Not a sou. Well, but he was honest, I'll say that for the rogue and
seducer."

"Seducer--ah, God choke yo