ry," broke in the old Huguenot, who had
returned after escorting his illustrious guest to the carriage. "He has
been raised up as a champion for the afflicted, and as a helper for
those who are in need. An old man's blessing upon you, Amos Green, for
my own son could not have done for me more than you, a stranger."

But their young visitor appeared to be more embarrassed by their thanks
than by any of his preceding adventures. The blood flushed to his
weather-tanned, clear-cut face, as smooth as that of a boy, and yet
marked by a firmness of lip and a shrewdness in the keen blue eyes
which spoke of a strong and self-reliant nature.

"I have a mother and two sisters over the water," said he diffidently.

"And you honour women for their sake?"

"We always honour women over there. Perhaps it is that we have so few.
Over in these old countries you have not learned what it is to be
without them. I have been away up the lakes for furs, living for months
on end the life of a savage among the wigwams of the Sacs and the Foxes,
foul livers and foul talkers, ever squatting like toads around their
fires. Then when I have come back to Albany where my folk then dwelt,
and have heard my sisters play upon the spinet and sing, and my mother
talk to us of the France of her younger days and of her childhood, and
of all that they had suffered for what they thought was right, then I
have felt what a good woman is, and how, like the sunshine, she draws
out of one's soul all that is purest and best."

"Indeed, the ladies should be very much obliged to monsieur, who is as
eloquent as he is brave," said Adele Catinat, who, standing in the open
door, had listened to the latter part of his remarks.

He had forgotten himself for the instant, and had spoken freely and with
energy. At the sight of the girl, however, he coloured up again, and
cast down his eyes.

"Much of my life has been spent in the woods," said he, "and one speaks
so little there that one comes to forget how to do it. It was for this
that my father wished me to stay some time in France, for he would not
have me grow up a mere trapper and trader."

"And how long do you stop in Paris?" asked the guardsman.

"Until Ephraim Savage comes for me."

"And who is he?"

"The master of the _Golden Rod_."

"And that is your ship?"

"My father's ship. She has been to Bristol, is now at Rouen, and then
must go to Bristol again. When she comes back once more, Ephraim c