the wall. The invaders would probably see
her as she tried to close the gate; it had settled on its hinges, and
was too heavy for her. She thought of ringing the chapel bell;
but before any Abenaqui could reach the spot the single man in the
fortress must be overpowered.

Saint-Castin stood on his bachelor hearth, leaning an arm on the
mantel. The light shone on his buckskin fringes, his dejected
shoulders, and his clean-shaven youthful face. A supper stood on the
table near him, where his Etchemin servants had placed it before they
trotted off to the camps. The high windows flickered, and there was
not a sound in the house except the low murmur or crackle of the
glowing backlog, until the door-latch clanked, and the door flew wide
and was slammed shut again. Saint-Castin looked up with a frown, which
changed to stupid astonishment.

Madockawando's daughter seized him by the wrist.

"Is there any way out of the fort except through the gate?"

"None," answered Saint-Castin.

"Is there no way of getting over the wall?"

"The ladder can be used."

"Run, then, to the ladder! Be quick."

"What is the matter?" demanded Saint-Castin.

The Abenaqui girl dragged on him with all her strength as he reached
for the iron door-latch.

"Not that way--they will see you--they are coming from the river! Go
through some other door."

"Who are coming?"

Yielding himself to her will, Saint-Castin hurried with her from room
to room, and out through his kitchen, where the untidy implements of
his Etchemin slaves lay scattered about. They ran past the storehouse,
and he picked up a ladder and set it against the wall.

"I will run back and ring the chapel bell," panted the girl.

"Mount!" said Saint-Castin sternly; and she climbed the ladder,
convinced that he would not leave her behind.

He sat on the wall and dragged the ladder up, and let it down on the
outside. As they both reached the ground, he understood what enemy had
nearly trapped him in his own fortress.

"The doors were all standing wide," said a cautious nasal voice,
speaking English, at the other side of the wall. "Our fox hath barely
sprung from cover. He must be near."

"Is not that the top of a ladder?" inquired another voice.

At this there was a rush for the gate. Madockawando's daughter ran
like the wind, with Saint-Castin's hand locked in hers. She knew, by
night or day, every turn of the slender trail leading to the deserted
chapel. It came to her m