ed him for his courtesy.

"Indeed, then," said Iberville, "this is a debt--if you choose to call
it so--for which I would have no thanks--no. For it would please me
better to render accounts all at once some day, and get return in
different form, monsieur."

"Monsieur," said Gering, a little grandly, "you have come to me three
times; next time I will come to you."

"I trust that you will keep your word," answered Iberville, smiling.

That day Iberville, protesting helplessly, was ordered away to France
on a man-of-war, which had rocked in the harbour of Quebec for a month
awaiting his return. Even Frontenac himself could not help him, for the
order had come from the French minister.

CHAPTER XVII

THE GIFT OF A CAPTIVE

Fortune had not been kind to Iberville, but still he kept a stoical
cheerfulness. With the pride of a man who feels that he has impressed a
woman, and knowing the strength of his purpose, he believed that Jessica
should yet be his. Meanwhile matters should not lie still. In those days
men made love by proxy, and Iberville turned to De Casson and Perrot.

The night before he started for France they sat together in a little
house flanking the Chateau St. Louis. Iberville had been speaking.

"I know the strength of your feelings, Iberville," said De Casson, "but
is it wise, and is it right?" Iberville made an airy motion with his
hand. "My dear abbe, there is but one thing worth living for, and that
is to follow your convictions. See: I have known you since you took me
from my mother's last farewell. I have believed in you, cared for you,
trusted you; we have been good comrades. Come, now, tell me: what would
you think if my mind drifted! No, no, no! to stand by one's own heart
is the gift of an honest man--I am a sad rogue, abbe, as you know, but I
swear I would sooner let slip the friendship of King Louis himself than
the hand of a good comrade. Well, my sword is for my king. I must obey
him, I must leave my comrades behind, but I shall not forget, and they
must not forget." At this he got to his feet, came over, laid a hand on
the abbe's shoulder, and his voice softened: "Abbe, the woman shall be
mine."

"If God wills so, Iberville." "He will, He will."

"Well," said Perrot, with a little laugh; "I think God will be good to a
Frenchman when an Englishman is his foe."

"But the girl is English--and a heretic," urged the abbe helplessly.

Perrot laughed again. "That will make Him sorry