rted her to the door of the
sachem's cottage. "I will pray for you, that the morning may bring good
courage again. I will talk with you then--in the morning."

She stammered broken words of gratitude and escaped to the covert of the
little room.

Father Leroque went back to the wedding party and called the governor
out into the night. For a long time the two conferred, walking to and
fro under the big pines.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Sunrise was crystal clear, with frosty crispness, for April in the
northern latitudes flirts long with Winter on his way to everlasting
snows. Lida saw the sun come quivering over the big trees and sat by her
window, continuing the doleful ponderings which had made the night black
and dismal. There was no cheer for her in the morning radiance; as she
faced what was ahead of her, new fear grew in her; faith in herself was
waning after the defection of Latisan's men. Would Echford Flagg's own
crew stand by a stricken master or hearken to the appeal of Flagg's kin?

The rivermen guests had departed; there were no bateaus on the shore;
faint smoke came wreathing from the black embers of the feast fire.

Early as it was, there was the stir of life in the other rooms of the
cottage, and she ventured forth timidly into the presence of the
governor's family. The little mirror in her room had revealed to her the
pallor of her face and the mournful anxiety in her eyes.

There was no talk at breakfast; the family copied the manner of the
governor, who had greeted Lida with a single word, gestured her to her
chair, and now ate in silence. All his festal trappings had been laid
aside; he was a grave, wrinkled man in the ordinary attire of a
woodsman. In her new humility Lida wondered how she would summon
courage to ask for canoemen to take her north. The impulse to keep on
toward the drive was no longer so keen and courageous and absorbing, she
realized. She had dreamed vividly when she stood in the presence of
Echford Flagg; but she had begun to face practicality, and the
difficulties frightened her.

Before the breakfast was finished, Father Leroque came in; he had lodged
in the quarters provided for his visits, a small room in the vestry.

The sisters who taught the boys and girls of the community had brought
his food. But he sat at the elbow of the governor's wife and drank the
coffee that she poured for him. He was cheery, vivacious, and he smiled
consolingly on Lida, who was not able