CHAPTER XVI
FATHER BERET'S OLD BATTLE
The room in which Alice was now imprisoned formed part of the upperstory of a building erected by Hamilton in one of the four angles ofthe stockade. It had no windows and but two oblong port-holes made toaccommodate a small swivel, which stood darkly scowling near the middleof the floor. From one of these apertures Alice could see thestraggling roofs and fences of the dreary little town, while from theother a long reach of watery prairie, almost a lake, lay under viewwith the rolling, muddy Wabash gleaming beyond. There seemed to be noactivity of garrison or townspeople. Few sounds broke the silence ofwhich the cheerless prison room seemed to be the center.
Alice felt all her courage and cheerfulness leaving her. She was alonein the midst of enemies. No father or mother, no friend--a young girlat the mercy of soldiers, who could not be expected to regard her withany sympathy beyond that which is accompanied with repulsive leers andhints. Day after day her loneliness and helplessness became moreagonizing. Farnsworth, it is true, did all he could to relieve thestrain of her situation; but Hamilton had an eye upon what passed andsoon interfered. He administered a bitter reprimand, under which hissubordinate writhed in speechless anger and resentment.
"Finally, Captain Farnsworth," he said in conclusion, "you willdistinctly understand that this girl is my prisoner, not yours; that I,not you, will direct how she is to be held and treated, and thathereafter I will suffer no interference on your part. I hope you fullyunderstand me, sir, and will govern yourself accordingly."
Smarting, or rather smothering, under the outrageous insult of theseremarks, Farnsworth at first determined to fling his resignation at theGovernor's feet and then do whatever desperate thing seemed most to hismood. But a soldier's training is apt to call a halt before the worstbefalls in such a case. Moreover, in the present temptation, Farnsworthhad a special check and hindrance. He had had a conference with FatherBeret, in which the good priest had played the part of wisdom inslippers, and of gentleness more dove-like than the dove's. A verysubtle impression, illuminated with the "hope that withers hope," hadcome of that interview; and now Farnsworth felt its restraint. Hetherefore saluted Hamilton formally and walked away.
Father Beret's paternal love for Alice,--we cannot characterize it morenicely than to call it paternal,--was his justification for a certainmild sort of corruption insinuated by him into the heart of Farnsworth.He was a crafty priest, but his craft was always used for a good end.Unquestionably Jesuitic was his mode of circumventing the young man'smilitary scruples by offering him a puff of fair weather with which tosail toward what appeared to be the shore of delight. He saw at aglance that Farnsworth's love for Alice was a consuming passion in avery ardent yet decidedly weak heart. Here was the worldly lever withwhich Father Beret hoped to raze Alice's prison and free her from theterrible doom with which she was threatened.
The first interview was at Father Beret's cabin, to which, as will beremembered, the priest and Farnsworth went after their meeting in thestreet. It actually came to nothing, save an indirect understanding buthalf suggested by Father Beret and never openly sanctioned by CaptainFarnsworth. The talk was insinuating on the part of the former, whilethe latter slipped evasively from every proposition, as if not able toconsider it on account of a curious obtuseness of perception. Still,when they separated they shook hands and exchanged a searching lookperfectly satisfactory to both.
The memory of that interview with the priest was in Farnsworth's mindwhen, boiling with rage, he left Hamilton's presence and went forthinto the chill February air. He passed out through the postern andalong the sodden and queachy aedge of the prairie, involuntarily makinghis way to Father Beret's cabin. His indignation was so great that hetrembled from head to foot at every step. The door of the place wasopen and Father Beret was eating a frugal meal of scones and sour wine(of his own make, he said), which he hospitably begged to share withhis visitor. A fire smouldered on the hearth, and a flat stone showed,by the grease smoking over its hot surface, where the cakes had beenbaked.
"Come in, my son," said the priest, "and try the fare of a poor oldman. It is plain, very plain, but good." He smacked his lips sincerelyand fingered another scone. "Take some, take some."
Farnsworth was not tempted. The acid bouquet of the wine filled theroom with a smack of vinegar, and the smoke from rank scorching fat andwheat meal did not suggest an agreeable feast.
"Well, well, if you are not hungry, my son, sit down on the stool thereand tell me the news."
Farnsworth took the low seat without a word, letting his eyes wanderover the walls. Alice's rapier, the mate to that now worn by Hamilton,hung in its curiously engraved scabbard near one corner. The sight ofit inflamed Farnsworth.
"It's an outrage," he broke forth. "Governor Hamilton sent a man toRoussillon place with orders to bring him the scabbard of MissRoussillon's sword, and he now wears the beautiful weapon as if he hadcome by it honestly. Damn him!"
"My dear, dear son, you must not soil your lips with such language!"Father Beret let fall the half of a well bitten cake and held up bothhands.
"I beg your pardon, Father; I know I ought to be more careful in yourpresence; but--but--the beastly, hellish scoundrel--"
"Bah! doucement, mon fils, doucement." The old man shook his head andhis finger while speaking. "Easy, my son, easy. You would be a finetarget for bullets were your words to reach Hamilton's ears. You arenot permitted to revile your commander."
"Yes, I know; but how can a man restrain himself under such abominableconditions?"
Father Beret shrewdly guessed that Hamilton had been giving the Captainfresh reason for bitter resentment. Moreover, he was sure that themoving cause had been Alice. So, in order to draw out what he wished tohear, he said very gently:
"How is the little prisoner getting along?"
Farnsworth ground his teeth and swore; but Father Beret appeared not tohear; he bit deep into a scone, took a liberal sip of the muddy redwine and added:
"Has she a comfortable place? Do you think Governor Hamilton would letme visit her?"
"It is horrible!" Farnsworth blurted. "She's penned up as if she were adangerous beast, the poor girl. And that damned scoundrel--"
"Son, son!"
"Oh, it's no use to try, I can't help it, Father. The whelp--"
"We can converse more safely and intelligently if we avoid profanity,and undue emotion, my son. Now, if you will quit swearing, I will, andif you will be calm, so will I."
Farnsworth felt the sly irony of this absurdly vicarious proposition.Father Beret smiled with a kindly twinkle in his deep-set eyes.
"Well, if you don't use profane language, Father, there's no tellinghow much you think in expletives. What is your opinion of a man whotumbles a poor, defenseless girl into prison and then refuses to lether be decently cared for? How do you express yourself about him?"
"My son, men often do things of which they ought to be ashamed. I heardof a young officer once who maltreated a little girl that he met atnight in the street. What evil he would have done, had not a passingkind-hearted man reminded him of his honor by a friendly punch in theribs, I dare not surmise."
"True, and your sarcasm goes home as hard as your fist did, Father. Iknow that I've been a sad dog all my life. Miss Roussillon saved you byshooting me, and I love her for it. Lay on, Father, I deserve more thanyou can give me."
"Surely you do, my son, surely you do; but my love for you will not letme give you pain. Ah, we priests have to carry all men's loads. Ourbacks are broad, however, very broad, my son."
"And your fists devilish heavy, Father, devilish heavy."
The gentle smile again flickered over the priest's weather-beaten faceas he glanced sidewise at Farnsworth and said:
"Sometimes, sometimes, my son, a carnal weapon must break the way for aspiritual one. But we priests rarely have much physical strength; ourdependence is upon--"
"To be sure; certainly," Farnsworth interrupted, rubbing his side,"your depe
ndence is upon the first thing that offers. I've had many ablow; but yours was the solidest that ever jarred thy mortal frame,Father Beret."
The twain began to laugh. There is nothing like a reminiscence to stirup fresh mutual sympathy.
"If your intercostals were somewhat sore for a time, on account of acontact with priestly knuckles, doubtless there soon set in acorresponding uneasiness in the region of your conscience. Such shocksare often vigorously alterative and tonic--eh, my son?"
"You jolted me sober, Father, and then I was ashamed of myself. Butwhere does all your tremendous strength lie? You don't look strong."
While speaking Farnsworth leaned near Father Beret and grasped his arm.The young man started, for his fingers, instead of closing around aflabby, shrunken old man's limb, spread themselves upon a huge, knottedmass of iron muscles. With a quick movement Father Beret shook offFarnsworth's hand, and said:
"I am no Samson, my son. Non sum qualis eram." Then, as if dismissing alight subject for a graver one, he sighed and added; "I suppose thereis nothing that can be done for little Alice."
He called the tall, strong girl "little Alice," and so she seemed tohim. He could not, without direct effort, think of her as amagnificently maturing woman. She had always been his spoiled petchild, perversely set against the Holy Church, but dear to himnevertheless.
"I came to you to ask that very question, Father," said Farnsworth.
"And what do I know? Surely, my son, you see how utterly helpless anold priest is against all you British. And besides--"
"Father Beret," Farnsworth huskily interrupted, "is there a place thatyou know of anywhere in which Miss Roussillon could be hidden, if--"
"My dear son."
"But, Father, I mean it."
"Mean what? Pardon an old man's slow understanding. What are youtalking about, my son?"
Father Beret glanced furtively about, then quickly stepped through thedoorway, walked entirely around the house and came in again beforeFarnsworth could respond. Once more seated on his stool he addedinterrogatively:
"Did you think you heard something moving outside?"
"No."
"You were saying something when I went out. Pardon my interruption."
Farnsworth gave the priest a searching and not wholly confiding look.
"You did not interrupt me, Father Beret. I was not speaking. Why areyou so watchful? Are you afraid of eavesdroppers?"
"You were speaking recklessly. Your words were incendiary: ardentiaverba. My son, you were suggesting a dangerous thing. Your life wouldscarcely satisfy the law were you convicted of insinuating suchtreason. What if one of your prowling guards had overheard you? Yourneck and mine might feel the halter. Quod avertat dominus." He crossedhimself and in a solemn voice added in English:
"May the Lord forbid! Ah, my son, we priests protect those we love."
"And I, who am not fit to tie a priest's shoe, do likewise. Father, Ilove Alice Roussillon."
"Love is a holy thing, my son. Amare divinum est et humanum."
"Father Beret, can you help me?"
"Spiritually speaking, my son?"
"I mean, can you hide Mademoiselle Roussillon in some safe place, if Itake her out of the prison yonder? That's just what I mean. Can you doit?"
"Your question is a remarkable one. Have you thought upon it from alldirections, my son? Think of your position, your duty as an officer."
A shrewd polemical expression beamed from Father Beret's eyes, and avery expert physiogomist might have suspected duplicity from certainlines about the old man's mouth.
"I simply know that I cannot stand by and see Alice--MademoiselleRoussillon, forced to suffer treatment too beastly for an Indian thief.That's the only direction there is for me to look at it from, and youcan understand my feelings if you will; you know that very well, FatherBeret. When a man loves a girl, he loves her; that's the whole thing.".
The quiet, inscrutable half-smile flickered once more on Father Beret'sface; but he sat silent some time with a sinewy forefinger lyingalongside his nose. When at last he spoke it was in a tone of voiceindicative of small interest in what he was saying. His words rambledto their goal with the effect of happy accident.
"There are places in this neighborhood in which a human being would beas hard to find as the flag that you and Governor Hamilton have sodiligently and unsuccessfully been in quest of for the past month ortwo. Really, my son, this is a mysterious little town."
Farnsworth's eyes widened and a flush rose in his swarthy cheeks.
"Damn the flag!" he exclaimed. "Let it lie hidden forever; what do Icare? I tell you, Father Beret, that Alice Roussillon is in extremedanger. Governor Hamilton means to put some terrible punishment on her.He has a devil's vindictiveness. He showed it to me clearly awhile ago."
"You showed something of the same sort to me, once upon a time, my son."
"Yes, I did, Father Beret, and I got a load of slugs in my shoulder forit from that brave girl's pistol. She saved your life. Now I ask you tohelp me save hers; or, if not her life, what is infinitely more, herhonor."
"Her honor!" cried Father Beret, leaping to his feet so suddenly andwith such energy that the cabin shook from base to roof. "What do yousay, Captain Farnsworth? What do you mean?"
The old man was transformed. His face was terrible to see, with itsnarrow, burning eyes deep under the shaggy brows, its dark veinswrithing snakelike on the temples and forehead, the projected mouth andchin, the hard lines of the jaws, the iron-gray gleam from all thefeatures--he looked like an aged tiger stiffened for a spring.
Farnsworth was made of right soldierly stuff; but he felt a distinctshiver flit along his back. His past life had not lacked thrillingadventures and strangely varied experiences with desperate men. Usuallyhe met sudden emergencies rather calmly, sometimes with phlegmaticindifference. This passionate outburst on the priest's part, however,surprised him and awed him, while it stirred his heart with a profoundsympathy unlike anything he had ever felt before.
Father Beret mastered himself in a moment, and passing his hand overhis face, as if to brush away the excitement, sat down again on hisstool. He appeared to collapse inwardly.
"You must excuse the weakness of an old man, my son," he said, in avoice hoarse and shaking. "But tell me what is going to be done withAlice. Your words--what you said--I did not understand."
He rubbed his forehead slowly, as one who has difficulty in trying tocollect his thoughts.
"I do not know what Governor Hamilton means to do, Father Beret. Itwill be something devilish, however,--something that must not happen,"said Farnsworth.
Then he recounted all that Hamilton had done and said. He described thedreary and comfortless room in which Alice was confined, the miserablefare given her, and how she would be exposed to the leers and lowremarks of the soldiers. She had already suffered these things, and nowthat she could no longer have any protection, what was to become ofher? He did not attempt to overstate the case; but presented it with ablunt sincerity which made a powerfully realistic impression.
Father Beret, like most men of strong feeling who have been subjectedto long years of trial, hardship, multitudinous dangers and all sortsof temptation, and who have learned the lessons of self-control, had aniron will, and also an abiding distrust of weak men. He sawFarnsworth's sincerity; but he had no faith in his constancy, althoughsatisfied that while resentment of Hamilton's imperiousness lasted, hewould doubtless remain firm in his purpose to aid Alice. Let that wearoff, as in a short time it would, and then what? The old man studiedhis companion with eyes that slowly resumed their expression ofsmouldering and almost timid geniality. His priestly experience withdesperate men was demanding of him a proper regard for that subtlety ofprocedure which had so often compassed most difficult ends.
He listened in silence to Farnsworth's story. When it came to an end hebegan to offer some but half relevant suggestions in the form ofindirect cross-questions, by means of which he gradually drew out aminute description of Al
ice's prison, the best way to reach it, thenature of its door-fastenings, where the key was kept, and everything,indeed, likely to be helpful to one contemplating a jail delivery.Farnsworth was inwardly delighted. He felt Father Beret's cunningapproach to the central object and his crafty method of gatheringdetails.
The shades of evening thickened in the stuffy cabin room while theconversation went on. Father Beret presently lifted a puncheon in onecorner of the floor and got out a large bottle, which bore a mildewedand faded French label, and with it a small iron cup. There was justlight enough left to show a brownish sparkle when, after popping outthe cork, he poured a draught in the fresh cup and in his own.
"We may think more clearly, my son, if we taste this old liquor. I havekept it a long while to offer upon a proper occasion. The occasion ishere."
A ravishing bouquet quickly imbued the air. It was itself anintoxication.
"The Brothers of St. Martin distilled this liquor," Father Beret added,handing the cup to Farnsworth, "not for common social drinking, my son,but for times when a man needs extraordinary stimulation. It is said tobe surpassingly good, because St. Martin blessed the vine."
The doughty Captain felt a sudden and imperious thirst seize histhroat. The liquor flooded his veins before his lips touched the cup.He had been abstaining lately; now his besetting appetite rushed uponhim. At one gulp he took in the fiery yet smooth and captivatingdraught. Nor did he notice that Father Beret, instead of joining him inthe potation, merely lifted his cup and set it down again, smacking hislips gusto.
There followed a silence, during which the aromatic breath of thebottle increased its dangerous fascination. Then Father Beret againfilled Farnsworth's cup and said:
"Ah, the blessed monks, little thought they that their matchless brewwould ever be sipped in a poor missionary's hut on the Wabash! But,after all, my son, why not here as well as in sunny France? Our objectjustifies any impropriety of time and place."
"You are right, Father. I drink to our object. Yes, I say, to ourobject."
In fact, the drinking preceded his speech, and his tongue already had aloop in it The liquor stole through him, a mist of bewildering andenchanting influence. The third cup broke his sentences intounintelligible fragments; the fourth made his underjaw sag loosely, thefifth and sixth, taken in close succession, tumbled him limp on thefloor, where he slept blissfully all night long, snugly covered withsome of Father Beret's bed clothes.
"Per casum obliquum, et per indirectum," muttered the priest, when hehad returned the bottle and cup to their hiding-place." The endjustifies the means. Sleep well, my son. Ah, little Alice, littleAlice, your old Father will try--will try!"
He fumbled along the wall in the dark until he found the rapier, whichhe took down; then he went out and sat for some time motionless besidethe door, while the clouds thickened overhead. It was late when hearose and glided away shadow-like toward the fort, over which the nighthung black, chill and drearily silent. The moon was still some hourshigh, smothered by the clouds; a fog slowly drifted from the river.
Meantime Hamilton and Helm had spent a part of the afternoon andevening, as usual, at cards. Helm broke off the game and went to hisquarters rather early for him, leaving the Governor alone and in a badtemper, because Farnsworth, when he had sent for him, could not befound. Three times his orderly returned in as many hours with the samereport; the Captain had not been seen or heard of. Naturally thissudden and complete disappearance, immediately after the reprimand,suggested to Hamilton an unpleasant possibility. What if Farnsworth haddeserted him? Down deep in his heart he was conscious that the youngman had good cause for almost any desperate action. To lose CaptainFarnsworth, however, would be just now a calamity. The Indians weredrifting over rapidly to the side of the Americans, and every dayshowed that the French could not long be kept quiet.
Hamilton sat for some time after Helm's departure, thinking over whathe now feared was a foolish mistake. Presently he buckled on Alice'srapier, which he had lately been wearing as his own, and went out intothe main area of the stockade. A sentinel was tramping to and fro atthe gate, where a hazy lantern shone. The night was breathless andsilent. Hamilton approached the soldier on duty and asked him if he hadseen Captain Farnsworth, and receiving a negative reply, turned aboutpuzzled and thoughtful to walk back and forth in the chill, foggy air.
Presently a faint yellow light attracted his attention. It shonethrough a porthole in an upper room of the block-house at the fartherangle of the stockade. In fact, Alice was reading by a sputtering lampa book Farnsworth had sent her, a volume of Ronsard that he had pickedup in Canada. Hamilton made his way in that direction, at first merelycurious to know who was burning oil so late; but after a few paces herecognized where the light came from, and instantly suspected thatCaptain Farnsworth was there. Indeed he felt sure of it. Somehow hecould not regard Alice as other than a saucy hoyden, incapable ofwomanly virtue. His experience with the worst element of CanadianFrench life and his peculiar cast of mind and character colored hisimpression of her. He measured her by the women with whom the coureursde bois and half-breed trappers consorted in Detroit and at the postseastward to Quebec.
Alice, unable to sleep, had sought forgetfulness of her bittercaptivity in the old poet's charming lyrics. She sat on the floor, someblankets and furs drawn around her, the book on her lap, the stupidlydull lamp hanging beside her on a part of the swivel. Her hair layloose over her neck and shoulders and shimmered around her face with acloud-like effect, giving to the features in their repose a settingthat intensified their sweetness and sadness. In a very low butdistinct voice was reading, with a slightly quavering emotion:
"Mignonne, allons voir si la rose, Que ce matin avoit desclose Sa robe de pourpe au soleil."
When Hamilton, after stealthily mounting the rough stairway which ledto her door, peeped in through a space between the slabs and felt astroke of disappointment, seeing at a glance that Farnsworth was notthere. He gazed for some time, not without a sense of villainy, whileshe continued her sweetly monotonous reading. If his heart had been ashard as the iron swivel-balls that lay beside Alice, he must still havefelt a thrill of something like tender sympathy. She now showed notrace of the vivacious sauciness which had heretofore always marked herfeatures when she was in his presence. A dainty gentleness, touchedwith melancholy, gave to her face an appealing look all the morepowerful on account of its unconscious simplicity of expression.
The man felt an impulse pure and noble, which would have borne him backdown the ladder and away from the building, had not a stronger one setboldly in the opposite direction. There was a short struggle with theseared remnant of his better nature, and then he tried to open thedoor; but it was locked.
Alice heard the slight noise and breaking off her reading turned tolook. Hamilton made another effort to enter before he recollected thatthe wooden key, or notched lever, that controlled the cumbrous woodenlock, hung on a peg beside the door. He felt for it along the wall, andsoon laid his hand on it. Then again he peeped through to see Alice,who was now standing upright near the swivel. She had thrown her hairback from her face and neck; the lamp's flickering light seemedsuddenly to have magnified her stature and enhanced her beauty. Herbook lay on the tumbled wraps at her feet, and in either hand shegrasped a swivel-shot.
Hamilton's combative disposition came to the aid of his baser passionwhen he saw once more a defiant flash from his prisoner's face. It waseasy for him to be fascinated by opposition. Helm had profited by thistrait as much as others had suffered by it; but, in the case of Alice,Hamilton's mingled resentment and admiration were but a powerfulirritant to the coarsest and most dangerous side of his nature.
After some fumbling and delay he fitted the key with a steady hand andmoved the wooden bolt creaking and jolting from its slot. Then flingingthe clumsy door wide open, he stepped in.
Alice started when she recognized the midnight intruder, and a seconddeeper look into his countenance made her brave heart recoil, whilewith a s
inking sensation her breath almost stopped. It was but amomentary weakness, however, followed by vigorous reaction.
"What are you here for, sir?" she demanded. "What do you want?"
"I am neither a burglar nor a murderer, Mademoiselle," he responded,lifting his hat and bowing, with a smile not in the least reassuring.
"You look like both. Stop where you are!"
"Not so loud, my dear Miss Roussillon; I am not deaf. And besides thegarrison needs to sleep."
"Stop, sir; not another step."
She poised herself, leaning slightly backward, and held the iron ballin her right hand ready to throw it at him.
He halted, still smiling villainously.
"Mademoiselle, I assure you that your excitement is quite unnecessary.I am not here to harm you."
"You cannot harm me, you cowardly wretch!"
"Humph! Pride goes before a fall, wench," he retorted, taking ahalf-step backward. Then a thought arose in his mind which added a newshade to the repellent darkness of his countenance.
"Miss Roussillon," he said in English and with a changed voice, whichseemed to grow harder, each word deliberately emphasized, "I have cometo break some bad news to you."
"You would scarcely bring me good news, sir, and I am not curious tohear the bad."
He was silent for a little while, gazing at her with the sort ofadmiration from which a true woman draws away appalled. He saw how sheloathed him, saw how impossible it was for him to get a line nearer toher by any turn of force or fortune. Brave, high-headed, strong as ayoung leopard, pure and sweet as a rose, she stood before him fearless,even aggressive, showing him by every line of her face and form thatshe felt her infinite superiority and meant to maintain it. Her wholepersonal expression told him he was defeated; therefore he quicklyseized upon a suggestion caught from a transaction with Long-Hair, whohad returned a few hours before from his pursuit of Beverley.
"It pains me, I assure you, Miss Roussillon, to tell you what willprobably grieve you deeply," he presently added; "but I have not beenunaware of your tender interest in Lieutenant Beverley, and when I hadbad news from him, I thought it my duty to inform you."
He paused, feeling with a devil's satisfaction the point of hisstatement go home to the girl's heart.
The wind was beginning to blow outside, shaking open the dark cloudsand letting gleams of moonlight flicker on the thinning fog. A ghostlyray came through a crack between the logs and lit Alice's face with apathetic wanness. She moved her lips as if speaking, but Hamilton heardno sound.
"The Indian, Long-Hair, whom I sent upon Lieutenant Beverley's trail,reported to me this afternoon that his pursuit had been quitesuccessful. He caught his game."
Alice's voice came to her now. She drew in a quivering breath of relief.
"Then he is here--he is--you have him a prisoner again?"
"A part of him, Miss Roussillon. Enough to be quite sure that there isone traitor who will trouble his king no more. Mr. Long-Hair brought inthe Lieutenant's scalp."
Alice received this horrible statement in silence; but her faceblanched and she stood as if frozen by the shock. The shiftymoon-glimmer and the yellow glow of the lamp showed Hamilton to what anextent his devilish cruelty hurt her, and somehow it chilled him as ifby reflection; but he could not forego another thrust.
"He deserved hanging, and would have got it had he been brought to mealive. So after all, you should be satisfied. He escaped my vengeanceand Long-Hair got his pay. You see I am the chief sufferer."
These words, however, fell without effect upon the girl's ears, inwhich was booming the awful, storm-like roar of her excitement. She didnot see her persecutor standing there; her vision, unhindered by wallsand distance, went straight away to a place in the wilderness, whereall mangled and disfigured Beverley lay dead. A low cry broke from herlips; she dropped the heavy swivel-balls; and then, like a bird,swiftly, with a rustling swoop, she went past Hamilton and down thestair.
For perhaps a full minute the man stood there motionless, stupefied,amazed; and when at length he recovered himself, it was with difficultythat he followed her. Everything seemed to hinder him. When he reachedthe open air, however, he quickly regained his activity of both mindand body, and looked in all directions. The clouds were breaking intoparallel masses with streaks of sky between. The moon hanging aslantagainst the blue peeped forth just in time to show him a flying figurewhich, even while he looked, reached the postern, opened it and slippedthrough.
With but a breath of hesitation between giving the alarm and followingAlice silently and alone, he chose the latter. He was a swift runnerand light footed. With a few bounds he reached the little gate, whichwas still oscillating on its hinges, darted through and away, strainingevery muscle in desperate pursuit, gaining rapidly in the race, whichbore eastward along the course twice before chosen by Alice in leavingthe stockade.