“And been hanged as pirates at the yard-arm next morning,” said Amos.  “I think we have done better to take the honey and leave the tree.  I hope, madame, that all is well with you.”

“Nay, I can hardly understand what has happened, or where we are.”

“Nor can I, Amos.”

“Did you not expect us to come back for you, then?”

“I did not know what to expect.”

“Well, now, but surely you could not think that we would leave you without a word.”

“I confess that I was cut to the heart by it.”

“I feared that you were when I looked at you with the tail of my eye, and saw you staring so blackly over the bulwarks at us.  But if we had been seen talking or planning they would have been upon our trail at once.  As it was they had not a thought of suspicion, save only this fellow whom we have in the bottom of the boat here.”

“And what did you do?”

“We left the brig last night, got ashore on the Beaupre side, arranged for this canoe, and lay dark all day.  Then to-night we got alongside and I roused you easily, for I knew where you slept.  The friar nearly spoiled all when you were below, but we gagged him and passed him over the side.  Ephraim popped on his gown so that he might go forward to help you without danger, for we were scared at the delay.”

“Ah! it is glorious to be free once more.  What do I not owe you, Amos?”

“Well, you looked after me when I was in your country, and I am going to look after you now.”

“And where are we going?”

“Ah! there you have me.  It is this way or none, for we can’t get down to the sea.  We must make our way over land as best we can, and we must leave a good stretch between Quebec citadel and us before the day breaks, for from what I hear they would rather have a Huguenot prisoner than an Iroquois sagamore.  By the eternal, I cannot see why they should make such a fuss over how a man chooses to save his own soul, though here is old Ephraim just as fierce upon the other side, so all the folly is not one way.”

“What are you saying about me?” asked the seaman, pricking up his ears at the mention of his own name.

“Only that you are a good stiff old Protestant.”

“Yes, thank God.  My motto is freedom to conscience, d’ye see, except just for Quakers, and Papists, and—­and I wouldn’t stand Anne Hutchinsons and women testifying, and suchlike foolishness.”

Amos Green laughed.  “The Almighty seems to pass it over, so why should you take it to heart?” said he.

“Ah, you’re young and callow yet.  You’ll live to know better.  Why, I shall hear you saying a good word soon even for such unclean spawn as this,” prodding the prostrate friar with the handle of his paddle.

“I daresay he’s a good man, accordin’ to his lights.”

“And I daresay a shark is a good fish accordin’ to its lights.  No, lad, you won’t mix up light and dark for me in that sort of fashion.  You may talk until you unship your jaw, d’ye see, but you will never talk a foul wind into a fair one.  Pass over the pouch and the tinder-box, and maybe our friend here will take a turn at my paddle.”