But Willet remained silent and thoughtful.

“I’ve a feeling, Robert,” he said, “that our mission to Quebec will fail.  We’ve passed through too much, and all the signs are against us.  As for me, I’m going to get ready for war.”

“Maybe the Governor General will arrive tomorrow,” said Robert, “and if so we can give him our letters and go.  I was glad to come to Quebec, and I’ll be equally glad to leave.”

“And we can see the lodges of the Hodenosaunee again,” said Tayoga, his eyes glistening.

“Yes, Tayoga, and glad I’ll be to be once more among your great people, the hunters of the hills.”

It was about two o’clock in the morning, when Robert went to bed, and he slept very late.  Willet awoke shortly after dawn, dressed himself and went to the window, where he stood, gazing absently at the deepening sunlight on the green hills, although he saw the incidents of the heated night before far more vividly.  He was a man who did not favor bloodshed, though it was a hard and stern age, and the slaying of Boucher, who would have added another to his victims, did not trouble him even the morning after.  In his mind was the thought, expressed so powerfully, that the mills of God grind slowly, but they grind exceeding small.  However, his anxiety to be away from Quebec had grown with the hours.  The dangers were too thick, and they also had a bad habit of increasing continually.

When Robert awoke he found the hunter and Tayoga awaiting him.

“I’ve ordered breakfast,” said Willet, “and it will be ready for us as soon as you dress.  After that I’ll have to comply with some formalities, owing to last night’s affair, and then if the Governor General arrives this afternoon, we can deliver our letters and depart.  It seems strange, Robert, that we should be here such a little while and that both you and I should fight duels.  Perhaps it will be Tayoga’s turn today, and he too will have to fight.”

“Not unless Tandakora seeks me,” said the young Onondaga.

“Did you see what became of him last night, Tayoga?” asked Willet.

“I watched him all the time you and the Frenchman were fighting, and I watched also when we came back to the inn.  He would willingly have thrown a tomahawk in the dark at the head of any one of us, but he knew I watched and he did not dare.”

“And that Ojibway savage is another of our troubles.  He’s gone clean mad with his hate of us.”

Their late breakfast was served by Monsieur Berryer himself with much deference and some awe.  The large room also held many more guests than usual at such an hour, but most of them ate little, only an egg or a roll, perhaps, or they dallied over a cup of coffee, reserving most of their attention for Willet, whom they regarded covertly, but with extraordinary interest.  The youth with him had shown himself to be a fine swordsman, as Count Jean de Mezy could testify, but the elder man, who had appeared to be