“Go, if you will, if you can in safety,” said La Tour; “though, could your impatience brook the delay of a few short hours, it would be well—­well for yourself, perhaps; for if I remember right, you could ill bear a look of coldness, and Lucie is not always lavish of her smiles.”

“I fear it not,” said De Valette; “she would not greet me coldly after so long an absence; and though you smile at my folly, I am not ashamed to confess my eagerness to see her.”

“She already knows her power over you but too well,” said La Tour; “shew her that you are indifferent—­disdainful, if you like—­and trust me, she will learn to prize the love, which she now pretends to slight.”

“The heart of woman must be wayward indeed,” said De Valette, “if such is its nature or artifice; but my hopes are not so desperate yet, and if my memory serves me truly, I have more smiles than frowns on record.”

With these words, De Valette threw himself into a small boat, and in a few moments reached the shore.  He entered the hut of a half-civilized Indian, and to avoid being recognized by any of D’Aulney’s people whom he might chance to encounter, borrowed his savage attire, and in that disguise proceeded to the fort, near which he met the page of Mad. la Tour, as has been already related.

CHAPTER V.

                          He that depends
    Upon your favours, swims with fins of lead,
    And hews down oaks with rushes.  Hang ye!  Trust ye? 
    With every minute you do change a mind.

SHAKSPEARE.

De Valette was true to his engagement, and before the promised hour, returned in safety to his ship.  With the first dawn of day, the vessels were put in readiness to weigh anchor, and sail at a moment’s warning.  At that crisis, La Tour had the vexation of finding his plans well nigh frustrated by the stubborness of his New-England allies.  Alleging that they were restricted by their engagement to see La Tour in safety to his fort, a large majority resolutely declined committing any act of aggression, or joining in an attack which might be considered beyond the limits of their treaty.  Excessively provoked at what he termed their absurd scruples, La Tour sent his lieutenant to request a few of the leading men to meet aboard his vessel, hoping to prevail with them to relinquish their ill-timed doubts.  He walked the quarter-deck with impatient steps, while waiting the boat’s return, and even his French complaisance could not disguise the chagrin and anger which he felt.

“I have desired your attendance here, gentlemen,” he said in a haughty tone, as they approached him, “to learn how far I may rely on the services which have been so freely proffered to me.”

“As far as our duty to God and our country will permit, sir,” replied one, whose seniority entitled him to take a lead in the discourse.

“Mr. Leveret hath spoken rightly,” said another; “and I question if it is our duty to draw the sword when we are not expressly called to do so, and especially, as in this instance, when it would seem far better for it to remain in the scabbard.”