Startled by this unexpected apparition, and experiencing an American borderer’s dislike and distrust for his class, I made a hasty move back toward where, with unusual carelessness, I had deposited my rifle against the wall.  Yet as I placed hand upon it I had sufficiently recovered to laugh silently at my fears.

“Thou hast responded with much promptitude, my son,” the priest said in gentle voice, speaking the purest of French, and apparently not choosing to notice my momentary confusion.  “It is indeed an excellent trait—­one long inculcated by our Order.”

“And one not unknown to mine—­free rangers of the woods, sir priest,” I replied coldly, resolving not to be outdone in bluntness of speech.  “I suppose you are the ‘lady’ desiring speech with me; I note you come dressed in character.  And now I am here, what may the message be?”

There was neither smile nor resentment visible on his pale face, although he slightly uplifted one slender hand as if in silent rebuke of my rude words.

“Nay, nay, my son,” he said gravely.  “Be not over-hasty in speech.  It is indeed a serious matter which doth require thy presence in this house, and the question of life or death for a human being can never be fit subject for jesting.  She who despatched the messenger will be here directly to make clear her need.”

“In truth it was a woman, then?”

“Yes, a woman, and—­ah! she cometh now.”

Even as he gave utterance to the words, I turned, attracted by the soft rustle of a silken skirt at my very side, stole one quick, startled glance into a young, sweet face, lightened by dark, dreamy eyes, and within the instant was warmly clasping two outstretched hands, totally oblivious of all else save her.

“Eloise!” I exclaimed in astonishment.  “Eloise—­Mademoiselle Lafreniere—­can this indeed be you?  Have you sent for me?”

It seemed for that one moment as if the world held but the two of us, and there was a glad confidence in her brimming eyes quickly dissipating all mists of the past.  Yet only for that one weak, thoughtless instant did she yield to what appeared real joy at my presence.

“Yes, dear friend, it is Eloise,” she answered, gazing anxiously into my face, and clinging to my strong hands as though fearful lest I might tear them away when she spoke those hard words which must follow.  “Yet surely you know, Geoffrey Benteen, that I am Mademoiselle Lafreniere no longer?”

It seemed to me my very heart stopped beating, so intense was the pain which overswept it.  Yet I held to the soft hands, for there was such a pitiful look of suffering upon her upturned face as to steady me.

“No, I knew it not,” I answered brokenly.  “I—­I have been buried in the forest all these years since we parted, where few rumors of the town have reached me.  But let that pass; it—­it is easy to see you are now in great sorrow.  Was it because of this—­in search of help, in need, perchance—­that you have sent for me?”