“You are a priest of Rome!” he exclaimed harshly, staring down.

The white, girlish face brightened instantly, the two thin hands plucking forth from some fold in the tattered robe a small silver crucifix.  At sight of this the stern-mouthed Puritan drew sharply back, as if he feared contamination from the symbol.

“Oui, Monsieur,” answered the soft voice, with an odd note of joy in it.  “I am of the Society of Jesus.”

“’T is plain to see.  What do you here?”

The priest smiled gently, his eyes dimming with tears fixed upon the cross.

“’Tis strange question.  Surely Monsieur knoweth little of our Order, or he would not need to ask.  We are soldiers of Christ, commissioned for war, even to life or death.  We ask nothing but the privilege of service, and the command of our superior.  I am named missionary unto the savage tribes of this river.  It has been the will of God that I suffer in order that through me some souls born into heathendom may thus be redeemed from the torments of the damned.”

The sectary’s rough, gray face reddened until it was nearly the color of his hair.

“’Tis false!” he growled, smiting one hand hard upon the other in anger.  “You only lead the way straight to hell with your false doctrine.  Have you made any converts to the Roman harlot in this tribe?”

“Nay, Monsieur, I cannot lay claim to such reward.”  His eyes slowly uplifted to the face of his questioner.  “Jesu hath not as yet opened before my understanding the way which leadeth to their hearts.  I can but work, and pray for guidance.  I have only baptised one who was dying of a fever, and sprinkled with holy water an infant, unknown to its mother.  It is not much, yet I bless the good Mary for the salvation of those precious souls.”

“Saints of Israel! do you think that mummery saved them?”

“Surely yes, Monsieur; is it not so taught of our Order?”

I shall never forget the look upon Cairnes’s face.  At the moment I believed him wrestling with temptation to strike the helpless man, so irritated was he by these confident words of Romish faith.  Determined to prevent discussion, I elbowed him aside, and bent down over the fastenings of the Jesuit.

“Enough of this,” I said sternly, barely glancing at Cairnes.  “Keep the rest of your Puritanical sermonizing for a conventicle.  We have here a fellow-Christian to be rescued from the savages; this is no time to jangle over creeds.”

“A fellow-Christian!  I hold no fellowship with such; he is but an emissary of a false religion, a slave to the Evil One.”

“Enough, I say,” and I rose to my feet fronting him.  “I care little which is right in doctrine, you or he.  Here is a man begging aid of us in extremity.  Surely the priest has suffered for the sake of Christ, regarding whom you speak so freely.  So have done with dogma, and play the man a while—­press here with your strength on this knife-blade until I bend back the metal and set him free.”