"Are you alone?" asked Chaumonot. His voice quavered in spite of his
effort.
"No!" sang out Brother Jacques's barytone; and there was a joyous note
in it. "Two daughters of Onontio are captives with me."
Two daughters of Onontio; two women from the Chateau St. Louis! A rare
wine seemed to infuse the Chevalier's blood. He forgot many things in
that moment.
"Women?" murmured Father Chaumonot, in perplexity. "Oh, this is
fortunate and yet unfortunate! What shall we do with them here? I can
spare no men to take them back to Quebec; and the journey would only
plunge them into danger even worse."
The Senecas, sullen but dignified, and their captives were brought
ashore and led toward the fire. The Onondagas crowded around. These,
then, were the fair flowers which grew in the gardens of the white man;
and the young braves, who had never before set eyes upon white women,
gazed wonderingly and curiously at the two marvels. The women
sustained with indifference and composure this mild investigation.
They had gone through so much that they were not interested in what
they saw. The firelight illumined their sadly arrayed figures and
played over their worn and weary faces.
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