Part 6 (1/2)
”You might see me well,” reproached Van Corlaer, ”if you would look at me.”
She lifted her eyes and dropped them again.
”This Acadian air has given you a wan color,” he noted.
”Did you leave Teunis and Marytje Harmentse well?” quavered Antonia, catching at any sc.r.a.p. Van Corlaer stared, and answered that Teunis and Marytje were well, and would be grateful to her for inquiring.
”For they also helped to hide this priest from the Mohawks,” added Antonia without coherence. Marie could hear her heart laboring.
”What priest?” inquired Van Corlaer, and as he looked around his eyes fell on the ca.s.socked figure at the other table.
”Monsieur Corlaer,” spoke Father Jogues, ”I was but waiting fit opportunity to recall myself and your blessed charity to your memory.”
Van Corlaer's baffled look changed to instant glad recognition.
”That is Father Jogues!”
He met the priest with both hands, and stood head and shoulders taller while they held each other like brothers.
”I thought to find you in Montreal, Father Jogues, and not here, where in my dim fas.h.i.+on I could mistake you for the chaplain of the fort.”
”Monsieur Corlaer, I have not forgot one look of yours. I was a great trouble to you with, my wounds, and my hiding and fever. And what pains you took to put me on board the s.h.i.+p in the night! It would be better indeed to see me at Montreal than ever in such plight again at Fort Orange, Monsieur Corlaer!”
”Glad would we be to have you at Fort Orange again, without pain to yourself, Father Jogues.”
”And how is my friend who so much enjoyed disputing about religion?”
”Our dominie is well, and sent by my hand his hearty greeting to that very learned scholar Father Jogues. We heard you had come back from France.”
Van Corlaer dropped one hand on the donne's shoulder and leaned down to examine his smiling face.
”It is my brother Lalande, the donne of this present mission,” said the priest.
”My young monsieur,” said Van Corlaer, ”keep Father Jogues out of the Mohawks' mouths henceforth. They have really no stomach for religion, though they will eat saints. It often puzzles a Dutchman to handle that Iroquois nation.”
”Our lives are not our own,” said the young Frenchman.
”We must bear the truth whether it be received or not,” said Father Jogues.
”Whatever errand brought you into Acadia,” said Van Corlaer, turning back to the priest, ”I am glad to find you here, for I shall now have your company back to Montreal.”
”Impossible, Monsieur Corlaer. For I have set out to plant a mission among the Abenakis. They asked for a missionary. Our guides deserted us, and we have wandered off our course and been obliged to throw away nearly all the furniture of our mission. But we now hope to make our way along the coast.”
”Father Jogues, the Abenakis are all gone northward. We pa.s.sed through their towns on the Pen.o.bscot.”
”But they will come back?”
”Some time, though no man at Pen.o.bscot would be able to say when.”