them to march straight overland. Of the success of this plan he had
little hope, as the slashers knew of the rum he kept on hand, and for
that they would come, if for nothing else.

So that night as he lay there watching Jean as she sat before the fire,
he listened intently, expecting every minute to hear the voices and
steps of the undesired rebels. Bitterly now he regretted his action in
the past, and almost cursed himself for his blind folly. Several times
he was on the point of warning Jean of her danger. But how could he
tell her, and what good would it do? There was no place where she
could go for protection, and he was helpless to aid her. His only
comfort lay in the hope that he could influence the men by making them
think that she was his daughter. This, he knew, would be but a poor
excuse, and it was hardly likely that they would believe him. They
were well aware that he had no daughter, and would look upon the girl's
presence in the house in one light only. A groan escaped his lips as
he thought of this.

"Are you suffering much?" Jean asked, going to his side. "Is there
anything I can do for you?"

"Not for me, I'm afraid," was the reply. "There is something, though,
that you can do. I may have visitors to-night, and no doubt they will
be hungry. Do you think you could carry those provisions into this
room? I don't want the men to disturb you. I hope those sacks will
not be too heavy."

"I think I can do it," Jean replied. "Where shall I put them?"

"As near the door there as possible. And the rum; don't forget that, I