you think if my mind drifted! No, no, no! to stand by one's own heart is
the gift of an honest man--I am a sad rogue, abbe, as you know, but I
swear I would sooner let slip the friendship of King Louis himself than
the hand of a good comrade. Well, my sword is for my king. I must obey
him, I must leave my comrades behind, but I shall not forget, and they
must not forget." At this he got to his feet, came over, laid a hand on
the abbe's shoulder, and his voice softened: "Abbe, the woman shall be
mine."

"If God wills so, Iberville." "He will, He will."

"Well," said Perrot, with a little laugh; "I think God will be good to a
Frenchman when an Englishman is his foe."

"But the girl is English--and a heretic," urged the abbe helplessly.

Perrot laughed again. "That will make Him sorry for her."

Meanwhile Iberville had turned to the table, and was now reading a
letter. A pleased look came on his face, and he nodded in satisfaction.
At last he folded it up with a smile and sealed it. "Well," he said,
"the English is not good, for I have seen my Shakespeare little this time
back, but it will do--it must do. In such things rhetoric is nothing.
You will take it, Perrot he said, holding up the letter.

Perrot reached out for it.

"And there is something more." Iberville drew from his finger a costly
ring. It had come from the hand of a Spanish noble, whose place he had
taken in Spain years before. He had prevented his men from despoiling