By this time Dave was confronting the trio boldly, and now Jean Bevoir
looked at him more closely.

"_Parbleu!_" he muttered. "'Tis that Dave Morris, or mayhap I am dreaming!"

"Jean Bevoir!" faltered the youth. "I--I thought you were dead."

"Dead? And how came you to think that?"

"They told us you were shot down at Montreal."

"Ha! I see. And you were glad of it, not so? But I have disappointed you."
The Frenchman paused and then chuckled to himself. "You cannot flee from
Jean Bevoir so easily."

"What do you want here?"

"Want, do you ask? What would any honest man want? Yes, I was shot, and
left for dead. But my good friends nursed me to health, _malgre moll_
And now I am come to claim what is my own."

By this time James Morris had noted the appearance of the newcomers, and
leaving his work over the ruins, he walked forward to see who they were.

"Can it be possible that this is Jean Bevoir!" he ejaculated.

"Yes, father," answered Dave. "The report that he was killed was false."

"But the soldiers were so sure--"