He

ing the age of bigotry; and he, who from infancy had been set apart for God's work, was amazed to find a real forgiving spirit among mortals. thought there must be something wrong, either with her or with himself, and, after a few moments' silence, he asked:

"Can you, a Protestant, forgive a Catholic?" "What matters it if one is Protestant or Catholic? Are we not all God's creatures ?"

"But some choose to believe Him, and some do not."

"All believe in God. in the mode of worship.

There is only a difference
Should I slay my brother

because he differs from me about the mode of worshipping the same Supreme Being? God forgive the people for their short-sightedness, and may they all see His holy way without dimming the path to glory with blood and crime."

They might be in danger in their present position, he thought, and he asked her if she was able to go on. She said she could walk again, and, leaning on his arm, they wandered into the forest, neither knowing which way they went. They crossed a creek on a log and hurried on into the wilderness, going farther and farther from those sounds of conflict.

Francisco Estevan's mind was busy with the

past, the present, and the future. What were they to do? Should the French prevail would she be strong enough to protect him against their vengeance, and should his own countrymen succeed, would Hortense be spared? Their condition was deplorable. They dared not trust to either Frenchmen or Spaniards, and John Gyrot, their archenemy, was in the forest. Their plans were sudden, and formed more on the impulse of the moment than from reason.

In their wanderings they left the sound of battle farther and farther in the distance, until even the roar of cannon died away. At last they came to the mossy banks of a brooklet, and, knowing how tired his fair companion must be, he said:

"Let us rest awhile."

They sat down, and, after a long and thoughtful silence, the young ecclesiastic asked:

"Hortense, you are a Protestant and have suffered by the persecutions of the Catholics; do you believe there will be any Papists in heaven?" "Yes; all good Papists will go there." "Then you think there are good Catholics?" "There are many, and God will bless them.' "Will there be fellowship between Catholics and Protestants in heaven?"

"In heaven the scales of superstition and the

motes of bigotry will be removed from our eyes, and we shall see each other as we really are. All will be brothers there."

"And will they be brothers here?"

66

'Yes, when the age of ignorance and superstitious bigotry gives place to reason, then the good Catholic and good Protestant will clasp hands across the smouldering fires of martyrdom, and all will worship God as different members of one great family."

He was silent for a moment, and then broke forth with:

"You are not only the best, but the wisest person living."

At this moment a small party of Spaniards, who had broken through the ranks of their enemies, were seen flying through the wood toward them. Francisco and Hortense had just time to conceal themselves, when the frightened Spaniards rushed by. One of them dropped his sword, but was either too much frightened to miss it or to pause to When they were gone, Hortense said: "Secure the sword; we may need it." He did so.

pick it up.

CHAPTER XVIII.

NOT AS SPANIARDS AND MARINERS, BUT AS TRAITORS, ROBBERS, AND MURDERERS.

THE fugitives, realizing that they were not safe in their present location, continued to retreat, but were compelled to travel slowly, owing to the exhausted condition of Hortense. Her feet were becoming sore from frequent bruises and long travel, and her moccasins were so worn as to form little protection. The future to them was a dark blank into which they could not project a single plan. For the present they insinctively resolved to keep out of the hands of both the French and Spanish, and see how affairs would turn out. Their food was the wild fruit which grew in abundance.

When night came he cut some branches with his sword and made her a bed of leaves, on which she slept as peacefully and sweetly as if at home. The young Spaniard kept guard, watching the stars which he had not seen for so many months. found liberty and pure air so sweet that he had no inclination to sleep. Several times during the night escaped fugitives could be heard hurrying

He

through the wood, recalling that horrible night at Carolinia, when the Huguenots were slain, and he thought:

"Perhaps, after all, it is justice.'

When morning dawned he killed a bird with a stone, and dressing it, broiled it over the smouldering embers of a camp-fire left by the French army. He gave the cooked bird to Hortense, who insisted on his sharing it with her.

As they journeyed still farther into the forest he tried to form some plan for the future, but was unable as yet to come to any definite conclusion. To wait, hope, and depend on circumstances to help them out seemed their only choice. They were walking slowly and painfully along the forest path when they espied a man coming toward them. One glance at the white face, stooped shoulders, and cruel eyes, and despite the changes wrought by hunger, toil, and exposure, Hortense De Barre recognized John Gyrot.

He had managed to shake off his pursuers, and was on his way to Fort St. Mattheo, when he met a wounded Spaniard, a fugitive from the massacre. He gave Gyrot a sword and told him of the attack on the forts. Gyrot abandoned the wounded Spaniard, and was on his way to St. Augustine, when he came upon Francisco and Hor

tense.