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quiet young fellow, who showed no disposition to be vicious. The mademoiselle was determined on the interview, and her father and friends, after much protestation, consented. There was an apartment in the great stone prison set apart for visitors. It was small, dark and unhealthy; yet the presence of a pure, noble girl seemed to fill it with sunlight. No. 39 was amazed when the warden ordered his irons removed and told him he was to meet a visitor. He did not ask who his visitor was, for galley slaves soon learn not to question. He was conducted to the door of the dark room and told to go in. He paused on the threshold, his eyes fixed on the fair Acadian, while his fingers convulsively clutched his convict cap. Before him was an angel. He had seen that beautiful spirit before, for, like a messenger of peace and hope, it had hovered about him, until he instinctively felt that a better life was in store for him. The sweet voice of this fair being addressed him, saying: “Come nearer, I want to talk with you.” “Will I dare, mademoiselle?” he asked. His French was good, though there was a slight foreign accent, which might come from using his tongue so little.

“Yes, monsieur, you can talk with me with perfect freedom. I rule here.” Surely this must be a princess, he thought, who held the destiny of France in her hand. He bowed and gravely approached her. She pointed to a stool near, and bade him be seated. “I dare not, in your presence,” he answered. “You will grow weary standing. Be seated, I command.” The galley slave obeyed and continued twirling his cap in a nervous, embarrassed manner. For a short time, she gazed on the frank, open countenance of the young man, and then said: “You look like a gentleman.” “Mademoiselle, I am not a thief,” he answered. “Why are you here?” “I was brought here for trying to escape.” ** Escape?” “Yes, mademoiselle; I was a prisoner of war.” “Then you are no Frenchman?” “I am not.” “How long had you been a prisoner of war?” “Almost three years.” “And no one would ransom you? Had you no friends?” “Yes, mademoiselle; I have friends rich and powerful, who would willingly ransom me; but, alas, they know not that I live.”

“Why do you not write to them?” “Who would bear my message? The wind, or the birds, mademoiselle? I have exhausted every means known to send some message home, but in vain. The savages and the French would not believe me when I said I had friends who would redeem me.” “You want to escape, monsieur?” she asked in a low voice. “As does the captive bird.” “Whist, monsieur ! I will see that no one eavesdrops.” She rose and went to each door to assure herself that no one was listening. Coming back to where the trembling prisoner sat, she said in a low, earnest tone: “Monsieur, you shall be free.” “Mademoiselle!” he cried, falling on his knees before her. “Rise, monsieur. Not a word. Listen; can you bribe your keeper into letting you escape?” “If I had the money.” “How much would it require?” “A few hundred francs.” “Here are one thousand. Conceal the money about your person. In the seam of the great rock on which your chain gang worked, you will, three nights hence, find a suit of clothes suitable for a gentleman and five hundred francs more.”

“Mademoiselle, you overwhelm me!” “Nay, monsieur, say no more. I must be very brief, for this interview cannot last long.” “What more would the mademoiselle say?” “When you have gained your liberty, you need not feel constrained to follow my wishes further.” “Mademoiselle, I swear that your wish shall be my pleasure, and whithersoever, or on whatsoever errand you send me, I will go most cheerfully.” “I live at Grand Pre, in Acadia, and—come there.” “I will.” “Your dialect is good enough for a Frenchman. When you come, assume a French name, and be a French gentleman, travelling for pleasure.” “I will.” “I can remain no longer. Adieu, until I see you at Grand Pre.” The galley slave rose, seized the hand of the fair Acadian and covered it with kisses; then she took her departure. Four days later, number 39 was reported as having made his escape. Search was made for him; but, as he could not be found, it was supposed he had perished while attempting to swim the river.


When the British warrior queen, Bleeding from the Roman rods, Sought, with an indignant mien, Counsel of her country gods, Sage beneath the spreading oak Sat the druid, hoary chief; Every burning word he spoke Full of rage and full of grief. —COWPER. ELMER STEVENS, returning from a cruise to Boston, learned that his brother George was among the missing at Deerfield. He wrote to his parents at Williamsburg, Virginia, and every effort was made to find the captive youth. As years rolled on, and the surviving captives of Rouville's foray returned, they brought tidings of the prisoner. He was last seen at Caughnawaga, near Montreal, and then came an uncertain report that he was dead. How such reports get started or become verified, it is difficult to tell; but the story was believed, especially as nothing was heard of the captive. At last Elmer gave up his brother for

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