The priest looked grave. The long struggle against the rapids from Montreal to La Gallette had tried the hardihood of more than one strong man.
"It is probable, my son, that the sense of your responsibility makes you a little over-cautious. She is a strong enough child, I should say. Still, perhaps the food is not what she has been accustomed to. I have noticed that she eats little."
"Perrot is too fond of grease," Menard said. "I must tell him to use less grease."
"If she should be taken sick, we could leave her with someone at Montreal."
"Leave her at Montreal!" exclaimed Menard. "When she breaks down, it will be in the rapids. And then I must either go on alone, or wait with you until she is strong enough to be carried. In any case it means confusion and delay. And I must not be delayed."
"We must find a way to brighten her spirits. It is homesickness that worries her, and sorrow for her father, and dread of what is before and around her. I'll warrant she has never been away from her home before. We must get her confidence,--devise ways to cheer her, brighten her."
"This is not the time for reasoning, Father. What we must do is to make her stop thinking, stop looking backward and forward. And there is Danton; he can help. He is of an age with her, and should succeed where you and I might fail."
"He has not awaited the suggestion, Captain."
"Yes, I know. But he must,--well, Father, it has all been said. The maid is on our hands, and must be got to Frontenac. That is all. And there is nothing for it but to rely on Danton to help."
The priest looked at his brushes, and hesitated. "I am not certain," he said, "she is very young. And Lieutenant Danton,--I have heard, while at Quebec,--"
"He is a boy, Father. These tales may be true enough. Why not? They would fit as well any idle lieutenant in Quebec, who is lucky enough to have an eye, and a pair of shoulders, and a bit of the King's gold in his purse. This maid is the daughter of a gentleman, Father; she is none of your Lower Town jades. And Danton may be young and foolish,--as may we all have been,--but he is a gentleman born."
"Very well," replied the priest, looking with regret at the failing light, and beginning to gather his brushes. "I will counsel her, but I fear it will do little good. If the maid is sick at heart, and we attempt to guide her thoughts, we may but drive the trouble deeper in. It is the same with some of the Indian maidens, when they have left the tribe for the Mission. Now and again there comes a time, even with piety to strengthen them,--and this maid has little,--when the yearning seems to grow too strong to be cured. Sometimes they go back. One died. It was at Sault St. Francis in the year of the--"