“A confession makes the work of the judges easier, and as I would not confess I was to be tortured—when the Court was ready; all in good time.
“At Blois was a young blade renowned no less for his conquests of women than for his ill-favoured face. His ugliness prevailed where the beauty of other men found virtue an impregnable wall against it. He courted my sister. She repulsed him. It got about and shamed him. Then (I this while in prison, and she helpless) he laid a public wager with his fellows that he would have her innocence.
“He told her I was to be tortured. After a time he told her he could save me from that extremity. This thought worked for a time upon her lonely anguish. Then he swore he _would_ save me—but at a price.
“At last the price was paid. He won his wager. On the day that I was tortured she killed herself before the judges. He, astonished, fled to Italy, hid in a monastery, and dedicated himself to the missions of the New World.
“The judges were, after all, men. They said the evidence against me was insufficient. They set me free, as an avenger.
“I have not been in haste. The man has grown more evil year by year; so I have waited. I will not send him to his account till the score is full. The deepest hell must be ready, and gape for him. Meanwhile, his soul has dwelt all these years alone with fear. He is a brave man, but he knows I wait—he knows not for what; and he sweats and is afraid!”
He told the story simply, quietly; but there was madness in his voice. The unspeakable thing choked me. I got up.
“It is enough!” said I. “I will not fail you when you need me.”
But I went out into the air for a little.
On the following day, being Tuesday, November 16, 1855, and my twenty-seventh birthday, I went down to Grand Pré. I am thus precise about the date, for I felt as I set forth that the issues of life and death hung upon my going. Right here, it seemed to me, was a very knife-edge of a day, which should sever and allot to me for all the future my part of joy or ruin. Surely, thought I,—to justify my expectation of colossal events,—I have not lain these long months dead, that action, once more started, should dribble like a spent stream.
Therefore I went, like a careful strategist, equipped with all the knowledge Grûl could give. I had planned how to reach Father Fafard, and through him how to reach Yvonne. And as the day was to be a great one, I thought well it should be a long one. I set out upon the palest promise of daybreak.