They seemed to be asking something of the priest, for he shook his head distressfully again and again as one after another spoke. But the look that he turned to her now and again grew ever more wistful.
“Mademoiselle,” he said at last, “these children of my faith are begging me to say the mass for them once more before I go. I have tried to refuse since it would bring greater danger upon you and your father, but, oh, it is hard to say no! Could it be that you would permit us to find some quiet corner of your garden and there worship together before we part for all time?”
“Yes,” she answered with no hesitation, “and were my father here I know that he would say the same. Do whatever you desire and—and take whatever you wish to use,” she added vaguely, not quite knowing what this service was nor what it required.
“But that is truly brave and kind!” exclaimed the little priest, his face fairly shining with sudden joy. “It is not much that we will need, this table, if you will be so kind, and—and these?”
He laid his hands lovingly upon the great heap of candles that still lay upon the table and drew forth one of the tall thick tapers that was to have burned in honour of the Governor of the Colony.
“Yes, anything, everything,” answered Margeret quickly, opening the cupboard where the candlesticks were kept.
“It were better, Mademoiselle Margeret,” he said, “that you go upstairs and try to neither see nor hear that which we are about to do, so that, if the story of this night ever becomes known, those of your faith cannot accuse you of worshipping with us.”
Most unwillingly, yet realising the wisdom of his advice, Margeret went slowly up the stairs toward her own room, yet stopped to look out at the little uncurtained window under the roof. She saw that the storm was over, as Roger had said, and a heavy mist was spreading over the garden. Neither moon nor stars were to be seen, but the wind had dropped and the night was breathlessly still. Down near the water’s edge she could make out two moving points of light, Master Simon’s lantern and Roger Bardwell’s, signalling to the ship before the fog should hide them entirely. Over toward the town all was quiet and dark, since the search in this direction at least, had come to an end. She heard moving to and fro below her, the gentle opening and closing of the door; then the house became so silent that she could hear only the quiet crackling of the kitchen fire.