He would never know
what message it bore. The link between him and the old sweet days
was broken forever. Now with God's help he could do his work to
the end.
He went and stood in his doorway, leaning against the side. Was it
a mere coincidence that the meadowlark flew up just then from its
grass-tuft, and came to the roof's comb overhead, where it lit
with a light yet audible stroke of its feet and began fluting its
tender, lonesome-sounding strain? If Father Beret heard it he gave
no sign of recognition; very likely he was thinking about the
cargo of liquor and how he could best counteract its baleful
influence. He looked toward the "river house," as the inhabitants
had named a large shanty, which stood on a bluff of the Wabash not
far from where the road-bridge at present crosses, and saw men
gathering there.
Meantime Rene de Ronville had delivered Madame Roussillon's letter
with due promptness. Of course such a service demanded pie and
claret. What still better pleased him, Alice chose to be more
amiable than was usually her custom when he called. They sat
together in the main room of the house where M. Roussillon kept
his books, his curiosities of Indian manufacture collected here
and there, and his surplus firearms, swords, pistols, and knives,
ranged not unpleasingly around the walls.
Of course, along with the letter, Rene bore the news, so
interesting to himself, of the boat's tempting cargo just
discharged at the river house.
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