It was beginning to rain, a steady, cold
shower, when they reached the house, and for many days and nights
thereafter the downfall continued almost incessantly.
"Dear child," said Father Beret, stopping at the gate and looking
beseechingly into Alice's face, "you must stay at home now--stay
in the house--it will be horribly dangerous for you to pass about
in the village after your--after what has happened."
"Do not fear, Father, I will be careful. Aren't you coming in?
I'll find you a cake and a glass of wine."
"No, child, not now."
"Then good-bye, good-bye," she said, turning from him to run into
the house. "Come soon, I shall be so lonesome."
On the veranda she suddenly stopped, running her fingers about her
neck and into her bosom.
"Oh, Father, Father Beret, I've lost my locket!" she cried. "See
if I dropped it there."
She went back to the gate, searching the ground with her eyes. Of
course she did not find the locket. It was miles and miles away
close to the heart of her lover. If she could but have known this,
it would have comforted her. Beverley had intended to leave it
with Jean, but in his haste and excitement he forgot; writing the
note distracted his attention; and so he bore Alice's picture on
his breast and in his heart while pursuing his long and perilous
journey.
Four of Hamilton's scouts came upon Beverley twenty miles south of
Vincennes, but having the advantage of them, he killed two almost
immediately, and after a running fight, the other two attempted
escape in a canoe on the Wabash.
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