"
"So? Good! See you, see you, Iberville: what of the lady Puritan's
marriage with the fire-eating Englishman?"
The governor smiled as he spoke, not looking at Iberville. His glance
was upon the batteries in lower town. He had inquired carelessly, for he
did not think the question serious at this distance of time. Getting no
answer, he turned smartly upon Iberville, surprised, and he was struck by
the sudden hardness in the sun-browned face and the flashing eyes. Years
had deepened the power of face and form.
"Your excellency will remember," he answered, in a low, cold tone, "that
I once was counselled to marry the sword."
The governor laid his hand upon Iberville's shoulder. "Pardon me," he
said. "I was not wise or kind. But--I warrant the sword will be your
best wife in the end."
"I have a favour to ask, your excellency."
"You might ask many, my Iberville. If all gentlemen here, clerics and
laymen, asked as few as you, my life would be peaceful. Your services
have been great, one way and another. Ask, and I almost promise
now.
"'Tis this. Six months ago you had a prisoner here, captured on the New
England border.
Pages:
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25