Prisoners of Chance | Page 7

dat am her
name and Massa's; an' you is de bery man she done sent me after, fer I
nebber onct took my eyes off you all dis time."
There remained no reasonable doubt as to the fellow's sincerity. His
face was a picture of disinterested earnestness as he fronted me; yet I
hesitated, eying him closely, half inclined to think him the unsuspecting
representative of some rogue. That was a time and place where one of
my birth needed to practise caution; racial rivalry ran so high
throughout all the sparsely settled province that any misunderstanding
between an English stranger and either Frenchman or Spaniard was
certain to involve serious results. We of Northern blood were bitterly
envied because of commercial supremacy. I had, during my brief
residence in New Orleans, witnessed jealous treachery on every hand.
This had taught me that enemies of my race were numerous, while, it
was probable, not more than a dozen fellow-countrymen were then in
New Orleans. They would prove powerless were I to become involved
in any quarrel. Extreme caution under such conditions became a
paramount duty, and it can scarcely be wondered at that I hesitated to
trust the black, continuing to study the real purpose of his mysterious
message. Yet the rare good-humor and simple interest of his face
tended to reassure me. A lady, he said--well, surely no great harm
would result from such an interview; and if, as was probable, it should
prove a mere case of mistaken identity, a correction could easily follow,
and I should then be free to go my way. On the other hand, if some
friend really needed me, a question of duty was involved, which--God
helping--I was never one to shun; for who could know in how brief a
space I might also be asking assistance of some countryman. This
mysterious stranger, this Madame de Noyan of whom I had never heard,

knew my name--possibly had learned it from another, some wandering
Englishman, perchance, whom she would aid in trouble, some old-time
friend in danger, who, afraid to reveal himself, now appealed through
her instrumentality for help in a strange land. Deciding to brave the
doubt and solve the mystery by action, I flung the long rifle across my
shoulder and stood erect.
"All right, boy, lead on," I said shortly. "I intend to learn what is behind
this, and who it is that sends for me in New Orleans."
Far from satisfied with the situation, yet determined now to probe the
mystery to the bottom, I silently followed the black, attentive to his
slightest movement. It was a brief walk down one of the narrow streets
leading directly back from the river front, so that within less than five
minutes I was being silently shown into the small reception room of a
tasty cottage, whose picturesque front was half concealed by a brilliant
mass of trailing vines. The heavy shades being closely drawn at the
windows, the interior was in such gloom that for the moment after my
entrance from the outside glare I was unable to distinguish one object
from another. Then slowly my eyes adjusted themselves to the change,
and, taking one uncertain step forward, I came suddenly face to face
with a Capuchin priest appearing almost ghastly with his long, pale,
ascetic countenance, and ghostly gray robe sweeping to the floor.
Startled by this unexpected apparition, and experiencing an American
borderer's dislike and distrust for his class, I made a hasty move back
toward where, with unusual carelessness, I had deposited my rifle
against the wall. Yet as I placed hand upon it I had sufficiently
recovered to laugh silently at my fears.
"Thou hast responded with much promptitude, my son," the priest said
in gentle voice, speaking the purest of French, and apparently not
choosing to notice my momentary confusion. "It is indeed an excellent
trait--one long inculcated by our Order."
"And one not unknown to mine--free rangers of the woods, sir priest," I
replied coldly, resolving not to be outdone in bluntness of speech. "I
suppose you are the 'lady' desiring speech with me; I note you come

dressed in character. And now I am here, what may the message be?"
There was neither smile nor resentment visible on his pale face,
although he slightly uplifted one slender hand as if in silent rebuke of
my rude words.
"Nay, nay, my son," he said gravely. "Be not over-hasty in speech. It is
indeed a serious matter which doth require thy presence in this house,
and the question of life or death for a human being can never be fit
subject for jesting. She who despatched the messenger will be here
directly to make clear her need."
"In truth it was a woman, then?"
"Yes, a woman, and--ah! she