Gone! Well.--And Elliston--what said he?
_Mess_. I brought this note of yours back, Miss Helen. Father Elliston
was gone. Here has been an Indian killed on Sandy Hill this evening,
Alaska's own son as it turns out, and such a hubbub as they are making
about it you never heard. I met a couple of squaws myself, yelling like
mad creatures, and the woods are all alive with them. The priest has
gone down to their village to pacify them if it may be,--so I brought
the note back, Miss Helen, for there was no one there but a little
rascal of an Indian, and I would not trust the worth of a feather with
one of them. Was I right?
_Helen_. Yes. Give it to me. How far is it to the British camp?
_Mess_. Why, they are just above here at Brandon's Mills they say, that
is, the main body. It can't be over three miles, or so.
_Helen. Three_ miles! only three miles of this lovely moonlight road
between us.--William McReady, go to that camp for me to-night.
_Mess_. To the British camp?
_Helen_. Ay.
_Mess_. To the British camp! Lord bless you, Miss. I should be shot--I
should be shot as true as you are a living woman.
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