They lifted McElroy, swinging in his blanket, and the tread of the
moccasined feet was hollow on the planks.
Thus there passed up to the gate of De Seviere a triumphal procession
of victory, whose heart was heavy within it, and whose leader in her
tattered dress was the saddest sight of all.
She raised her hand and beat upon the gate, and a voice cried, "Who
comes?"
"Open, my brother," she called, for the voice was that of Henri
Baptiste, whose turn at the gate it was.
There was an ejaculation, a swift rattle of chains, and the heavy
portal swung back, while the blanched face of young Henri stared into
the dawn. Maren motioned to the men and they stepped in with their
burden.
"Holy Mary! Maren! Maren! Maren!" cried Henri Baptiste, and took both
her arms in a gripping clasp. He looked into her face with fear and
wonder, as if the girl had returned from the dead, while joy
unspeakable began to lighten his features.
"Sister! Holy Mary!"
And then, when the touch of her in the flesh had dispelled his first
horror, when the sight of the factor swinging grotesquely in the
blanket had taken on the sense of reality, he raised his voice in a
stentorian call.
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