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Updated: June 12, 2025
"Dance with you here?" she responded incredulously. "Yes, just here," he said, with a dry little laugh, as he ran his arm round her waist and drew her out upon the green. "And who is Vanne Castine?" he asked as they swung away in time with the music. The rest stopped dancing when they saw these two appear in the ring-through curiosity or through courtesy. She did not answer immediately.
Castine was blowing clouds of smoke from his pipe, and Shangois was pouring some tea leaves into a little tin pot, humming to himself snatches of an old song as he did so: "What shall we do when the King comes home? What shall we do when he rides along With his slaves of Greece and his serfs of Rome? What shall we sing for a song When the King comes home?
While he was at Medoctec one of the chiefs desired Pote to read a contract or treaty made about fourteen years before by his tribe with the Governor of Nova Scotia. He also had an interview with one Bonus Castine, who had just arrived at Medoctec, and who examined him very strictly as to the cargo of the Montague and took down in writing what he said.
There is vaurien in her too," was the half- triumphant reply. "There is more woman," retorted Shangois; "much more." "We'll see about that, m'sieu'!" exclaimed Castine, as he turned towards the bear, which was clawing at his chain. An hour later, a scene quite as important occurred at Lavilette's great farmhouse. It was about ten o'clock. Lights were burning in every window.
They were silent for a time. Presently she looked up at him. "You're much better to-day, "she said; "better than you've been since since that night!" "Oh, I'm all right," he answered; "right as can be." He suddenly turned on her, put his hand upon her arm, and said: "Come, now, tell me what there was between you and Vanne Castine once upon a time.
I must take care of myself." Laud went to the restaurant, and ate his breakfast; after which he returned to the Juno. He took care of himself by getting under way, and standing over towards Castine, where he dined that day.
In old days he and this same Vanne Castine had been in many a scrape together, and Vanne, the elder, had always borne the responsibility of their adventures. Nicolas had had enough of those old days; other ambitions and habits governed him now. He was not exactly the man to go back on a friend, but Castine no longer had any particular claims to friendship.
In 1694 Castine was taken and a hundred persons scalped and tomahawked. At Durham, in New Hampshire, prisoners were burned alive. Groton, in Massachusetts, was next visited; but the boldest of all was the massacre, in 1697, at Haverhill, a town not thirty-five miles from Boston.
The movement was a feint, however, and after frightening Baltimore and Annapolis, the ships cruised and blockaded the bay for several months. In September of the following year another British division harassed the coast of Maine, first capturing Eastport and then landing at Belfast, Bangor, and Castine, and extorting large ransoms in money and supplies. New England was wildly alarmed.
If he had guessed that his friend knew accurately of his movements since the night he had seen Vanne Castine hand him his commission from Papineau, he would have felt less secure: for, after all, love or prejudice of country is a principle in the minds of most men deeper than any other.
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