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Updated: May 3, 2025
Mrs Gummidge will be a companion to Miss Hatherton. They expect to start in a week, so as to cover as much ground as possible before the winter sets in." "The sooner the better," said I. "And what about the marriage?" Captain Rudstone inquired carelessly. "There will be a priest here one of the French fathers in the course of a month," said the factor, "and I will send him on to Fort Royal."
Hand to hand we fought desperately, shooting and striking at the Indians and keeping them on the outside of the fort. Not many of them had firearms, and so far as I could see, but one of our men had fallen. "Stand up to it!" I shouted. "Hold your ground!" "Hit hard!" cried Captain Rudstone. "Finish all you can before the main rush comes!"
Flora's dear face took shape before me in the frosty air, and I fancied I could hear her voice pleading with me to remain at the fort. Should I ever return to her arms again? The thought lent me speed, and I out distanced my companions. The next instant I tripped in a clump of bushes and fell headlong, and plump on top of me came Carteret and Captain Rudstone.
"Then forward. If no mishap occurs we shall be miles away before our escape is discovered." He entered the passage first, flashing the lantern in front of him, and the others followed in double file. Captain Rudstone and I, who came last, took the precaution to replace the slab of stone as we had found it.
Captain Rudstone had taken her back to the house, and I had no intention of seeking an interview with her until she should have partly recovered from the shock of the factor's death. It was indeed a black and dreadful night a night of horrors and anxiety, of gloom and mourning. For the outlook was by no means so bright as we had let Griffith Hawke believe.
At a table in the middle of the room, with lighted pipes between their teeth and their glasses of grog handy, were Griffith Hawke and Captain Rudstone. The latter was as handsome and dandified as ever, and by the litter of dishes at one end of the table I knew he had just finished supper. Both had been discussing the Indian troubles, to judge from their grave and thoughtful faces.
"It's going to be a nasty night, or I'm no mariner," he exclaimed. "There's a storm brewing, and we are perilously near the coast. I don't like the prospect a bit, gentlemen." Captain Rudstone made some fitting reply, but I was in no mood to heed the skipper's words, or to give a second thought to the prophecy of a storm.
As the law clerk paused for a moment there flashed into my mind an incident that had happened long before at Fort York the sudden agitation exhibited by Captain Rudstone while reading a copy of the London Times, and the paragraph I had subsequently found relating to the Earl of Heathermere. It was all clear to me now. "There is but little more to tell," resumed Christopher Barley.
Running his finger down the page of thick yellow paper, covered with scrawly writing, he read as follows: "... and tell Mr. Carew that we made a further search the next week for his friend Captain Myles Rudstone. A party set out under Tom Arnold and were gone three days.
Captain Rudstone and Christopher Burley, who were rarely anything but quiet and reserved, showed us sides of their characters that we had not suspected before; they clapped their hands and joined in the laughter and merriment. And in Flora's unfeigned happiness and light spirits I took my greatest enjoyment. "Comrade, it's your turn," said Forbes, addressing old Malcolm Cameron.
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