“To whom?” I cried.

“To M. Louis d’Epernay, nephew of M. Charles Duchaine by marriage, less than two weeks ago in the chateau here.”

The addition of the last word singularly revived my hopes.  It had slipped from his lips unconsciously, but it gave me reason to believe that the chateau was near by.

Father Antoine sat down upon the chair beside me.

“M.  Duchaine has been a recluse for many years,” he said, “and of late his mind has become affected.  It is said that he was implicated in the troubles of 1867, and that, fearing arrest, he fled here and built this chateau, in this desolate region, where he would be safe from pursuit.  If anyone ever contemplated denouncing him, at any rate those events have long ago been forgotten.  But solitude has made a hermit of him and taken him out of touch with the world of to-day.

“I believe that Leroux has discovered coal on his property, and by threatening him with arrest has gained a complete ascendency over the weak-minded old man.  However, the fact remains that his daughter was married by me to M. d’Epernay some ten or twelve days ago at the chateau.

“I was uneasy, for it did not look to be like a love-match, and I knew that M. d’Epernay had the reputation of a profligate in Quebec, where he was hand in glove with Philippe Lacroix, one of M. Leroux’s aids.  But a priest has no option when an expression of matrimonial consent is made to him in the presence of two witnesses.  So I married them.

“My duties took me to Quebec.  There I learned that Mme. d’Epernay had fled on the night of her marriage, and that her husband was in pursuit of her.  Again it was told me that she was living at the Chateau Frontenac with another man.  It was not for me to question whether she loved her husband, but to do my duty.

“I appealed to you.  You refused to listen to my appeal.  You threatened me, monsieur.  And you denied my priesthood.  However, I do not speak of that, for she is undoubtedly safe with her father now, awaiting her husband’s return.  And I shall not help you in your pursuit of her, M. Hewlett, for you are actuated solely by love for the wife of another man.  Is that not so?” he ended, bending over me with a penetrating look in his blue eyes.

“Yes, it is so.  But I shall go to the chateau,” I answered.

Pere Antoine rose up.

“You will find food here,” he said, “and if you wish to take exercise there are snow-shoes.  Try to find the chateau—­do what you please; but remember that if you lose your way I shall not be here to save you.  I shall return from my mission in a week and be ready to conduct you to St. Boniface.  And now, monsieur, since we understand each other, I shall prepare the supper.”

I swallowed a few mouthfuls of food and fell asleep soon afterward.  In the morning when I awoke the cabin was empty.