Annette - The Metis Spy

As for Annette, when the battle of Saw-Knife Creek ended, she was

waiting for Julie to join her. Her hand was upon her horse's neck,

and she was leaning against the animal thinking of her lover.

"Ah, at last!" The terrible words and the voice were but too plain.

Turning she saw the rebel chief, triumph, passion, and revenge in his

eyes. By his side were several Metis with muskets presented, ready to

fire at the girl if she uttered a cry, or made resistance. Then they

bound her arms, and set her upon her horse, which one of the chief's

followers led by the bridle. They rode as fast as the ponies could

travel across the prairie; and Annette's heart sank, and all hope

seemed to die out of her life, as she realized, that the miscreants

were hurrying towards the valley of Dismal Swamp where abode Jubal,

the hideous hag.

As the party hurried along the skirt of the ridge flanking the swamp

and the inky stream, lo! there came to her ears the notes of a bird's

song. It was the guardian swan; and joy and hope crept into the

maiden's bosom.

"Hear you yonder singing, my pretty bird?" the hideous chief asked,

with a foul sneer. "Its song is always intended to console and

reconcile maidens to their lovers."

But she turned her head away with loathing, and answered him not.

Then came a sudden trampling; swords gleamed; eyes flashed in the

dusk; and before the helpless girl could gather her routed senses,

the beastly chief was sent sprawling from his horse with a sabre-blow;

his followers were routed; and she was free.

"My own beloved," were the words whispered in her ear, and warm lips

were pressed upon her mouth. "We no more part, my darling--never,

never more."

They rode along through the night, he telling of his love, and

fashioning the future; she listening with bright eyes, and a

happiness too great for words.

"You have asked me, darling, why I love you so? How it comes that of

all the girls whom I have known, I should give my heart to you entire

and for ever? Well, darling, I shall say naught of your heroism, which

would alone make you illustrious and beloved in our historic annals for

all time to come; but I shall regard you as a maiden who has never seen

the brunt of battle, or done a deed of warlike valour. You have still

enough of sterling worth to win my heart ten thousand times. You are

beautiful, dear, and you are good as you are beautiful. You are true,

because in you there is naught of affectation or of desire to act a

part; and there is on your lips no speech that is not the true

expression of your thought. This I conceive to be the highest tribute-

gift that man can offer a woman."