"I have seen him once, and he has escaped me.

But we shall meet again, and then the hour of vengeance will have come!" This was the burden of Charles's words as he lay in his narrow quarters in the Rangers' huts just without Fort William Henry, tended by his comrades till his wound healed.

The fever which so often follows upon loss of blood had him in its grip for awhile, and he would lie and mutter for hours in a state of semi-delirium.
The sympathy of his comrades for this strange man with the tragic story was deep and widespread.

Charles had become a favourite and an object of interest throughout the ranks of the Rangers, and great excitement prevailed when it was understood that he had really seen the man--the Frenchman--who had stood by to see his wife and family massacred, and had deliberately designed to leave him, cruelly pinioned, to die a lingering death of agony in the heart of the lonely forest.
Every day he had visitors to his sickbed, and again and again he told the tale, described his foe, and told how he knew that the man recognized him, first taking him--or so he believed--for a spectre from the tomb, afterwards filled with the most lively terror as he realized that he was pursued by one who had such dire cause for bitter vengeance.
"We have met twice!" Charles would say, between his shut teeth.
"Once I was at his mercy, and he showed none.

The second time he fled before me as a man flees from death and hell.