brief life, since there lay the black hulks of the enemy's ships awaiting morning to renew the unequal strife, and among the victims marked for death might not he be numbered?

At this thought of coming doom an intense desire seized him to see Clarice, to look upon her if only for one moment, but he was in command of a battery in the Lower Town, and could not leave his post. It was a cruel destiny he thought, as he stood dreamily gazing at the distant turrets of the château, which rose dark against the sky, and picturing to himself that one fair image within those walls, which had followed him through all the duties and perils of that eventful day, and chafing at the necessity that withheld him from her; when, as though some unseen agency was at hand to aid his secret wish, a messenger came in sudden haste from the castle, requiring his immediate attendance upon the Governor.

Secretly hoping that this summons would forward his cherished wish, and give him a short interview with Clarice, he obeyed it with alacrity, not unwillingly resigning his important post to another. He found M. de Frontenac in his cabinet with some of his principal officers, and soon learned that the service required of him was to carry a secret message to the Commandant of a distant redoubt. The Governor detained him but a few minutes, and as he departed by a private entrance on his embassy, his way led through a corridor in which were situated the apartments of Madame de Levasseur. It seemed to him enchanted ground, and with quickened heart-beats he found the door of her boudoir. It stood partially open, and involuntarily he paused for an instant opposite to it.

But not a sound reached his quickened ear from within-all there was dark and silent, but a faint odour of her favourite flowers stole balmily, like her own sweet presence, upon his sense. A glass door at the end of the passage stood open, and

stepping through it upon the balcony, with a hope undefined even to himself, he started at the sight of a reclining figure that lay motionless, as if in death, upon a cushioned seat. Shrinking at the sound of his own. cautious step, St. Ours stole towards herfor at a glance he recognized the object of his thought-drawing still nearer and nearer, till his enamoured eye took in all her loveliness, and even her measured breathing fell softly upon his ear.

The moonbeams quivered over her as she lay unconscious in that quiet sleep, lending in his fond fancy a celestial character to her beauty. The folds of her white garments fell gracefully around her, and over the arm on which her head rested, her dark hair, escaped from its fastening, fell, sweeping the floor with its rich abundance.

Closely clasped in the other hand, and pressed against her heart, he spied the glittering case of a miniature, and at the sight a jealous pang shot through his heart, for though it might be that of a brother, or even of the husband so lately lost, he could not bear-selfish even in his hopeless love-to think that her thought of him could be divided with another. What would he not have given for one glimpse of the features hidden in that case; but vain the wish, for the small fingers held the treasure with a jealous clasp; and, fearful of longer delay, he was about to retreat when a low murmur from the sweet sleeper arrested him; he paused— he bent to listen, and caught his own name upon her lips.

It was a moment of ecstasy to the impassioned lover, which sent the warm blood bounding joyously through his veins. He filled her thoughts and was present in her dreams-it was enough-he dared no longer linger, and turning swiftly to go, the sudden motion broke her light slumber, and she sprang terrified to her feet. The moon had passed into a cloud, and in her fright she failed to recognize him; she saw only the retreating figure of a man, and with a rapid

bound she sprang away; but before she effected her escape, a furtive glance had revealed to her something familiar in the figure, which she could not fail to recognize. For an instant surprise and joy arrested her flight, but at the opening of a distant door, she disappeared like a startled bird within the corridor. Thus suddenly aroused to a recollection of the duty assigned him, and a regretful sense of his momentary infidelity to it, he crushed down all softening influences, and departed to fulfil it.

The brief truce of the night was broken at early dawn by the sound of the enemy's guns, who, nothing daunted by the repulse of the preceding day, renewed the assault with a pertinacious courage which should have rewarded them with success. But they contended against fearful odds, and though for six continuous hours they maintained a vigorous assault against the rocky fortress of the north, they were finally compelled to yield to the superior force and position of the assailed, and withdrew defeated from the combat. There were many on the decks of that valiant little flotilla who opposed the mortifying retreat, but Sir William Phipps, no less humane than he was brave, seeing no chance of victory, sought to avoid a useless waste of life by a discontinuance of the desperate fight.

So the anchors were weighed, and the defeated armament floated slowly down the stream, crippled by the guns of the fortress, and its decks reeking with the blood of its brave and manly hearts.

Fast and continuous, as the ill-fated fleet retired, poured upon it from the lofty heights of the citadel the deadly fire of cannon, scarcely a ball of which sped through the air in vain; one among them, on its fatal errand, struck the mast of the Rear-Admiral's ship, which, shivered by the blow, trembled, and with the proud flag of England at its summit, fell headlong into the St. Lawrence. Then, what humiliation crushed down the hearts of its vanquished defenders, and

what proud, exulting joy swelled the triumph of the victors!

Borne up by its silken folds, the glittering ensign floated slowly on towards the conquerors-a token of surrender which they hailed with shouts that shook to their foundation the rocky bulwarks of the city. On it came, watched by the multitude with eager eyes, till, saturated by the waves, it became submerged, the remnants of the splintered staff floating on the surface alone designating its position. The breathless hush which followed its disappearance was in an instant broken by the commanding voice of M. de Frontenac impetuously exclaiming :

"Shall it be lost to us? that Red Cross trophy of our victory! Lost to us? and not an arm among the hundreds here stretched out to rescue it for posterity."

"Not lost! so help me God!" shouted in reply the manly tones of Léon St. Ours, and with the utterance of the words he cast aside his coat and sword, sprang from the high bank on which he stood, and dashed boldly out into the stream. The welkin rang with enthusiastic cheers, and many a one who shrank from the danger now envied the gallant fellow who dared it, and coveted the glory of his fearless act. The retiring foe were still near enough to mark the proceeding, and, hoping to preserve their fallen flag from the grasp of the victors, they vigorously renewed their slackened fire. But regardless of the peril, St. Ours pressed fearlessly on towards the prize, bravely breasting the resisting tide, heedless of the enemy's balls which fell fast around him, seething the surface of the water, or plunging beneath it directly in his track. But, as though he bore a charmed life, he cut swiftly through the liquid element, nearing each instant the object to be won.

A profound silence enchained the multitude which thronged the shore, watching with trembling anxiety for his safety and success, but when at last he fairly grasped the broken flag-staff and drew the proud ensign from

the martial figure of the Comte de Frontenac seated in a high-backed chair, grimly surmounted by his own arms, and beside him, smiling, yet in tears, stood Clarice, her arm thrown caressingly round his neck, and her face half-hidden on his shoulder.

Confused and mortified at his uncalled-for intrusion, Léon, with some inarticulate words of apology, turned hastily to retreat, when the voice of the Governor arrested him.

"Come hither, Baron de Mornay," he said, in a tone of unwonted gaiety; "there doubtless is an unseen power which directs our actions, or your presence would not have shone upon us at so auspicious a moment. Come, and tell me what shall be done to the man whom we delight to honour? I feel that I have but poorly acknowledged my appreciation of your chivalrous conduct by the empty title conferred on you this morning. My wish now is to express my individual gratitude by enriching you with a gift, priceless above rubies, if—as the young believe the heart's affection is more to be coveted than the world's wealth and honours. Clarice!"

She heard her name called, but made no response. She was kneeling before M. de Frontenac, striving with her small hands to cover her face as it rested on his knee. The Comte turned from her with a smile.

"Young man," he resumed, again addressing Léon, "I honoured your father and loved him, and I rejoice that he has left such a son to honour his memory and bear up his ancient name. Being such an one, I willingly entrust to your keeping the most precious of my treasures, the happiness of my child-my child by adoption-the bequest of a cherished sister, whose death I remember among the great sorrows of my life."

There was a pause when he ceased to speak, for Léon's tongue clove to the roof of his mouth; in the shame and agony of that moment the very pulsations of his heart became painfully audible. A few moments of silence intervened, in which, with

desperate effort, he struggled for utterance. Then, with assumed courage he turned towards M. de Frontenac, prepared to read a sentence of wrath and banishment in that terrible face, but great was his relief when on looking up to brave the expected lightning, he saw the eagle glance of the veteran softened by an expression of kindness such as he had rarely met there before.

A mist seemed suddenly to obscure his sight, but yet through it he saw the still kneeling figure of Clarice, her face bowed down and hidden in her hands, when, breaking through all restraint, he cast himself on his knees beside her, and in broken accents gave utterance to his love and his despair. With breathless rapidity he recounted the history of his early marriage, and the vow which forbade him to cancel it, and which had wrenched forever from his heart the one hope dearest to him on earth.

"A strange story this, upon my faith, Sir Baron," said the Comte in a tone that sounded mockingly to the ears of the wretched and sensitive lover. Clarice, my child, heard you ever the like of it?"

66

"Aye, darling uncle, so like, so very like, I would say it was the same," responded her silver voice, and as she spoke she lifted up her lovely face, so radiant with joy that Léon sprang indignantly to his feet, believing himself to be the victim of some preconcerted jest.

"The same, little one? did you say the same?" questioned the Comte, in the half mocking tone so irritating to the ear of Léon.

"Listen, doubting uncle, and believe," she answered, "for my tale, too, is of a maiden wedded in her childhood, left unclaimed in womanhood, forsaken by her liege lord, whose painted semblance only kept true her faith, and sustained her affection even until now," and unclasping the chain of gold from her neck, she detached the miniature which had awakened Léon's jealousy, and held it silently towards him,