ADÈLE DUBOIS:

 A Story

 OF THE

 LOVELY MIRAMICHI VALLEY, IN

 NEW BRUNSWICK. 

 LORING, Publisher, 319 WASHINGTON STREET, BOSTON. 

 Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1865, by

 A. K. LORING, In the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the District of Massachusetts. 

 ROCKWELL & ROLLINS, PRINTERS AND STEREOTYPERS, 122 WASHINGTON STREET, BOSTON. 

CHAPTER I. 

THE DUBOIS HOUSE. 

"Well, verily, I didn't expect to find anything like this, in such awild region", said Mr. Norton, as he settled himself comfortably in acuriously carved, old-fashioned arm-chair, before the fire that blazedcheerily on the broad hearth of the Dubois House. "'Tis not a Yankeefamily either", added he, mentally. "Everything agreeable and tidy, but it looks unlike home. It is an Elim in the desert! Goodlypalmtrees and abundant water! O! why", he exclaimed aloud, in animpatient tone, as if chiding himself, "should I ever distrust thegoodness of the Lord?"

The firelight, playing over his honest face, revealed eyes moistenedwith the gratitude welling up in his heart. He sat a few minutesgazing at the glowing logs, and then his eyelids closed in the blessedcalm of sleep. Weary traveller! He has well earned repose. 

There will not be time, during his brief nap, to tell who and what hewas, and why he had come to sojourn far away from home and friends. But let the curtain be drawn back for a moment, to reveal a glimpse ofthat strange, questionable country over which he has been wanderingfor the last few months, doing hard service. 

Miramichi, [A] a name unfamiliar, perhaps, to those who may chance toread these pages, is the designation of a fertile, though partiallycultivated portion of the important province of New Brunswick, belonging to the British Crown. The name, by no means uneuphonious, isyet suggestive of associations far from attractive. The MiramichiRiver, which gives title to this region, has its rise near the centreof the province, and flowing eastward empties into the Gulf of St. Lawrence, with Chatham, a town of considerable importance, located atits mouth. 

[Footnote A: Pronounced _Mir´imisheé_. ]

The land had originally been settled by English, Scotch, and Irish, whose business consisted mostly of fishing and lumbering. Theseoccupations, pursued in a wayward and lawless manner, had not exertedon them an elevating or refining influence, and the character of thepeople had degenerated from year to year. From the remoteness andobscurity of the country, it had become a convenient hiding-place forthe outlaw and the criminal, and its surface was sprinkled over withthe refuse and offscouring of the New England States and the Province. With a few rare exceptions, it was a realm of almost heathenishdarkness and vice. Such Mr. Norton found it, when, with heart full ofcompassion and benevolence, thirty-five years ago, he came to bearthe message of heavenly love and forgiveness to these dwellers indeath shade. 

The Dubois House, where Mr. Norton had found shelter for the night, was situated on the northern bank of the river, about sixty miles westfrom Chatham. It was a respectable looking, two story building, withlarge barns adjacent. Standing on a graceful bend of the broad stream, it commanded river views, several miles in extent, in two directions, with a nearer prospect around, consisting of reaches of tall forest, interspersed with occasional openings, made by the rude settlers. 

Being the only dwelling in the neighborhood sufficiently commodiousfor the purpose, its occupants, making a virtue of necessity, were inthe habit of entertaining occasional travellers who happened to visitthe region. 

But, softly, --Mr. Norton has wakened. He was just beginning to dreamof home and its dear delights, when a door-latch was lifted, and ayoung girl entering, began to make preparations for supper. She movedquickly towards the fire, and with a pair of iron tongs, deftly raidedthe ponderous cover of the Dutch oven, hanging over the blaze. Thewheaten rolls it contained were nearly baked, and emitted a fragrantand appetizing odor. 

She refitted the cover, and then opening a closet, took from it alacquered Chinese tea-caddy and a silver urn, and proceeded to arrangethe tea-table. 

Mr. Norton, observing her attentively with his keen, gray eyes, asked, "How long has your father lived in this place, my child?"

The maiden paused in her employment, and glancing at the broad, stalwart form and shrewd yet honest face of the questioner, replied, "Nearly twenty years, sir". 

Mr. Norton's quick ear immediately detected, in her words a delicate, foreign accent, quite unfamiliar to him. After a moment's silence hespoke again. 

"Dubois, --that is your name, is it not? A French name?"

"Yes, sir, my parents are natives of France". 

"Ah! indeed!" responded Mr. Norton, and the family in which he foundhimself was immediately invested with new interest in his eyes. 

"Where is your father at the present time, my dear child?"

"He is away at Fredericton. He has gone to obtain family supplies. Ihope he is not obliged to be out this stormy night, but I fear he is". 

She made the sign of the cross on her breast and glanced upward. 

Mr. Norton observed the movement, and at the same time saw, what hadbefore escaped his notice, a string of glittering, black beads uponher neck, with a black cross, half hidden by the folds in the waist ofher dress. It was an instant revelation to hint of the faith in whichshe had been trained. He fell into a fit of musing. 

In the mean time, Adèle Dubois completed her preparations for thetea-table, --not one of her accustomed duties, but one which shesometimes took a fancy to perform. 

She was sixteen years old, --tall already, and rapidly growing taller, with a figure neither large, nor slender. Her complexion was purewhite, scarcely tinged with rose; her eyes were large and brown, nowshooting out a bright, joyous light, then veiled in dreamy shadows. Arich mass of dark hair was divided into braids, gracefully looped uparound her head. Her dress was composed of a plain red material ofwool. Her only ornaments were the rosary and cross on her neck. 

A mulatto girl now appeared from the adjoining kitchen and placed uponthe table a dish of cold, sliced chicken, boiled eggs and pickles, together with the steaming wheaten rolls from the Dutch oven. 

Adèle having put some tea in the urn, poured boiling water upon it andleft the room. 

Returning in a few minutes, accompanied by her mother and Mrs. McNab, they soon drew up around the tea-table. 

When seated, Mrs. Dubois and Adèle made the sign of the cross andclosed their eyes. Mrs. McNab, glancing at them deprecatingly for amoment, at length fixed her gaze on Mr. Norton. He also closed hiseyes and asked a mute blessing upon the food. 

Mrs. Dubois was endowed with delicate features, a soft, Madonna likeexpression of countenance, elegance of movement and a quiet, yetgracious manner. Attentive to those around the board, she said butlittle. Occasionally, she listened in abstracted mood to the beatingstorm without. 

Mrs. McNab, a middle-aged Scotch woman, with a short, square, ampleform, filled up a large portion of the side of the table sheoccupied. Her coarse-featured, heavy fare, surrounded by a broad, muslin cap frill, that nearly covered her harsh yellow hair, waslighted up by a pair of small gray eyes, expressing a mixture ofcunning and curiosity. Her rubicund visage, gaudy-colored chintzdress, and yellow bandanna handkerchief, produced a sort of glaringsun-flower effect, not mitigated by the contrast afforded by the othermembers of the group. 

"Madam", said Mr. Norton to Mrs. Dubois, on seeing her glanceanxiously at the windows, as the wild, equinoctial gale caused them toclatter violently, "do you fear that your husband is exposed to anyparticular danger at this time?"

"No special danger. But it is a lawless country. The night is dark andthe storm is loud. I wish he were safely at home", replied the lady. 

"Your solicitude is not strange. But you may trust him with the Lord. Under His protection, not a hair of his head can be touched". 

Before Mrs. Dubois had time to reply, Mrs. McNab, looking ratherfiercely at Mr. Norton, said, "Yer dinna suppose, sir, if the Lord haddecreed from all eternity that Mr. Doobyce should be drowned, orrabbed, or murdered to-night, that our prayin' an' trustin' wad causeHim to revoorse His foreordained purpose? Adely", she continued, "Idinna mind if I take anither egg an' a trifle more o' chicken an' somepickle". 

By no means taken aback by this pointed inquiry, Mr. Norton repliedvery gently, "I believe, ma'am, in the power of prayer to move theAlmighty throne, when it comes from a sincere and humble heart, andthat He will bestow His blessing in return". 

"Weel", said Mrs. McNab, "I was brought up in the church o' Scotland, and dinna believe anything anent this new-light doctrine o' God'sbein' turned roun' an' givin' up his decrees an' a'that. I think it'sthe ward o' Satan", and she passed her cup to be again refilled withtea. 

Adèle, who had noticed that Mrs. McNab's observations had suggestednew solicitudes to her mother's mind, remarked, "What you said justnow, Aunt Patty, is not very consoling. Whoever thought that my fatherwould meet with anything worse than perhaps being drenched by thestorm, and half eaten up with vermin in the dirty inns where he willhave to lodge? I do not doubt he will be home in good time". 

"Yes, Miss Adely, yes. I ken it", said Aunt Patty, as she saw a firm, defiant expression gathering in the young girl's countenance. "I'd adream anent him last night that makes me think he's comin". 

"Hark!" said Adèle, starting and speaking in a clear, ringing tone, "he has come. I hear his voice on the lawn". 

Murmuring a word or two of excuse, she rose instantly from the table, requested Bess, the servant, to hand her a lantern, and arrayedherself quickly in hood and cloak. 

As she opened the door, her father was standing on the step, in thedriving rain, supporting in his arms the form of a gentleman, whoseemed to be almost in a state of insensibility. 

"Make way! make way, Adèle. Here's a sick man. Throw some blankets onthe floor, and come, all hands, and rub him. My dear, order somethingwarm for him to drink". 

Mrs. Dubois caught a pile of bedding from a neighboring closet andarranged it upon the floor, near the fire. Mr. Dubois laid thestranger down upon it. Mr. Norton immediately rose from the tea-table, drew off the boots of the fainting man, and began to chafe his feetwith his warm, broad hand. 

"Put a dash of cold water on his face, child", said he to Adèle, "andhe'll come to, in a minute". Adèle obeyed. 

The stranger opened his eyes suddenly and looked around inastonishment upon the group. 

"Ah! yes. I see", he said, "I have been faint, or something of thekind. I believe I am not quite well". 

He attempted to rise, but sank back, powerless. He turned his headslowly towards Mr. Dubois, and said, "Friend Dubois, I think I amgoing to be ill, and must trust myself to your compassion", whenimmediately his eyes closed and his countenance assumed the palenessof death. 

"Don't be down-hearted, Mr. Brown", said Mr. Dubois. "You are not usedto this Miramichi staging. You'll be better by and by. My dear, giveme the cordial, --he needs stimulating". 

He took a cup of French brandy, mixed with sugar and boiling water, from the hand of Mrs. Dubois, and administered it slowly to theexhausted man. It seemed to have a quieting effect, and after awhileMr. Brown sank into a disturbed slumber. 

Observing this, and finding that his limbs, which had been cold andbenumbed, were now thoroughly warmed, Mr. Dubois rose from hiskneeling position and turning to his daughter, said, "Now then, Adèle, take the lantern and go with me to the stables. I must see for myselfthat the horses are properly cared for. They are both tired andfamished". 

Adèle caught up the lantern, but Mr. Norton interposed. "Allow me, sir, to assist you", he said, rising quickly. "It will expose theyoung lady to go out in the storm. Let me go, sir". 

He approached Adèle to take the lantern from her hand, but she drewback and held it fast. 

"I don't mind weather, sir", she said, with a little sniff of contemptat the thought. "And my father usually prefers my attendance. I thankyou. Will you please stay with the sick gentleman?"

Mr. Norton bowed, smiled, and reseated himself near the invalid. 

In the mean time, Mr. Dubois and his daughter went through the rain tothe stables; his wife replenished the tea-urn and began to rearrangethe table. 

Mrs. McNab, during the scene that had thus unexpectedly occurred, hadbeen waddling from one part of the room to the other, exclaiming, "The Lord be gude to us!" Her presence, however, seemed for the timeto be ignored. 

When she heard the gentle movements made by Mrs. Dubois among thedishes, her dream seemed suddenly to fade out of view. Seating herselfagain at the table, she diligently pursued the task of finishing hersupper, yet ever and anon examining the prostrate form upon the floor. 

"Peradventure he's a mon fra' the States. His claithes look prettynice. As a gen'al thing them people fra' the States hae plenty o'plack in their pockets. What do you think, sir?"

"He is undoubtedly a gentleman from New England", said Mr. Norton. 

CHAPTER II. 

MRS. M'NAB. 

Mrs. McNab was a native of Dumfries, Scotland, and had made her adventin the Miramichi country about five years previous to the occurrencesjust mentioned. 

Having buried her husband, mother, and two children, --hoping thatchange of scene might lighten the weight upon her spirits, she hadconcluded to emigrate with some intimate acquaintances to the Provinceof New Brunswick. 

On first reaching the settlement, she had spent several weeks at theDubois House, where she set immediately at work to prove heraccomplishments, by assisting in making up dresses for Mrs. Dubois andAdèle. 

She entertained them with accounts of her former life inScotland, --talking largely about her acquaintance with the family ofLord Lindsay, in which she had served in the capacity of nurse. Shedescribed the castle in which they resided, the furniture, theservants, and the grand company; and, more than all, she knew orpretended to know the traditions, legends, and ghost storiesconnected, for many generations past, with the Lindsay race. 

She talked untiringly of these matters to the neighbors, excitingtheir interest and wonder by the new phases of life presented, andfurnishing food for the superstitious tendencies always rife in newand ignorant settlements. In short, by these means, she won her waygradually in the community, until she came to be the general factotum. 

It was noticed, indeed, that in the annual round of her visits fromhouse to house, Mrs. McNab had a peculiar faculty of securing toherself the various material comforts available, having an excellentappetite and a genius for appropriating the warmest seat at thefireplace and any other little luxury a-going. These things were, however, overlooked, especially by the women of the region, on accountof her social qualities, she being an invaluable companion during thelong days and evenings when their husbands and sons were away, engagedin lumbering or fishing. When the family with which she happened to besojourning were engaged in domestic occupations, Mrs. McNab, established in some cosey corner, told her old wife stories and whiledaway the long and dismal wintry hours. 

Of all the people among whom she moved, Adèle Dubois least exercisedthe grace of patience toward her. 

On the return of Mr. Dubois and his daughter to the house, afterhaving seen the horses safely stowed away, he refreshed himself at thetea-table and left the room to attend to necessary business. Mrs. Dubois and Mrs. McNab went to fit up an apartment for the stranger. 

In the mean time Mr. Norton and Adèle were left with the invalid. 

Mr. Brown's face had lost its pallid hue and was now overspread withthe fiery glow of fever. He grew more and more restless in his sleep, until at length he opened his eyes wide and began to talk deliriously. At the first sound of his voice, Adèle started from her seat, expecting to hear some request from his lips. 

Gazing at her wildly for a moment, he exclaimed, "What, _you_ here, Agnes! you, travelling in this horrible wilderness! Where's yourhusband? Where's John, the brave boy? Don't bring them here to tauntme. Go away! Don't look at me!"

With an expression of terror on his countenance, he sank back upon thepillow and closed his eyes. Mr. Norton knelt down by the couch andmade slow, soothing motions with his hand upon the hot and feveredhead, until the sick man sank again into slumber. Seeing this, Adèle, who had been standing in mute bewilderment, came softly near andwhispered, "He has been doing something wrong, has he not, sir?"

"I hope not", said the good man, "He is not himself now, and is notaware what he is saying. His fever causes his mind to wander". 

"Yes, sir. But I think he is unhappy beside being sick. That sigh was_so_ sorrowful!"

"It was sad enough", said Mr. Norton. After a pause, he continued, "Iwill stay by his bed and take care of him to-night". 

"Ah! will you, sir?" said Adèle. "That is kind, but Aunt Patty, Iknow, will insist on taking charge of him. She thinks it her right totake care of all the sick people. But I don't wish her to stay withthis gentleman to-night. If he talks again as he did just now, shewill tell it all over the neighborhood". 

At that moment, the door opened, and Mrs. McNab came waddling in, followed by Mr. And Mrs. Dubois. 

"Now, Mr. Doobyce", said she, "if you and this pusson will just carrythe patient up stairs, and place him on the bed, that's a' ye need do. I'll tak' care o' him". 

"Permit me the privilege of watching by the gentleman's bed to-night", said Mr. Norton, turning to Mr. Dubois. 

"By no means, sir", said his host; "you have had a long ride throughthe forest to-day and must be tired. Aunt Patty here prefers to takecharge of him". 

"Sir", said Mr. Norton, "I observed awhile ago, that his mind wasquite wandering. He is greatly excited by fever, but I succeeded inquieting him once and perhaps may be able to do so again". 

Here Mrs. McNab interposed in tones somewhat loud and irate. 

"That's the way pussons fra' your country always talk. They think theycan do everything better'n anybody else. What can a mon do at nussin', I wad ken?"

"Mr. Norton will nurse him well, I know. Let him take care of thegentleman, father", said Adèle. 

"Hush, my dear", said Mr. Dubois, decidedly, "it is proper that Mrs. McNab take charge of Mr. Brown to-night". 

Adèle made no reply, and only showed her vexation by casting a defiantlook on the redoubtable aunt Patty, whose face was overspread with agrin of satisfaction at having carried her point. 

Mr. Norton, of course, did not press his proposal farther, butconsoled himself with the thought, that some future opportunity mightoccur, enabling him to fulfil his benevolent intentions. 

A quieting powder was administered and Mrs. McNab established herselfbeside the fire that had been kindled in Mr. Brown's apartment. 

After having indicated to Mr. Norton the bedroom he was to occupy forthe night, the family retired, leaving him the only inmate of theroom. 

As he sat and watched the dying embers, he fell into a reverieconcerning the events of the evening. His musings were of a somewhatperplexed nature. He was at a loss to account for the appearance of agentleman, bearing unmistakable marks of refinement and wealth, as didMr. Brown, under such circumstances, and in such a region asMiramichi. The words he had uttered in his delirium, added to themystery. He was also puzzled about the family of Dubois. How camepeople of such culture and superiority in this dark portion of theearth? How strange, that they had lived here so many years, withoutassimilating to the common herd around them. 

Thus his mind, excited by what had recently occurred, wandered on, until at length his thoughts fell into their accustomedchannel, --dwelling on his own mission to this benighted land, andframing various schemes by which he might accomplish the object sodear to his heart. 

In the mean time, having turned his face partially aside from thefire, he was watching unconsciously the fitful gleaming of a lightcast on the opposite wall by the occasional flaring up of a tongue offlame from the dying embers. 

Suddenly he heard a deep, whirring sound as if the springs of somecomplicated machinery had just then been set in motion. 

Looking around to find whence the noise proceeded, he was ratherstartled on observing in the wall, in one corner, just under theceiling, a tiny door fly open, and emerging thence a grotesque, miniature man, holding, uplifted in his hand, a hammer of sizeproportionate to his own figure. Mr. Norton sat motionless, while thissmall specimen proceeded, with a jerky gait and many bobbing grimaces, across a wire stretched to the opposite corner of the room, wherestood a tall, ebony clock. When within a short distance of the clockanother tiny door in its side flew open; the little man entered andstruck deliberately with the hammer the hour of midnight. Near the topof the dial-plate was seen from without the regular uplifting of thelittle arm, applying its stroke to the bell within. Having performedhis duty, this personage jerked out of the clock, the tiny doorclosing behind him, bobbed and jerked along the wire as before, anddisappeared at the door in the wall, which also immediately closedafter his exit. 

Having witnessed the whole manoeuvre with comic wonder and curiosity, Mr. Norton burst into a loud and hearty peal of laughter, that wasstill resounding in the room when he became suddenly aware of thepresence of Mrs. McNab. There she stood in the centre of theapartment, her firm, square figure apparently rooted to the floor, herhead enveloped in innumerable folds of white cotton, a tower ofstrength and defiance. 

Her unexpected appearance changed in a moment the mood of the goodman, and he inquired anxiously, "Is the gentleman more ill? Can Iassist you?"

"He's just this minnut closed his eyes to sleep, and naw I expect he'swide awake again, with the dreadfu' racket you were just a makin' O!my! wadna you hae made a good nuss?"

Mr. Norton truly grieved at his inadvertency in disturbing thehousehold at this late hour of the night, begged pardon, and told Mrs. McNab he would not be guilty of a like offence. 

"How has the gentleman been during the evening?" he asked. 

"O! he's been ravin' crazy a'maist, and obstacled everything I've donefor him. He's a very sick pusson naw. I cam' down to get a bottle ofmuddeson", and Mrs. McNab went to a closet and took from it theidentical bottle of brandy from which Mrs. Dubois had poured whenpreparing the stimulating dose for the invalid. Mr. Norton observedthis performance with a twinkle of the eye, but making no comment, theworthy woman retired from the room. 

That night Mr. Norton slept indifferently, being disturbed by excitingand bewildering dreams. In his slumbers he saw an immense cathedral, lighted only by what seemed some great conflagration without, which, glaring in, with horrid, crimson hue upon the pictured walls, gave theplace the strange, lurid aspect of Pandemonium. The effect washeightened by the appearance of thousands of small, grotesque beings, all bearing more or less resemblance to the little man of the clock, who were flying and bobbing, jerking and grinning through the air, beneath the great vault, as if madly revelling in the scene. Yet thegood man all the while had a vague sense of some awful, impendingcalamity, which increased as he wandered around in great perplexity, exploring the countenances of the various groups scattered over theplace. 

Once he stumbled over a dead body and found it the corpse of theinvalid in the room above. He seemed to himself to be lifting itcarefully, when a lady, fair and stately, in rich, sweeping garments, took the burden from his arms, and, sinking with it on the floor, kissed it tenderly and then bent over it with a look of intensesorrow. 

Farther on he saw Mr. And Mrs. Dubois, with Adèle, kneelingimploringly, with terror-stricken faces, before a representation ofthe Virgin Mary and her divine boy. Then the glare of light in thebuilding increased. Rushing to the entrance to look for the cause ofit, he there met Mrs. McNab coming towards him with a wild, disorderedcountenance, --her white cotton headgear floating out like a banner tothe breeze, --shaking a brandy bottle in the faces of all she met. Hegained the door and found himself enwrapped in a sheet of flame. 

Suddenly the whole scene passed. He woke. A glorious September sun wasirradiating the walls of his bedroom. He heard the movements of thefamily below, and rose hastily. 

A few moments of thought and prayer sufficed to clear his healthybrain of the fantastic forms and scenes which had invaded it, and hewas himself again, ready and panting for service. 

CHAPTER III. 

MR. NORTON. 

In order to bring Mr. Norton more distinctly before the reader, it isnecessary to give a few particulars of his previous life. 

He was the son of a New England farmer. His father had given him agood moral and religious training and the usual common schooleducation, but, being poor and having a large family to provide for, he had turned him adrift upon the sea of life, to shape his own courseand win his own fortunes. These, in some respects, he was wellcalculated to do. 

He possessed a frame hardened by labor, and, to a native shrewdnessand self reliance, added traits which threw light and warmth into hischaracter. His sympathies were easily roused by suffering and want. Hespurned everything mean and ungenerous, --was genial in disposition, indeed brimming with mirthfulness, and, in every situation, attractedto himself numerous friends. He was, moreover, an excellentblacksmith. 

After leaving his father's roof, for a half score of years, he was ledinto scenes of temptation and danger. But, having passed throughvarious fortunes, the whispers of the internal monitor, and the voiceof a loving wife, drew him into better and safer paths. He betookhimself unremittingly to the duties of his occupation. 

By the influence of early parental training, and the teachings of theHeavenly Spirit, he was led into a religious life. He dedicatedhimself unreservedly to Christ. This introduced him into a new sphereof effort, one, in which his naturally expansive nature found freescope. He became an active, devoted, joyous follower of the GreatMaster, and, thenceforward, desired nothing so much as to labor in hisservice. 

About a year after this important change, a circumstance occurredwhich altered the course of his outward life. 

It happened that a stranger came to pass a night at his, house. Duringthe conversation of a long winter evening, his curiosity becamegreatly excited, in an account, given by his guest, of the Miramichiregion. He was astonished at the moral darkness reigning there. Theplace was distant, and, at that time, almost inaccessible to any, savethe strong and hardy. But the light of life ought to be thrown intothat darkness. Who should go as a torch-bearer? The inquiry hadscarcely risen in his breast, before he thought he heard the wordsspoken almost audibly, _Thou must go_. 

Here, a peculiarity of the good blacksmith must be explained. Possessed of great practical wisdom and sagacity, he was yet easilyaffected by preternatural influences. He was subject to very strong"impressions of mind", as he called them, by which he was urged topursue one course of conduct instead of another; to follow out oneplan of business in preference to another, even when there seemed tobe no apparent reason, why the one course was better than itsalternative. He had sometimes obeyed these impressions, sometimes hadnot. But he thought he had found, in the end, that he should haveinvariably followed them. 

A particular instance confirmed him in this belief. One day, being inNew York, he was extremely anxious to complete his business in orderto take passage home in a sloop, announced to leave port at a certainhour in the afternoon. Resolving to be on board the vessel at the timeappointed, he hurried from place to place, from street to street, inthe accomplishment of his plan. But he was strangely hindered in hisarrangements and haunted by an impression of trouble connected withthe vessel. Having, however, left his wife ill at home, and beingstill determined to go, he pressed on. It happened that he arrived atthe wharf just as the sloop had got beyond the possibility of reachingher, and he turned away bitterly disappointed. The night that followedwas one of darkness and horror; the sloop caught fire and all on boardperished. 

He had now received an impression that it was his duty to go, as anambassador of Christ, to Miramichi. 

Having for sometime previous, "exercised his gift" with acceptance atvarious social religious meetings, he applied to the authorities ofhis religious denomination for license to preach. 

After passing a creditable examination on points deemed essential inthe case, he obtained a commission and a cordial God speed from hisbrethren. They augured well for his success. 

To be sure, the deficiencies of his early education sometimes madethemselves manifest, notwithstanding the diligent efforts he had putforth, of late years, to remedy the lack. But on the other hand, hehad knowledge of human nature, sagacity in adapting means to ends, awide tolerance of those unfortunate ones, involved by whatever ways inguilt, deep and earnest piety, and a remarkable natural eloquence, both winning and forcible. 

So he had started on his long journey through the wilderness, andhere, at last, he is found, on the banks of the Miramichi, cheerfuland active, engaged in his great work. 

The reader was informed, at the close of the last chapter, that afterthe perplexing visions of the night, by the use of charms of which hewell knew the power, Mr. Norton had cleared his brain of theunpleasant phantoms that had invaded it during his slumbers. Beingquick and forgetive in his mental operations, even while completinghis toilet, he had formed a plan for an attack upon the kingdom ofdarkness lying around him. 

As he entered the room, the scene of his last night's adventure, hisface beaming with cheerfulness and courage, Adèle, who was just thenlaying the table, thought his appearance there like another sunrise. 

After the morning salutations were over, he looked around theapartment, observing it, in its daylight aspect, with a somewhatpuzzled air. In some respects, it was entirely unlike what he hadseen before. The broad stone hearth, with its large blazing fire, theDutch oven, the air of neatness and thrift, were like those of a NewEngland kitchen, but here the resemblance ceased. 

A paper-hanging, whose originally rich hues had become in a measuredimmed, covered the walls; and curious old pictures hung around; thechairs and tables were of heavy dark wood, elaborately and grotesquelycarved, as was also the ebony clock in the corner, whose wonderfulmechanism had so astonished him on the previous evening. A low lounge, covered with a crimson material, occupied a remote corner of the room, with a Turkish mat spread on the floor before it. At the head of thecouch was a case, curiously carved, filled with books, and beneath, ina little niche in the wall, a yellow ivory crucifix. 

It did not occur to the good man to make any comparison between thisroom with its peculiar adornings, and the Puritan kitchen with itsstiff, stark furniture. One of the latter description was found in hisown home, and the place where his loved ones lived and moved, was tohim invested with a beauty altogether independent of outward form andshow. But, as he looked around with an air of satisfaction, this roomevidently pleased his eye, and he paid an involuntary tribute to itshistoric suggestiveness, by falling into a reverie concerning the lifeand times of the good Roman Catholic Fenelon, whose memoir andwritings he had read. 

Soon Adèle called him to the breakfast-table. 

Mrs. McNab not having made her appearance, he inquired if any tidingshad been heard from the sick-room. Mrs. Dubois replied, that she hadlistened at the door and hearing no sound, concluded Mr. Brown wasquiet under the influence of the sleeping powder, and consequently, she did not run the risk of disturbing him by going in. 

"Should Aunt Patty happen to begin snoring in her chair, as she oftendoes", said Adèle, "Mr. Brown would be obliged to wake up. I defy anyone to sleep when she gets into one of those fits". 

"Adèle", said her father, while a smile played round his mouth andtwinkled in his usually grave eyes, "can't you let Mrs. McNab have anypeace?"

"Is Mr. Brown a friend of yours?" inquired Mr. Norton of his host. 

"I met him for the first time at Fredericton. He was at the hotel whenI arrived there. We accidentally fell into conversation one evening. He made, then and subsequently, many inquiries about this region, andwhen I was ready to start for home, said that, with my permission, hewould travel with me. I fancy", Mr. Dubois added, "he was somewhat illwhen we left, but he did not speak of it. We had a rough journey and Ithink the exposure to which he was subjected has increased hissickness. If he proves to be no better to-day, I shall send Micah forDr. Wright", said he, turning to his wife. "I hope you will, father", said Adèle, speaking very decidedly. "I should be sorry to have himconsigned over wholly to the tender mercies of Mrs. McNab". 

"Mr. Dubois", said the missionary, laying down his knife and fork, suddenly, "I must confess, I am perfectly surprised to find such afamily as yours in this place. From previous report, and indeed frommy own observation in reaching here, I had received the idea, that theinhabitants were not only a wicked, but a very rude and uncouth set ofpeople". 

"Whatever may be your opinion of ourselves, sir", replied his host, "you are not far amiss in regard to the character of the people. Theyare, in general, a rough set". 

"Well, sir", said Mr. Norton, "as an honest man, I must inform you, that I came here with a purpose in view. I have a message to thispeople, --a message of love and mercy; and I trust it will not bedispleasing to you, if I promulgate it in this neighborhood". 

"I do not understand your meaning", said Mr. Dubois. 

"I wish, sir, to teach these people, some of the truths of moralityand religion such as are found in the Bible. I have ventured to guessthat you and your family are of the Roman Catholic faith". 

"We belong to the communion of that church, sir". 

"That being the case, and thinking you may have some interest in thismatter, I would say, that I wish to make an attempt to teach theknowledge of divine things to this people, hoping thereby to raisethem from their present state to something better and holier". 

"A worthy object, sir, but altogether a hopeless one. You have no ideaof the condition of the settlers here. You cannot get a hearing. Theyscoff at such things utterly", said Mr. Dubois. 

"Is there any objection in your own mind against an endeavor to enlisttheir interest?" asked Mr. Norton. 

"Not the least", said Mr. Dubois. 

"Then I will try to collect the people together and tell them my viewsand wishes. Is there any man here having influence with this class, who would be willing to aid me in this movement?"

Mr. Dubois meditated. 

"I do not know of one, sir", he said. "They all drink, swear, gamble, and profane holy things, and seem to have no respect for either God orman". 

"It is too true", remarked Mrs. Dubois. 

"Now, father", said Adèle, assuming an air of wisdom, that sat rathercomically on her youthful brow, "_I_ think Micah Mummychog would bejust the person to help this gentleman". 

"Micah Mummychog!" exclaimed Mr. Norton, throwing himself back in hischair and shaking out of his lungs a huge, involuntary haw, haw, "where does the person you speak of hail from to own such a name as_that_, my dear child?"

"I rather think he came from Yankee land, --from your part of thecountry, sir", said Adèle, mischievously. 

"Ah, well", said Mr. Norton, with another peal of laughter, "we _do_have some curious names in our parts". 

"Micah Mummychog!" exclaimed Mr. Dubois, "what are you thinking of, Adèle? Why, the fellow drinks and swears as hard as the rest of them". 

"Not quite", persisted the child, "and besides, he has some good abouthim, I know". 

"What have you seen good about him, pray?" said her father. 

"Why, you remember that when I discovered the little girl floatingdown the river, Micah took his boat and went out to bring her ashore. He took the body, dripping, in his arms, carried it to his house, andlaid it down as tenderly as if it had been his own sister. He asked meto please go and get Mrs. McNab to come and prepare it for burial. Thelittle thing, he said, was entirely dead and gone. I started to go, ashe wished, but happened to think I would just step back and look atthe sweet face once more. When I opened the door, Micah was bendingover it, with his eyes full of tears. When I asked, what is thematter, Micah? he said he was thinking of a little sister of his thatwas drowned just so in the Kennebec River, many years ago". 

"That showed some feeling, certainly", said Mrs. Dubois. 

"Then, too, I know", continued Adèle, "that the people here like him. If any one can get them together, Micah can". 

"Well!" said Mr. Dubois looking at his child with a fond pride, yet asif doubting whether she were not already half spoiled, "it seems youare the wiseacre of the family. I know Micah has always been afavorite of yours. Perhaps the gentleman will give your views someconsideration". 

"Father", replied Adèle, "I have only said what I think about it". 

"I'll try what I can do with Micah Mummychog", said Mr. Nortondecidedly, and the conversation ended. 

CHAPTER IV. 

MICAH MUMMYCHOG. 

About ten years before the period when this narrative begins, MicahMummychog had come to this country from the Kennebec River, in theState of Maine. 

He soon purchased a dozen acres of land, partially cleared them, andbuilt a large-sized, comfortable log house. It was situated not farfrom the Dubois house, at a short distance from the bank of the river, and on the edge of a grove of forest trees. 

Micah inhabited his house usually only a few months during the year, as he was a cordial lover of the unbroken wilderness, and was asmigratory in his habits as the native Indian. On the morning after theevents related in the last chapter, he happened to be at home. WhileAdèle was guiding the missionary to his cottage, he was sitting in hiskitchen, which also served for a general reception room, burnishing upan old Dutch fowling-piece. 

The apartment was furnished with cooking utensils, and coarse woodenfurniture; the walls hung around with fishing tackle, moose-horns, skins of wild animals and a variety of firearms. 

Micah was no common, stupid, bumpkin-looking person. Belonging to thegenus Yankee, he had yet a few peculiar traits of his own. He had asmallish, bullet-shaped head, set, with dignified poise, on a pair ofwide, flat shoulders. His chest was broad and swelling, his limbsstraight, muscular, and strong. His eyes were large, round, and blue. When his mind was in a state of repose and his countenance at rest, they had a solemn, owl-like expression. But when in an excited, observant mood, they were keen and searching; and human orbs surelynever expressed more rollicking fun than did his, in his hours ofrecreation. He had a habit of darting them around a wide circle ofobjects, without turning his head a hairsbreadth. This, together withanother peculiarity of turning his head, occasionally, at a sharpangle, with the quick and sudden motion of a cat, probably wasacquired in his hunting life. 

Micah had never taken to himself a helpmate, and as far as merehousekeeping was concerned, one would judge, on looking around thedecent, tidy apartment in which he sat and of which he had the solecare, that he did not particularly need one. He washed, scoured, baked, brewed, swept and dusted as deftly as any woman, and did it allas a matter of course. These were, however, only his minoraccomplishments. He commanded the highest wages in the lumber camp, was the best fisherman to be found in the region, and had the goodluck of always bringing down any game he had set his heart upon. 

Micah had faults, but let these pass for the present. There was oneachievement of his, worthy of all praise. 

It was remarked, that the loggery was situated on the edge of a grove. This grove, when Micah came, was "a piece of woods", of the densestand most tangled sort. By his strong arm, it had been transformed intoa scene of exceeding beauty. He had cut away the under growth andsmaller trees, leaving the taller sons of the forest still risingloftily and waving their banners toward heaven. It formed amagnificent natural temple, and as the sun struck in through the long, broad aisles, soft and rich were the lights and shadows that flickeredover the green floor. The lofty arches, formed by the meeting andinterlaced branches above, were often resonant with music. During thespring and summer months, matin worship was constantly performed by amultitudinous choir, and praises were chanted by tiny-throatedwarblers, raising their notes upon the deep, organ base, rolled intothe harmony by the grand old pines. 

It is true, that hardly a human soul worshipped here, but when the "TeDeum" rose toward heaven, thousands of blue, pink, and white blossomsturned their eyes upward wet with dewy moisture, the hoary mosseswaved their tresses, the larches shook their tassels gayly, thebirches quivered and thrilled with joy in every leaf, and the rivuletsgurgled forth a silvery sound of gladness. On this particularSeptember morning Micah's grove was radiant with beauty. The wildequinoctial storm, which had so fiercely assailed it the day before, had brightened it into fresh verdure and now it glittered in thesunbeams as if bejewelled with emerald. 

Mr. Norton and Adèle reached the cottage door, on which she tappedsoftly. 

"Come in", Micah almost shouted, without moving from his seat orlooking up from his occupation. 

The maiden opened the door, and said, "Good morning, Micah". 

At the sound of her voice he rose instantly and handing a chair intothe middle of the floor, said, "O! come in, Miss Ady; I didn't know ezit was yeou". 

"I cannot stop now, Micah, but here is a gentleman who has a littlebusiness with you. I came to show him the way. This is Mr. Norton". 

And away Adèle sped, without farther ceremony. 

Micah looked after her for a moment, with a half smile on hisweather-beaten face, then turned and motioning Mr. Norton to a chair, reseated himself on a wooden chest, with his gun, upon which he againcommenced operations, his countenance setting into its usual owl-likesolemnity. 

He was not courtly in his reception of strangers. The missionary, however, had dealt with several varieties of the human animal before, and was by no means disturbed at this nonchalance. 

"I believe you are from the States, as well as myself, Mr. Mummychog", said he, after a short silence. 

"I'm from the Kennebec River", said Micah, laconically. 

"I am quite extensively acquainted in that region, but do not rememberto have heard your name before. It is rather an uncommon one". 

"I guess ye won't find many folks in them parts, ez is calledMummychog", said Micah, with a twinkle of the eye and something like agrin, on his sombre visage. 

"You've a snug place here, Mr. Micah", said Mr. Norton, who, havingfound some difficulty in restraining a smile, when repeating Mr. Mummychog's surname, concluded to drop it altogether, "but what couldhave induced you to leave the pleasant Kennebec and come to thisdistant spot?"

"Well, I cam' to git a chance and be somwhere, where I could jest belet alone". 

"A chance for what, Mr. Micah?"

"Why, hang it, a chance to live an' dew abeout what I want tew. Themoose an' wolves an' wildcats hev all ben hunted eout o' that kentry. Thar wa'nt no kind ev a chance there. So I cam' here". 

"You have a wife, I suppose, Mr. Micah?"

"Wife! no. Do ye spose I want to hev a woman kep' skeered a most todeath abeout me, all the time? I'm a fishin' an' huntin good part o'the year. Wild beasts and sech, is what I like". 

"Don't you feel lonely here, sometimes, Mr. Micah?"

"Lunsum! no. There's plenty o' fellers reound here, all the time. They're a heowlin' set tew, ez ever I see". 

"You have a good gun there", suggested the missionary. 

"Well, tolable", said Micah, looking up for the first time since Mr. Norton had entered the house, and scanning him from head to foot withhis keen, penetrating glance. "I spose you aint much used tofirearms?"

"I have some acquaintance with them; but my present vocation don'trequire their use". 

Here Mr. Mummychog rose, and laying his gun on the table, scratchedhis head, turned toward Mr. Norton and said, "Hev yeou any pertikilarbusiness with me?"

"Yes sir, I have. I came to Miramichi to accomplish an importantobject, and I don't know of another person who can help me about it sowell as you can". 

"Well, I dunno. What upon arth is it?"

"To be plain upon the point", said the missionary, looking serious andearnest, "I have come here to preach the gospel of Christ". 

"Whew! religin, is it? I can tell ye right off, its no go en these ereparts". 

"Don't you think a little religion is needed here, Mr. Micah?"

"Well, I dunno. Taint _wanted_. Folks ez lives here, can't abidesermans and prayers en that doleful stuff". 

"You say you came here for a chance, Mr. Micah. I suppose your friendscame for the same purpose. Now, I have come to show them, not a_chance_, but a glorious certainty for happiness in this world and inthe eternity beyond". 

"Well, they don't want tew know anything abeout it. They just want tewbe let alone", said Micah. 

"I suppose they do wish to be let alone", said Mr. Norton. "But Icannot permit them to go down to wretchedness and sorrow unwarned. Youhave influence with your friends here, Mr. Micah. If you will collectthe men, women, and children of this neighborhood together, someafternoon, in your beautiful grove, I will promise to give them not along sermon, but something that will do them good to hear". 

"I can't dew it no heow. There's ben preachers along here afore, an'a few 'ud go eout o' curiosity, an' some to make a disturbance an'sech, an' it never 'meounts to anything, no heow. Then sposin we haintdun jest as we'd oughter, who'se gin _yeou_ the right tew twit us onit?"

"I certainly have no right, on my own responsibility, to reproach you, or your friends for sin, for I am a sinful man myself and have dailyneed of repentance. But I trust I have found out a way of redemptionfrom guilt, and I wish to communicate it to my fellow-beings that theyalso may have knowledge of it, and fly to Christ, their only safetyand happiness in this world". 

Micah made no reply. 

There was a pause of several minutes, and then the missionary rose andsaid, "Well, Mr. Micah, if you can't help me, you can't. The littlemaiden that came with me, told me you could render me aid, if any onecould, and from what she said, I entertained a hope of yourassistance. The Lord will remove the obstacles to proclaiming thissalvation in some way, I know". 

"Miss Ady didn't say I could help ye neow, did she?" said Micah, scratching his head. 

"Certainly. Why did she bring me here?"

"Well, ef that aint tarnal queer", said Micah, falling into a deepreverie. 

In a few moments, Mr. Norton shook his new acquaintance heartily bythe hand and bade him good morning. Was the good man discouraged inhis efforts? By no means. 

He had placed in the mind of Micah Mummychog a small fusee, so tospeak, which he foresaw would fire a whole train of discarded ideasand cast-off thoughts, and he expected to hear from it. 

He filled up the day with a round of calls upon the various familiesof the neighborhood, and came home to his lodgings at Mr. Dubois'swith his heart overwhelmed by the ignorance and debasement he hadwitnessed. 

Yet his courage and hopes were strong. 

CHAPTER V. 

MRS. LANSDOWNE. 

P---- is a city by the sea. Built upon an elevated peninsula, surrounded by a country of manifold resources of beauty and fertility, with a fine, broad harbor, it sits queenlike in conscious power, facing with serene aspect the ever-restless waves that washcontinually its feet. The place might be called ancient, if that termcould properly be applied to any of the works of man on New Englandshores. There are parts of it, where the architecture of whole streetslooks quaint and time-worn; here and there a few antique churchesappear, but modern structures predominate, and the place is full ofvigorous life and industry. 

It was sunset. The sky was suffused with the richest carmine. Thewaters lay quivering beneath the palpitating, rosy light. The spiresand domes of the town caught the ethereal hues and the emerald hillswere bathed in the glowing atmosphere. 

In a large apartment, in the second story of a tall, brick mansionon ---- street, sat Mrs. Lansdowne. Susceptible though she was to theattractions of the scene before her, they did not now occupy herattention. Her brow was contracted with painful thought, her lipquivered with deep emotion. The greatest sorrow she had known hadfallen upon her through the error of one whom she fondly loved. 

Though enwrapped in a cloud of grief, one could see that she possessedbeauty of a rich and rare type. She had the delicate, aquiline nose, the dark, lustrous eyes and hair, the finely arched eyebrows of theHebrew woman. But she was no Jewess. 

Mrs. Lansdowne could number in her ancestry men who had been notableleaders in the Revolutionary war with England, and, later in ourhistory, others, who were remarkable for patriotism, nobility ofcharacter, intellectual ability, and high moral and religious culture. 

Early in life, she had been united to Mr. Lansdowne, a gentlemanmoving in the same rank of society with herself. His health obligedhim to give up the professional life he anticipated, and he had becomea prosperous and enterprising merchant in his native city. They had anonly child, a son eighteen years old, who in the progress of hiscollegiate course had just entered the senior year. 

Edward Somers was Mrs. Lansdowne's only brother, her mother havingdied a week after his birth. She was eleven years of age at the time, and from that early period had watched over and loved him tenderly. Hehad grown up handsome and accomplished, fascinating in manners andmost affectionate toward herself. She had learned that he had beenengaged in what appeared, upon the face of it, a dishonorable affair, and her sensitive nature had been greatly shocked. 

Two years before, Mr. Lansdowne had taken him as a junior partner inhis business. He had since been a member of his sister's family. 

A young foreigner had come to reside in the city, professing himself amember of a noble Italian family. Giuseppe Rossini was poet, orator, and musician. As poet and orator he was pleasing and graceful; as amusician he excelled. He was a brilliant and not obtrusiveconversationalist. His enthusiastic expressions of admiration for ourfree institutions won him favor with all classes. In the fashionablecircle he soon became a pet. 

Mrs. Lansdowne had from the first distrusted him. There was notangible foundation for her suspicions, but she had not been able toovercome a certain instinct that warned her from his presence. Shewatched, with misgivings of heart, her brother's growing familiaritywith the Italian. A facility of temper, his characteristic fromboyhood, made her fear that he might not be able to withstand thesoft, insinuating voice that veils guilty designs by winningsophistics and appeals to sympathy and friendship. And so it proved. 

One day, in extreme agitation, Rossini came to Mr. Somers, requestingthe loan of a considerable sum of money, to meet demands made uponhim. Remittances daily expected from Europe had failed to reach him. Mr. Somers was unable to command so large a sum as he required. Hissenior partner was absent from home. But the wily Rossini so won uponhis sympathies, that he went to the private safe of hisbrother-in-law, and took from thence the money necessary to free hisfriend from embarrassment. He never saw the Italian again. 

When the treachery of which he had been the victim burst upon him, together with his own weakness and guilt, he was filled with shame andremorse. Mr. Lansdowne was a man of stern integrity and uncompromisingjustice. He dared not meet his eye on his return, and he dreaded tocommunicate the unworthy transaction to his sister, who had so gentlyyet so faithfully warned him. 

He made desperate efforts to get traces of the villain who haddeceived him. Unsuccessful--maddened with sorrow and shame, he wrote abrief note of farewell to Mrs. Lansdowne, in which he confessed thewrong he had committed against her husband, which Mr. Lansdowne wouldreveal to her. He begged her to think as kindly of him as possible, averring that an hour before the deed was done, he could not havebelieved himself capable of it. Then he forsook the city. 

When these occurrences were communicated to Mr. Lansdowne, he wasfilled with surprise and indignation, --not at the pecuniary loss, which, with his ample wealth, was of little moment to him, but onaccount of such imprudence and folly, where he least expected it. 

A few hours, however, greatly modified his view of the case. He hadfound, in the safe, a note from Mr. Somers, stating the circumstancesunder which he had taken the money and also the disappearance ofRossini. This, together with his wife's distress, softened hisfeelings to such a degree that he consented to recall his brother andreinstate him in his former place in business. 

But whither had the fugitive gone? Mrs. Lansdowne found no clue to hisintended destination. 

During the morning of the day on which she is first introduced to theattention of the reader, she had visited his apartment to make a morethorough exploration. Looking around the room, she saw lying in thefireplace a bit of paper, half buried in the ashes. She drew it out, and after examining carefully found written upon it a few words thatkindled a new hope in her heart. Taking it to her husband, aconsultation was held upon its contents and an expedition planned, ofwhich an account will be given in the next chapter. 

She was now the prey of conflicting emotions. The expedition, whichhad that day been arranged, involved a sacrifice of feeling on herpart, greater she feared than she would be able to make. 

But in order to recover her brother to home, honor, and happiness, itseemed necessary to be made. Voices from the dead were pleading at herheart incessantly, urging her, at whatever cost, to seek and save him, who, with herself, constituted the only remnant of their family lefton earth. Her own affection for him also pressed its eloquent suit, and at last the decision was confirmed. She resolved to venture herson in the quest. 

In the mean time, the sunset hues had faded from the sky and eveninghad approached. The golden full moon had risen and was now shining inat the broad window, bringing into beautiful relief the delicatetracery on the high cornices, the rich carvings of the mahoganyfurniture, and striking out a soft sheen from Mrs. Lansdowne's blacksatin dress, as she moved slowly to and fro, through the light. 

She seated herself once more at the window and gazed upon the lovelyorb of night. A portion of its serenity entered and tranquillized hersoul. The cloud of care and anxiety passed from her brow, leaving itsmooth and pure as that of an angel. 

CHAPTER VI. 

"JOHN, DEAR". 

On the evening that Mrs. Lansdowne was thus occupied, John, her son, who had been out on the bay all the afternoon, rushed past thedrawing-room door, bounded up the long staircase; entered his room, situated on the same floor, not far from his mother's, and rang thebell violently. 

In a few minutes, Aunt Esther, an ancient black woman, who had longbeen in the service of the family, made her appearance at the door, and inquired what "Massa John" wanted. 

"I want some fire here, Aunt Esther. I've been out on the bay, fishing. Our smack got run down, and I've had a ducking; I feeldecidedly chilly". 

"Law sakes!" said she, in great trepidation, "yer orter get warm rightaway", and hastened down stairs. 

A stout, hale man, soon entered the room, with a basket of wood and apan of coals, followed immediately by Aunt Esther, who began toarrange them on the hearth. 

Aunt Esther's complexion was of a pure shining black, her features ofthe size and cut usually accompanying that hue, and lighted up by acontented, sunshiny expression, which truly indicated the normalstate of her mind. A brilliant, yellow turban sat well upon her woollylocks and a blue and red chintz dress, striped perpendicularly, somewhat elongated the effect of her stout dumpy figure. She had takencare of John during his babyhood and early boyhood, and he remained tothis day her especial pet and pride. 

"Aunt Esther", said that young man, throwing himself into aneasy-chair, and assuming as lackadaisical an expression as his frankand roguish face would allow, "I have just lost a friend". 

"Yer have?" said his old nurse, looking round compassionately. 

When did yer lose him?"

"About an hour ago". 

"What did he die of, Massa John?"

"Of a painful nervous disease", said he. 

"How old was he?"

"A few years younger than I am". 

"Did he die hard?"

"Very hard, Aunt Esther", said John, looking solemn. 

"Had yer known him long?"

"Yes, a long time". 

Aunt Esther gave a deep sigh. "Does yer know weder he was pious?"

"Well, here he is. Perhaps you can tell by looking at him", said he, handing her a tooth, he had just had extracted, and bursting into aboyish laugh. 

"O! yer go along, Massa John. I might hev knowed it was one of yerdeceitful tricks", said Aunt Esther, trying to conceal her amusement, by putting on an injured look. "There, the fire burns now. Yer jestput on them dry clothes as quick as ever yer can, or mebbe ye'll loseanother friend before long". 

"It shall be done as you say, beloved Aunt Esther", said he, risingand bowing profoundly, as she left the room. 

Having obeyed the worthy woman's injunction, he drew the easy-chair tothe fire, leaned his head back and spent the next half hour hoveringbetween consciousness and dreamland. 

From this state, he was roused by a gentle tap on his door, followedby his mother's voice, saying, "John, dear?"

John rose instantly, threw the door wide open and ushered in the lady, saying, "Come in, little queen mother, come in", and bowing over herhand with a pompous, yet courtly grace. 

Mrs. Lansdowne, when seen a short time since walking in her solitude, seemed quite lofty in stature, but now, standing for a moment besidethe regal height of her son, one could fully justify him in bestowingupon her the title with which he had greeted her. 

John Lansdowne was fast developing, physically as well as mentallyinto a noble manhood, and it was no wonder that his mother's heartswelled with pride and joy when she looked upon him. Straight, muscular, and vigorous in form, his features and expression wereprecisely her own, enlarged and intensified. Open and generous indisposition, his character had a certain quality of firmness, quite incontrast with that of his uncle Edward, and this she had carefullysought to strengthen. In the pursuit of his studies, he had thus farbeen earnest and successful. 

During the last half year, however, he had chafed under theconfinements of student life, and having now become quite restive inthe harness, he had asked his father for a few months of freedom frombooks. He wished to explore a wilderness, to go on a foreign voyage, to wander away, away, anywhere beyond the sight of college walls. 

"John", said Mrs. Lansdowne, "I have been conversing with your fatheron the subject, and he has consented to an expedition for you". 

"O! glorious! mother where am I to go? to the Barcan desert, or to theArctic Ocean?"

"You are to make a journey to the Miramichi River?"

"Miramichi!" said John, after a brief pause, "I thought I had a slightacquaintance with geography, but where in the wide world isMiramichi?"

"It is in the province of New Brunswick. You will have seventy-fivemiles of almost unbroken wilderness to pass through". 

"Seventy-five miles of wilderness! magnificent! where's my rifle, mother? I haven't seen it for an age". 

"Don't be so impetuous, John. This journey through the wilderness willbe anything but magnificent. You will meet many dangers by the way andwill encounter many hardships". 

"But, mother, what care I for the perils of the way. Look at thatpowerful member", stretching out his large, muscular arm. 

"Don't trust too much in that, John. Your strong arm is a good weapon, but you may meet something yet that is more than a match for it". 

"Possibly", said John, with a sceptical air, "but when am I to start, mother?"

"To-morrow". 

"To-morrow! that is fine. Well! I must bestir myself", said he, rising. 

"Not to-night, my dear. You've nothing to do at present. Arrangementsare made. Be quiet, John. We may not sit thus together again for along while". 

"True, mother", said he, reseating himself. "But how did you happen tothink of Miramichi?" he asked, after a pause. 

"That is what I must explain to you. Your uncle Edward has committedan act of imprudence which he fancies your father will not forgivehim. He has left us without giving any information of his destination. We hope you will find him in New Brunswick, and this is your errand. You must seek him and bring him back to us". 

John had been absent at the time of Mr. Somers's departure, and, without making definite inquiries, supposed him to be away on ordinarybusiness. 

After his first surprise at his mother's announcement, he was quitesilent for a few moments. 

Then he said, firmly, "If he is there, I will find him". 

Mrs. Lansdowne did not explain to him the nature of her brother'soffence, but simply communicated her earnest desire for his return. Then going together to the library they consulted the map of Maineand New Brunswick. Mr. Lansdowne joined them, --the route was fullydiscussed, and John retired to dream of the delights of a lifeuntrammelled by college, or city walls. 

CHAPTER VII. 

A JOURNEY THROUGH THE WILDERNESS. 

Two days after the arrival of Mr. Norton at the Dubois House, on thebanks of the Miramichi, John Lansdowne, on a brilliant Septembermorning, started on his memorable journey to that region. 

He was up betimes, and made his appearance at the stables just asJames, the stout little coachman, was completing Cæsar's elaboratetoilet. 

Cæsar was a noble-looking, black animal, whose strength and capacityfor endurance had been well tested. This morning he was in highspirits and looked good for months of rough-and-tumble service. 

"Here's yer rifle, Mister John. I put it in trim for ye yesterday. Is'pose ye'll be a squintin' reound sharp for bears and wolves andother livin' wild beasts when ye git inter the woods". 

"Certainly, James. I expect to set the savage old monsters scatteringin every direction". 

"Well, but lookeout, Mister John and keep number one eout o' fire andwater and sech". 

"Trust me for doing that, James". 

After many affectionate counsels and adieus from his parents, John, mounted on the gallant Cæsar, with his rifle and portmanteau, postedon at a rapid rate, soon leaving the city far behind. 

The position of one who sits confidently upon the back of a brave andspirited horse, is surely enviable. The mastery of a creature of suchstrength and capacity--whose neck is clothed with thunder--the gloryof whose nostrils is terrible, gives to the rider a sense of freedomand power not often felt amidst the common conditions of life. Nowonder that the Bedouin of the desert, crafty, cringing, abject incities, when he mounts his Arab steed and is off to the burning sands, becomes dignified and courteous. Liberty and power are his. Theyelevate him for the time in the scale of existence. 

John was a superb rider. From his first trial, he had sat onhorseback, firm and kingly. 

He and Cæsar apparently indulged in common emotions on this morning oftheir departure from home. They did not it is true "smell the battleafar off, the thunder of the captains and the shouting, " but theysmelt the wilderness, the wild, the fresh, the free, and they said ha!ha! And so they sped on their long journey. 

The young man made a partial acquaintance with lumbering operations atBangor; had his sublime ideas of the nobility of the aborigines of thecountry somewhat discomposed by the experience of a day spent in theIndian settlement at Oldtown; found a decent shelter at MattawamkeagPoint, and, at last, with an exultant bound of heart, struck into theforest. 

The only road through this solitary domain was the rough path made bylumbermen, in hauling supplies to the various camps, scattered atintervals through the dense wilderness, extending seventy-five miles, from Mattawamkeag Point to the British boundary. 

Here Nature was found in magnificent wildness and disarray, her hairquite unkempt. Great pines, shooting up immense distances in the skyskirted the path and flung their green-gray, trailing mosses abroad onthe breeze; crowds of fir, spruce, hemlock, and cedar trees stoodwaving aloft their rich, dark banners; clusters of tall, whitebirches, scattered here and there, relieved and brightened the sombreevergreen depths, and the maple with its affluent foliage crowned eachswell of the densely covered land. Here and there, a scarlet tree orbush shot out its sanguine hue, betokening the maturity of the seasonand the near approach of autumn's latest splendor. Big boulders ofgranite, overlaid with lichens, were profusely ornamented with crimsoncreepers. Everything appeared in splendid and wasteful confusion. There were huge trees with branches partially torn away; others, withsplit trunks leaning in slow death against their fellows; others, prostrate on the ground; and around and among all, grew brakes andferns and parasitic vines; and nodded purple, red, and golden berries. 

The brown squirrels ran up and down the trees and over the tangledrubbish, chirping merrily; a few late lingering birds sang littlejerky notes of music, and the woodpecker made loud tapping soundswhich echoed like the strokes of the woodman's axe. The air was richand balmy, --spiced with cedar, pine, and hemlock, and a thousandunknown odors. 

The path through this wild of forest was rude and difficult, but thetravellers held on their way unflinchingly, --the horse withunfaltering courage and patience, and his rider with unceasing wonderand delight. 

At noon they came to a halt, just where the sun looked down golden andcheery on a little dancing rivulet that babbled by the wayside. HereCæsar received his oats, for which his master had made room in hisportmanteau, at the expense, somewhat, of his own convenience. Theyoung man partook of a hearty lunch and resigned himself to dreams oflife under the greenwood tree. 

After an hour's rest, again in the saddle and on--on, throughrecurring scenes of wildness, waste, and beauty. Just as the starsbegan to glint forth and the traveller and horse felt willing perhapsto confess to a little weariness, they saw the light of the expectedcabin fire in the distance. Cæsar gave a low whinny of approval andhastened on. 

Two or three red-shirted, long-bearded men gave them a rude welcome. They blanketed and fed Cæsar, and picketed him under a low shed builtof logs. 

John, as hungry as a famished bear, drank a deep draught of a blackconcoction called tea, which his friends here presented to him, ate apowerful piece of dark bread, interlarded with fried pork, drew upwith the others around the fire, and, in reply to their curiousquestionings, gave them the latest news from the outside world. 

For this information he was rewarded by the strange and stirringadventures of wilderness life they related during the quickly flittingevening hours. 

They told of the scores who went into the forest in the early part ofwinter, not to return until late in the spring; of snow-storms andpacks of wolves; of herds of deer and moose; they related thrillingstories of men crushed by falling trees, or jammed between logs in thestreams, together with incidents of the long winter evenings, usuallyspent by them in story telling and card playing. Thus he becameacquainted with the routine of camp life. 

Wearied at last with the unaccustomed fatigues of the day, he wrappedhimself in his cloak, placed his portmanteau under his head for apillow and floated off to dreamland, under the impression that thisgypsying sort of life, was just the one of all others he should mostlike to live. 

The following morning, the path of our traveller struck through abroad reach of the melancholy, weird desolation, called a burntdistrict. He rode out, suddenly, from the dewy greenness andbalm-breathing atmosphere of the unblighted forest, into sunshine thatpoured down in torrents from the sky, falling on charred, shiningshafts and stumps of trees, and a brilliant carpet of fireweed. 

It is nearly impossible to give one who has not seen something of thekind, an adequate impression of the peculiar appearance of such aregion. The strange, grotesque-looking stems, of every imaginableshape, left standing like a company of black dwarfs and giantsscattered over the land, some of them surmounted with ebony crowns;some, with heads covered like olden warriors, with jetty helmets;some with brawny, long arms stretched over the pathway as if to seizethe passer by, and all with feet planted, seemingly in deep andflaming fire. How quickly nature goes about repairing her desolations!So great in this case is her haste to cover up the black, unseemlysurface of the earth, that, from the strange resemblance of the weedwith which she clothes it to the fiery elements, it would seem as ifshe had not yet been able to thrust the raging glow out of her fancy, and so its type has crept again over the blighted spot. 

John rode on over the glowing ground, the black monsters grimacing andscowling at him as he passed. What a nice eerie place this would bethought he for witches, wizards, and all Satan's gentry, of everyshape and hue, to hold their high revels in. And he actually began toshout the witches song--

 "Black spirits and white, Red spirits and gray". 

At which adjuration, Cæsar, doubtless knowing who were called upon, pricked up his ears and started on a full run, probably not wishing tofind himself in such company just at that time. 

An establishment similar to the one that had sheltered him the nightprevious, proffered its entertainment at the close of our adventurer'ssecond day. The third day in the wilderness was signalized by anincident, which excited such triumphant emotions as to cause it to belong remembered. About an hour subsequent to his noon halt, as he andCæsar were proceeding along at a moderate pace, he heard a rustling, crackling noise on the right side of the path and suddenly a deer, frightened and panting, flew across the road, turned for a moment analmost human, despairing look toward him, plunged into the tangledunder-growth on the left and was gone from sight. John drew his reinsinstantly, bringing his horse to a dead stand, loosened his rifle fromhis shoulder and after examining it closely, remained quiet. Hispatience was not taxed by long waiting. Within the space of twominutes, there was another sharp crunching and crackling of dryboughs, when a wolf, large, gray, and fierce, sprang into the pathfrom the same opening, following on the trail of the deer. He hadnearly crossed the narrow road in hot pursuit and was about springinginto the thicket beyond, when an accidental turn of his head broughtour hero suddenly to his attention. He stopped, as if struck by aspell of enchantment. 

Whiz! the ball flew. The very instant it struck, the bloodthirstymonster fell dead. When John reached the spot, there was scarcely thequiver of a limb, so well had the work of death been accomplished. Yetthe wolfish face grinned still a savage, horrible defiance. 

"Here, Cæsar", he exclaimed, in a boastful tone, "do you know thatthis old fellow lying here, won't get the drink out of the veins ofthat dainty creature he was so thirsty for? No! nor ever cheat anysweet little Red Riding Hood into thinking him her grandmother? Thisis the last of him. Didn't I do the neat thing, Cæsar?"

Cæsar threw his head on one side, with an air of admiration and gave alow whinny, that betokened a state of intense satisfaction at thewhole transaction. 

It may appear frivolous to those who have read with unwaveringcredulity the olden tales of the prowess and achievements of knightserrant in the days of chivalry, that one should stop to relate such acommonplace incident as the shooting of a wolf, and above all, thatthe hero of this narrative, should betray, even to his horse, such adecided emotion of self admiration for having performed the feat. Sucha trifle would not indeed be worth mentioning in company with themarvellous deeds and mysterious sorceries of the old romaunt, but thisbeing a true story, the hero young, and this the first game of thekind he has yet brought down, it must be excused. 

After a critical examination of his victim, our traveller mounted hishorse and proceeded on his journey, much gratified at his afternoon'swork, and inwardly resolving how he would make the eyes of James andAunt Esther stand out, while listening to the account of it he shouldgive them, on his return home. 

In about seventeen days after his departure from P. , John safelyaccomplished his journey. Amidst the subsequent hardships, rough fareand toils of that journey, which, in truth, thirty-five years ago, were things not to be laughed at, he had a constant satisfaction inthe recollection of having, with one keen shot, killed a large, fierce, gray wolf. 

CHAPTER VIII. 

A FUNERAL. 

The day following the call made by Mr. Norton on Micah Mummychog, thelast-named personage came to Mr. Dubois's house and Adèle happening toopen the outside door, just as he hove in sight, he called out, "MissAdy, do ye know where that individooal that ye brought to my heouseyisterday, is?"

"You mean the missionary?" said Adèle. 

"Well, yis, I spose so; where is he?"

"He is engaged with a sick gentleman we have here. He has taken theplace of Aunt Patty, who is tired out and has gone to rest". 

"Well, that piece of flesh, what's called McNab, has the greatestfakkilty of gittin' tired eout when there's any work reound, that everI see. Any heow, she's got to stir herself this time. But I want tosee the minister, neow". 

"Yes, I will speak to him. But I shall not call Aunt Patty. She _is_tired now. I can take care of the sick gentleman. But what hashappened, Micah?"

"Well, there's goin' to be a funeral. I can't jestly tell ye abeoutit neow. Ye can ax yer sir, when he comes in", said Micah, reluctantto go into particulars which he knew would shock Adèle. 

"Well, Captin", said Micah, when Mr. Norton made his appearance at thedoor, here's a reg'lar wind-fall for ye. Here's an Irishman over here, as is dead as a door nail. He's goin' to be buried to-night, 'beoutsunset, and I dun no but what I can git a chance for ye to hold fortha spell in the grove, jest afore they put him under greound". 

"Dead! the poor man dead! indeed!" exclaimed Mr. Norton. 

"Yis. He was shot right through his heart, and I hope a swingin' cuss'ill come on him that put the ball threough, tew". 

"Why, how was it, Mr. Micah?" said Mr. Norton earnestly. 

"Well, yeou jest tell me fust wether yeou'll say prayers, or somethin'or 'nother over the poor chap's reeliks". 

"Certainly, I will, Mr. Micah". 

"Well, ye see, Pat McGrath lived back here, half a mile or so, an'he's got lots o' cousins an' friends 'ut live all along on this 'ereriver, more or less, till ye git to Chartham, _that's_ sitooated tothe mouth. Well, these fellers has been in the habit o' gittin'together and goin' deown river and hirin' once in a spell, some sortof old, cranky craft and goin' skylarking reound to Eastport andPortland. Arter a while they'd cum back and smuggle in a cargo o'somethin' or 'nother from the States, and sheirk the dooties. Well, 'beout a week ago, there was a confounded old crittur 'ut liveshalfway from here to Chartham, that informed on' em. So they jes'collected together--'beout twenty fellers--and mobbed him. And the oldcuss fired into 'em and killed this 'ere man. So neow they've broughthis body hum, and his wife's a poor shiftless thing, and she's been ahollerin' and screechin' ever sence she heerd of it". 

"Poor woman!" said Mr. Norton, greatly shocked. 

"Well, I might as well tell yer the whole on't", said Micah, scratching his head. "Yer see, he was one o' these Catholics, this Patwas, and the fellers went to the priest (he lives deown river, littlebetter'n ten mile from here) in course to git him to dew what's to bedone to the funeral, and the tarnal old heathen wouldn't dew it. Hesed Pat had gone agin the law o' the kentry, and he wouldn't hevanything to do 'beout it. So the fellers brought the body along, and Iswear, Pat McGrath shall hev a decent funeral, any way". 

"Where is the funeral to be?" asked Mr. Norton, after listeningattentively to the account Micah had given him. 

"O! deown here 'n the grove. The body's to my heouse, and Maggie hiswife's there a screechin'. The graveyard's close here, and so theydidn't carry him hum". 

"I'll, go down and see this poor Maggie", said Mr. Norton. 

"Don't, for the Lord's sake. I'm eenermost crazy neow. The heouse isjammed full o' folks, and there ain't nothin, ready. You jes' waithere, till I git things in shape and I'll cum arter ye". 

Micah then departed to complete his arrangements, and Mr. Nortonreturned to his post, in the sick-room. 

It was nearly five o'clock in the afternoon, before a messenger cameto inform him that the hour of burial had arrived. 

A strange scene presented itself to his view, as he approached thegrove. A motley company, composed of the settlers of every grade andcondition for miles around, had collected there. Men, women, andchildren in various costume--the scarlet and crimson shirt, or tunic, carrying it high above all other fashions--were standing, or walkingamong the trees, conversing upon the event that had brought themtogether. 

As the missionary approached, the loud indignant voices subsided intoa low murmur, and the people made way for him to reach the centre ofthe group. 

Here he found the coffin, placed upon a pile of boards, entirelyuncovered to the light of day and to the inspection of the people, whohad, each in turn, gazed with curious eyes upon the lifeless clay itenclosed. 

In the absence of Mrs. McNab, who was still sleeping away the effectsof her late fatigues at the house of Mr. Dubois, the women of theneighborhood had arrayed Patrick McGrath, very properly, in a cleanshirt of his accustomed wearing apparel, so arranging it that thefolds of the red tunic could be lifted in order to expose to those whocame to look upon him the wound he had received. There he lay, therude smuggler, turned gently upon his side, one cheek pressing thepillow. Death had effaced from his countenance every trace of thestormy passions which raged in his breast when the fatal bullet struckhim, and had sealed it with even a pleasant serenity. 

Not so with the compeers of his race, who encircled the coffin. _They_scowled a fierce fury from beneath their bushy brows and muttered vowsof vengeance. The rays of the sun, now rapidly declining, shot intotheir angry faces, the evening breeze shook out their matted locks ofhair. A peculiar glow was cast over their wild, Erin features, nowgleaming with unholy passion. 

Mr. Norton bent for a few minutes over the coffin, while an expressionof sorrow and deep commiseration overspread his countenance. Then hestepped upon a slight knoll of ground near by, raised himself to hisfull height and began to speak in a voice that rose above the crowd, clear, melodious, full and penetrating as the notes of a bugle. Itthrilled on every ear and drew instant attention. 

"Friends, brethren, fellow-sinners, one of our number has beensuddenly struck down by the relentless hand of death, and we are hereto pay the last honors to his mortal remains, --each and all to learn asolemn lesson while standing at the mouth of the grave. Brethren, weare to learn anew from this occasion that death often comes to manwith the suddenness of the lightning flash. One moment before yourcomrade was struck by the fatal bullet, his eye glowed as keenly andhis right arm was as powerful as yours. The next moment he wasprostrate on the ground, with no power to move a single limb of hisbody, or utter a single sigh, or breathe a single prayer. He was dead". 

"I am ignorant whether he was prepared to make such a sudden transitfrom this world to that scene of judgment to which he has beensummoned. _You_ know, who were his friends and comrades, what hisformer course has been, and whether he was prepared to meet the Judgeof all the earth. I know nothing of all this, but I fervently hopethat at the last erring, awful moment, when he had just committed anact of transgression against the laws of his country, he had in hisheart, and did, offer up this prayer, 'God be merciful to me, asinner. ' We must leave him in the hands of the Almighty, who is bothmerciful and just. We cannot change his lot, but we have it in ourpower to profit by the circumstances of his death. Beholding howsuddenly he has been cut off, in the prime and strength of his days, we may learn that we too may be called at some unexpected moment, andthat it behooves us to be found ever in the right path, so living, soacting, that we shall be ready, when death comes, to meet our Judgewithout fear and with the assurance that when we depart this life, through the righteousness of Christ, we shall be introduced into abetter and nobler country. I beg of you earnestly, my dear brethren, in order to secure this happy result, to turn immediately from yoursins, repenting of them without delay, and apply to Christ whose bloodcan alone wash them away. Take the Bible, this precious gift fromHeaven, for your counsellor and guide, follow its instructions, andyou will be safe and happy, whether in life or in death". 

"My brethren, I will say but one word more; that word I earnestlyimplore you to listen to. This book from God says, vengeance is mine;I will repay. I fear it is in your hearts to seek revenge upon him whois the author of your comrade's death. I beseech you not to do it. Godknows where the wrong is, in this case, and He, the great Avenger, will not suffer it to go unpunished. Sooner or later He brings everywicked and wrong-doer to a just reward. Leave all in His righteoushands, and stain not your souls with blood and violence. Let us seekthe divine blessing". 

Mr. Norton then offered a short and simple prayer, imploring theforgiveness of sins, and blessings upon Patrick's wife, hiscompanions, and the community. 

Maggie, who had wailed herself into perfect exhaustion and almoststupor, sat gazing fixedly in his face; the rest seemed hushed as by aspell, and did not begin to move until some moments after his voiceceased. 

Then the tongues were loosened, and amid the ebbs and flows ofmurmuring sound, the coffin was covered, placed upon a bier and borneto the grave, followed by the crowd. 

"And shure", said a poor Irishwoman to her crony, as they trudgedalong behind, "the praste's voice sounded all the while like a greatblessed angel, a blowin' through a silver trumpet. Shure, he's asaint, he is". 

CHAPTER IX. 

ADÈLE DUBOIS. 

The Dubois family, though widely separated by social rank and worldlypossessions from the population around them, had yet, to a certaindegree, mingled freely with the people. Originating in France, theypossessed the peculiar national faculty of readily adapting themselvesto the manners and customs of races foreign to their own. 

It is impossible to forget in the early history of the North Americancolonies, what facility the French displayed, in contrast with theEnglish, in attaining communication with the children of the forest, in acquiring and retaining their confidence, in taking on their rudeand uncultivated modes of life, and in shaping even theirsuperstitions to their own selfish purposes. 

Of all the foreigners who have attempted to demonstrate to the world, the social and political problems of America, who has investigatedwith such insight, and developed so truly our manners and customs andthe spirit and genius of our government as Tocqueville?

Mr. Dubois, though possessing a conservative power that prevented himfrom descending to the low type of character and the lax principlesof the country, yet never made any other than the most quiet assertionof superiority. It was impossible indeed for him to hold businessconnections with the rough settlers without mingling freely with them. But he never assumed the air of a master. He frequently engaged withthem in bold, adventurous exploits, the accomplishment of which didnot involve an infringement of law; sometimes he put hand and shoulderto the hard labors they endured, and he was ever ready with hissympathy and aid in redressing their grievances. Though often shockedat their lawless and profane customs, he yet recognized in many ofthem traits of generosity and nobleness. 

Without a particle of aggressiveness in his disposition, he had neverundertaken actively the work of reform, yet his example of uprightnessand integrity had made an impression upon the community. The peopletreated him with unvarying respect and confidence, partly from a senseof his real superiority, and partly, perhaps, from the very lack ofself-assertion on his side. Consequently without having made the leasteffort to do so, he exercised an autocratic power among them. 

Mrs. Dubois visited the women of the place frequently, particularlywhen the men were absent in their lumbering, or fishing operations, conversing with them freely, bearing patiently their superstitions andignorance, aiding them liberally in temporal things, and sometimesmingling kindly words of counsel with her gifts. 

Adèle's intercourse with the settlers was in an altogether differentstyle. Her manner from earliest childhood, when she first began torun about from one cottage to another, had been free, frank, andimperious. Whether it was, that having sniffed from babyhood the freshforest air of the new world, its breath had inspired her with acareless independence not shared by her parents, or, whether thehaughty blood that had flowed far back in the veins of ancestors, after coursing quietly along the generations, had in her becomestimulated into new activity, certain it is, she had always thebearing of one having authority and the art of governing seemednatural to her. It was strange, therefore, that she should have beensuch a universal favorite in the neighborhood. But so it was. Thosewho habitually set public law at defiance, came readily under thecontrol of her youthful sway. 

Possessing a full share of the irrepressible activity of childhood, she enacted the part of lady of the Manor, assuming prerogatives thateven her mother did not think of exercising. 

When about eleven summers old, she opened one afternoon the door of anIrish cabin and received at once a cordial, noisy welcome from itsinmates. She did not however, make an immediate response, for she hadbegun taking a minute survey of the not over-nice premises. At lengthshe deigned to speak. 

"Bridget Malone, are you not ashamed to have such a disorderly houseas this? Why don't you sweep the floor and put things in place?"

"Och! hinny, and how can I swape the floor without a brum?" saidBridget, looking up in some dismay. 

"Didn't my father order James to give you a broom whenever you wantone? Here Pat", said she, to a ragged urchin about her own age, whowas tumbling about over the floor with a little dirty-faced baby, "here, take this jack-knife and go down to the river by Mrs. Campbell's new house and cut some hemlock boughs. Be quick, and bringthem back as fast as you can". Pat started at once. 

Adèle then deliberately took off her bonnet and shawl, rolled them upinto as small a package as she could make, and placed them on thenearest approximation to a clean spot that could be found. Then shestooped down, took the baby from the floor and handed him to hismother. 

Here, Bridget, take Johnny, wash his face and put him on a cleandress. I know he has another dress and it ought to be clean". 

"Yes. He's got one you gave him, Miss Ady, but it aint clane at all. Shure it's time to wash I'm wanting, it is". 

"Now, don't tell me, Bridget, that you have not time to wash yourchildren's clothes and keep them decent. You need not spend so manyhours smoking your pipe over the ashes". 

"You wouldn't deprive a poor cratur of all the comfort she has in theworld, would ye, hinny?"

"You ought to take comfort in keeping your house and children clean, Bridget". 

In the meanwhile, Bridget had washed Johnny's face, and there being noclean dress ready for the little fellow, Adèle said, "Come, Bridget, put on a kettle of water, pick up your clothes, and do your washing". 

"Shure, and I will, if ye say so, Miss Ady". 

The poor shiftless thing having placed the baby on the floor again, began to stir about and make ready. 

Adèle sat poking and turning over the chubby little Johnny with herfoot. 

At last, Pat appeared with a moderate quantity of hemlock boughs, which Adèle told him to throw upon the floor, --then to hand her theknife and sit down by her side and learn to make a broom. Sheselected, clipped, and laid together the boughs, until she had madequite a pile; sent Pat for a strong piece of twine and an old broomhandle and then secured the boughs firmly upon it. 

"Now Pat", she said, "here is a nice, new jack-knife. If you willpromise me that you will cut boughs and make your mother two newbrooms, just like this, every week, the knife shall be yours". 

Pat, with eyes that stood out an unmentionable distance, and mouthstretched from ear to ear, promised, and Adèle proceeded vigorously tosweep the apartment. In the course of half an hour, the room wore awholly different aspect. 

"And who tould the like of ye, how to make a brum like that, hinny?"said Bridget, looking on in admiration of her skill. 

"Nobody told me. I saw Aunt Patty McNab do it once. You see it is easyto do. Now, Bridget, remember. Have your house clean after this, or Iwill not come to see you". 

"Yes, shure, I'll have them blessed brums as long's there's a treegrows". 

And true it was, that Adèle's threat not to visit her cabin provedsuch a salutary terror to poor Bridget, that there was a perceptibleimprovement in her domestic arrangements ever after. 

As Adèle grew older, the ascendency she had obtained in her obscureempire daily increased. At twelve, she was sent to a convent atHalifax, where she remained three years. At the end of that period, she returned to Miramichi, and resumed at once her regal sceptre. Thesway she held over the people was really one of love, grounded on arecognition of her superiority. Circulating among them freely, shebecame thoroughly acquainted with their habits and modes of living, and she was ever ready to aid them, under their outward wants andtheir deeper heart troubles. A community must have some one to look upto, whether conscious of the want or not. Hero-worship is natural tothe human soul, and the miscellaneous group of women and childrenscattered over the settlement, found in Adèle a strong, joyous, self-relying spirit, able to help them out of their difficulties, whocould cheer them when down-hearted, and spur them up when gettingdiscouraged or inefficient. 

But, added to this were the charms of her youthful beauty, which eventhe humblest felt, without perhaps knowing it, and an air of authoritythat swept away all opposition, and held, at times, even Aunt PattyMcNab at arms' length. Yes, it must be confessed that the young ladywas in the habit of queening it over the people; but they wereperfectly willing to have it so, and both loved and were proud oftheir little despot. 

In the mean time, the Dubois family were living a life within a life, to the _locale_ of which the render must now be introduced. 

It has been said that the outward aspect of their dwelling wasrespectable, and in that regard was not greatly at variance, except insize, with the surrounding habitations. Within, however, there wereapartments furnished and adorned in such a manner as to betoken thecharacter and tastes of the inmates. 

In the second story, directly over the spacious dining room alreadydescribed, there was a long apartment with two windows reaching nearlyto the floor. It was carpeted with crimson and black Brussels, contained two sofas of French workmanship, made in a heavy, thoughrich style, covered with cloth also of crimson and black; with chairsfashioned and carved to match the couches, and finished in the samematerial. A quaint-looking piano stood in one corner of the room. Inthe centre was a Chinese lacquered table on which stood a lamp inbronze, the bowl of which was supported by various broadly-smiling, grotesque creatures, belonging to a genus known only in the domain offable. 

On the evening following the burial of poor Pat McGrath, Mrs. Duboissat in this apartment, engaged in embroidering a fancy piece of dressfor Adèle. That young lady was reclining upon a sofa, and was lookingearnestly at a painting of the Madonna, a copy from some old master, hanging nearly opposite to her. It was now bathed in the yellowmoonlight, which heightened the wonderfully saintly expression in thecountenances of the holy mother and child. 

"See! _ma bonne mère_, the blessed Marie looks down on us with a sweetsmile to-night". 

"She always looks kindly upon us, _chère_, when we try to do right", said Mrs. Dubois, smiling. "Doubtless you have tried to be good to-dayand she approves your effort". 

"Now, just tell me, _ma chère mère_, how she would regard me to-nightif I had committed one wicked deed to-day". 

"This same Marie looks sad and wistful sometimes, my Adèle". 

"True. But not particularly at _such_ times. It depends on which sidethe light strikes the picture, whether she looks sad or smiling. Justthat, and nothing more. Now the moonlight gives her a smilingexpression. And please listen, _chère mère_. I have heard that thereis, somewhere, a Madonna, into whose countenance the old painterendeavored to throw an air of profoundest repose. He succeeded. I haveheard that that picture has a strange power to soothe. Gazing upon itthe spirit grows calm and the voice unconsciously sinks into awhisper. Our priests would tell the common people that it is amiraculous influence exerted upon them by the Virgin herself, whereasit is only the effect produced by the exquisite skill of the artist. _Eh, bien!_ our church is full of superstitions". 

"We will talk no more of it, _ma fille_. You do not love the holy_Marie_ as you ought, I fear". 

"Love her! indeed I do. She is the most blest and honored amongwomen, --the mother of the Saviour. But why should we pray to her, whenJesus is the only intercessor for our sins with the Father? Why, _machère mère_?"

_"Helas! ma fille_. You learned to slight the intercession of the holysaints while you were at the convent. It is strange. I thought I couldtrust you there". 

"Do not think it the fault of the sisters, _chère mère_. They didtheir duty. This way of thinking _came_ to me. I did not seek it, indeed". 

"How did it come to you, _ma pauvre fille_?"

"I will tell you. The first time I went into the convent parlor, Sister Adrienne, thinking to amuse me, took me around the room andshowed me its curiosities. But I was filled, with an infinite disgust. I did not distinctly know then why I was so sickened, but I understandit all now". 

"What did you see, Adèle?"

"Eh! those horrid relics of saints, --those teeth, those bones, thoselocks of hair in the cabinet. Then that awful skeleton of sisterAgnes, who founded the convent and was the first Abbess, covered withwax and preserved in a crystal case! I thought I was in somecharnel-house. I could hardly breathe. Do you like such parlorornaments as those, _ma chère mère_?"

"Not quite". 

"What do we want of the dry bones of the saints, when we have memoirsof their precious lives? They would themselves spurn the superstitionthat consecrates mere earthly dust. It nauseates me to think of it". 

"_Procedez, ma fille_". 

"My friend from the States, Mabel Barton, came to the convent, the dayI arrived. As our studies were the same, and as, at first, we wereboth homesick, the sisters permitted us to be together much of thetime. _Eh! bien!_ I read her books, her Bible, and so light dawned. She used to pray to the Father, through the Redeemer. I liked that waybest. But _ma mère_, our cathedral service is sublime. There isnothing like _that_. Now you will forgive me. The arches, the altar, the incense, the glorious surging waves of music, --these raised me andMabel, likewise, up to the lofty third heaven. How high, how holy wefelt, when we worshipped there. Because I like the cathedral, you willforgive me for all I said before, --will you not, _ma chère mère_?"

Turning her head suddenly towards her mother, Adèle saw her eyesfilled with tears. 

"_Eh! ma chère mère, pardonnez moi_. I have pained you". And she roseand flung her arms, passionately, around her mother's neck. 

"_Pauvre fille!_" said the mother, returning her embrace mournfully, "you will wander away from the church, --our holy church. It would nothave been thus, had we remained in sunny Picardy. _Eh! oublier je nepuis_. "

"What is it, _chère mère_", said Adèle, "that you cannot forget? Thereis something I have long wished to know. What was there, before youcame here to live? Why do you sometimes sit and look so thoughtful, sosad and wishful? Tell me;--tell me, that I may comfort you". 

"I will tell you all, Adèle, yes, --all. It is time for you to know, but--not to-night--not to-night". 

"To-morrow then, _ma mère_?"

"Yes. Yes--to-morrow". 

CHAPTER X. 

PICARDY. 

"Weep ye not for the dead, neither bemoan him: but, weep sore for himthat goeth away: for he shall return no more, nor see his nativecountry". The prophet, who wrote these words, well knew the exile'sgrief. He was himself an exile. He thought of Jerusalem, the city ofhis home, his love, and his heart was near to breaking. He hung hisharp upon the willow; he sat down by the streams of Babylon and wept. 

The terrible malady of homesickness, --it has eaten out the vigor andbeauty of many a life. The soul, alien to all around, forlorn amid themost enchanting scenes, filled with ceaseless longing for a renewal ofpast delights, can never find a remedy, until it is transplanted backto its native clime. 

Nor was the prophet singular in his experience of the woes of exile. We have heard of the lofty-spirited Dante, wandering from city tocity, carrying with him, in banishment, irrepressible and unsatisfiedyearnings for his beloved Florence; we have seen the Greek Islander, borne a captive from home, sighing, in vain, for the dash and roar ofhis familiar seas; we have seen the Switzer, transplanted to milderclimes and more radiant sides, yet longing for the stern mountainforms, the breezes and echoes of his native land. Ah! who does notremember, with a shudder, the despairing thoughts, choking tears, anddays of silent misery that clouded his own boyhood, and perhaps evensome days of his early manhood?

_Oublier je ne puis_. Poor lady! she had been homesick twenty years. 

On the afternoon following the conversation recorded in the lastchapter, Mrs. Dubois was ready to unfold to Adèle the story of herpast life. They were sitting in the parlor. The golden glory of theSeptember sun gave an intense hue to the crimson furniture, lighted upthe face of the Madonna with a new radiance, and touched the ivorykeys of the piano with a fresh polish. Adèle's eyes were fixed witheager expectation upon her mother. 

"You know, _ma chère_", Mrs. Dubois began, "we once lived in France. But you cannot know, I trust you never may, what it cost us to leaveour beautiful Picardy, --what we have suffered in remaining here, exiled in this rude country. Yet then it seemed our best course. Indeed, we thought there was no other path for us so good as this. Wewere young, and did not enough consider, perhaps, what such a changein our life involved. I must tell you, my Adèle, how it came about. 

"In the province of Picardy not many miles from the city of Amiens, there was a fine, but not large estate, bordering on the River Somme. A long avenue of poplars led from the main road up a gentle slopeuntil it opened upon a broad, green plateau of grass, studded withgiant trees, the growth of centuries. Here and there were trim littleflower-beds, laid out in a variety of fantastic shapes, with stiff, glossy, green, closely-clipped borders of box. And, what was mychildish admiration and delight, there was a fountain that poureditself out in oozing, dripping drops from the flowing hair and fingertips of a marble Venus, just rising in the immense basin and wringingout her locks. Then the park, --there was none more beautiful, morestately, extending far back to the banks of the Somme, where birds saton every bough and the nightingale seemed to pour its very heart away, singing so thrillingly and so long. I hear the liquid notes now, myAdèle, so tender, so sweet! At the end of the avenue of poplars ofwhich I spoke stood the chateau, with the trim flower-beds in front. It was built of brown stone, not much ornamented externally, with fourround towers, one in each corner. Though not as old as some of thosecastles, it had been reared several centuries before, by a Count deRossillon, who owned the estate and lived on it. 

"In that chateau, I first saw the light of day, and there I spent myhappy childhood and youth. 

"The estate of Rossillon had been bequeathed by the will of mygrandfather, to his two sons. The elder, the present Count deRossillon, inherited the larger portion; my father, the younger son, the smaller share. 

"My father was a Bonapartist, and at the time of his marriage held ahigh rank in the army. During his absence from the country, my motherresided at the chateau with her brother-in-law, the Count. 

"One day in June, news arrived of the sudden death of my father. It wascommunicated to my mother, by the messenger who brought it, withoutprecaution. That night, one hour after, I was ushered into an orphanedexistence and my mother took her departure from the world. Think ofme, Adèle, thus thrown a waif upon the shore of life. Yet, though bornin the shadow of a great sorrow, sunlight struck across my path. 

"The faithful _bonne_, who had taken care of my mother in her infancyand had never left her, now took charge of me. She watched over mefaithfully and filled up my childhood with affectionate attention andinnocent pastime. My uncle, the Count, who had never been married, loved, petted, and indulged me in every wish. When I grew old enough, he secured a governess well qualified to teach and discipline me. Under her care, with the aid of masters in Latin, music, and drawing, from Amiens, I went through the course of instruction considerednecessary for young ladies at that time. 

"I was at your age my Adèle when I first met your father. He was notthe bronzed and careworn man you see him now. Ah! no. He was young andgay, with a falcon glance and, black wreathing locks hanging over hiswhite, smooth brow. His father was of noble blood, and sympathizedwarmly with the dethroned Bourbons. He was no lover of the greatConsul. The political troubles in France had operated in ways greatlyto impoverish his house. 

"He owned and occupied only the remnant of what had been a largeestate, adjoining that of the Count de Ros. 

"While acquiring his education, your father, except at occasionalintervals, was six years from home, and it so happened that I nevermet him in my childhood. Indeed, the families were not on terms ofintimacy. On his return from the University, I first saw him. _Eh!bien!_ It is the same old story that you have heard and read of, inyour books, my Adèle. We became acquainted, I will not stop now, totell you how, and soon learned to love each other. Time passed on, andat last your father sought the consent of my uncle, to our marriage. But he put aside the proposition with anger and scorn. He thought thatClaude Dubois was neither distinguished nor rich enough to match hisniece. In his heart, he had reserved me for some conspicuous positionin the great circle at Paris, while I had given myself to an obscureyouth in Picardy. 

"Your father was too honorable to ask me to marry him without theconsent of the Count, and too proud to take me in his poverty. So oneday, after his stormy interview with my uncle, he came to me and saidhe was going away to endeavor to get fame, or wealth, to bestow uponme and make himself more worthy in the eyes of the Count de Rossillon. Yet he wished to release me from any feeling of obligation to him, as, he said, I was too young and had too little acquaintance with life andsociety to know fully my own heart. It would not be right, he thought, to bind me to himself by any promise. I told him my affection for himwould never change, but acquiesced in his arrangements with a sad andforeboding heart. In a few weeks, he embarked for India. 

"Then my uncle roused himself from the inertia of his quiet habits andmade arrangements for a journey through France and Italy, which hesaid I was to take with him. 

"I received the announcement with indifference, being wholly occupiedwith grief at the bitter separation from your father. The changehowever proved salutary, and, in a week after our departure, I felthope once more dawning in my heart. 

"The country through which we travelled was sunny and beautiful, veinedwith sparkling streams, shadowed by forests, studded with the oliveand mulberry, and with vines bearing the luscious grape for thevintage. The constant change of scene and the daily renewal of objectsof interest and novelty, combined with the elasticity of youth, brought back some degree of my former buoyancy and gayety. My unclewas so evidently delighted with the return of my old cheerfulness, andexerted himself so much to heighten it in every way, that I knew hesincerely loved me, and was doing what he really thought would in theend contribute to my happiness. He judged that my affection for yourfather was a transient, youthful dream, and would soon be forgotten;he fancied, no doubt, I was even then beginning to wake up from it. Hewished to prevent me from forming an early and what he considered animprudent marriage, which I might one day regret, unavailingly. 

"And it proved to be all right, my Adèle. Your father and I were bothyoung, and the course the Count de Rossillon took with us, was a goodthough severe test of our affection. In the meanwhile, I was secretlysustained by the hope that your father's efforts would be crowned withsuccess, and that, after a few years, he would return and my uncle, having found, that nothing could draw me from my attachment to him, would out of his own love for me and consideration for my happiness, at last consent to our union. 

"We crossed the Alps and went into Italy. Here a new world was openedto me, --a world of beauty and art. It bestowed upon me many hours ofexquisite enjoyment. The Count travelled with his own carriage andservants, and we lingered wherever I felt a desire to prolong myobservations. He purchased a collection of pictures, statues, andother gems and curiosities of art. Among the rest, the Madonna there, my Adèle, which he presented to me, because I so much liked it. But Imust not linger now. On our return to France, we spent a month atParis, and there, though too young to be introduced into society, Imet in private many distinguished and fashionable people, who werefriends of the Count. 

"We were absent from the chateau one year. It was pleasant to get backto the dear old place, where I had spent such a happy childhood, thescene too of so many precious interviews with your beloved father. Wereturned again to our former life of quiet ease, enlivened at frequentintervals by the visits of guests from abroad and by those of friendsand acquaintances among the neighboring nobility. Though I received notidings from your father, a secret hope still sustained me. A fewtimes only, during the first three years of his absence, did I losemy cheerfulness. Those were, when some lover pressed his suit and Iknew that in repelling it, I was upsetting some cherished scheme of myuncle. But I will do him the justice to say that he bore it patiently, and, only at long intervals, gave vent to his vexation anddisappointment. 

"It was when my hope concerning your father's return began to fail, andanxiety respecting his fate began to be indulged in its stead, that myspirits gave way. At the close of the fourth year of his absence, mypeace was wholly gone and my days were spent in the restless agony ofsuspense. My health was rapidly failing, and my uncle who knew thecause of my prostration, instead of consulting a physician, in thekindness of his heart, took me to Paris. But the gayeties to which Iwas there introduced were distasteful to me. I grew every moment moresad. Just when my uncle was in despair, I was introduced accidentallyto the Countess de Morny, a lovely lady, who had lost her husband andthree children, and had passed through much sorrow. 

"Gradually, she drew me to her heart and I told her all my grief. Shedealt very tenderly with me, my Adèle. She did not seek to cheer me byinspiring fresh hopes of your father's return. No. She told me, Imight never be Claude Dubois's happy bride, but that I might be theblessed bride of Jesus. In short, she led me gently into theconsolations of our Holy Church. Under her influence and guidance Icame into a state of sweet resignation to the divine will, --a peacefulrest indeed, after the terrible alternations of suspense and despairI had suffered. But, my Adèle, it was only by constant prayers to theblessed _Marie_ that my soul was kept from lapsing into its formerstate of dreadful unrest. _Ma chère_ Adèle, you know not what you do, when you speak slightingly of our Holy Church. I should then havedied, had I not found rest in my prayers to the blessed mother. Now, you are young and gay, but the world is full of sorrow. It mayovertake you as it did me. Then you will need a hope, a consolation, arefuge. There is no peace like that found at the foot of the cross, imploring the intercession of the compassionate, loving _Marie_. Donot wander away from the sweet eyes of the mother of Christ, _mafille_". 

Here Mrs. Dubois ceased speaking, and turned a tearful, affectionategaze upon her daughter. Adèle's eyes, that had been fixed upon hermother with earnest, absorbed attention, filled with tears, instantly. 

"_Ma chère mère_, I would not make you unhappy. I will try not to giveyou pain. Please go on and tell me all". 

"_Eh! bien! ma chère_, my uncle was pleased to see me becoming morepeaceful. Finding I was not attracted by the pleasures of the gaycity, he proposed our return to the chateau, and begged the Countessde Morny to accompany us. At my urgent request, she consented. 

"On the day of our arrival, the Countess weary with the journey, havinggone to her own apartments, I went to stroll in the beautiful, belovedpark. It was June, --that month so full of leaves, flowers, birds, andbalmy summer winds. I sat at the foot of an old beech-tree, leaningmy head against its huge trunk, listening to the flow of the river, indulging in dangerous reverie, --dangerous certainly to my peace ofmind. Suddenly, I was startled by the sound of footsteps. Before Icould collect my scattered senses, your father stood before me. '_Marie_, ' he said, '_Marie_. '

"For one moment, I met his earnest, questioning gaze, and then rushedinto his open arms. In short, he had come back from India, not a richman, but with a competence, and when he found I had not forgotten him, but had clung to him still, through those weary years of absence, heresolved to see the Count de Rossillon and renew the request he hadmade four years previous. 

"My uncle, though much surprised at his sudden appearance, received himpolitely, if not cordially. When your father had laid before him asimple statement of our case, he replied frankly. "

"I am convinced", he said, "by what I have observed during yourabsence, M. Dubois, that the arrangement you propose, is the only one, which will secure Marie's happiness. I will say, however, honestly, that it is far enough from what I designed for her. But the manlinessand honorable feeling you have manifested in the affair, make me morewilling to resign her to you than I should otherwise have been, as Icannot but hope that, although deprived of the advantages of wealthand station, she will yet have the faithful affection of a true andnoble heart". This was enough for us both and more than we expected". 

"But a new difficulty arose. Upon observing the troubled and uncertainstate of affairs in France, your father became convinced that hischances to secure the ends he had in view, would be greater in the newworld. After a brief period of deliberation, he fixed upon a plan ofgoing to British America, and purchasing there a large tract of land, thus founding an estate, the value of which he anticipated wouldincrease with the growth of the country". 

"To this arrangement, the Count was strenuously opposed. There was apretty embowered residence, a short distance from the chateau, on theportion of the estate I had inherited from my father. There he wishedus to live. In short, he wished to retain us near himself. But yourfather, with the enterprise and enthusiasm of youth, persisted in hispurpose. At last, my uncle gave a reluctant consent and purchased myshare of the estate of Rossillon". 

"Not to my surprise, but to my great gratification, soon after this, the gentle Countess de Morny consented to become the Countess deRossillon". 

"Surrounded by a joyous group of friends, one bright Septembermorning, in the chapel of _St. Marie_, they were married, and then thepriest united me to your father. The sweet mother looked down fromabove the altar and seemed to give us a smiling blessing. We were veryhappy, my Adèle". 

"In a few days we set sail for New Brunswick. We arrived at St. John inOctober and there spent the following winter. In the spring, yourfather explored this region and made a large purchase of land here. Atthat time it seemed a desirable investment. But you see how it is, myAdèle. All has resulted strangely different from what we anticipated. And somehow it has always been difficult to change our home. From timeto time, we have thought of it, --obstacles have arisen and--we arestill here". 

"But where is the Count de Rossillon, mother? It is twenty years, isit not, since you left France? Does he yet live?"

"_Ah! ma chère_, we know not. After our departure from France wereceived frequent letters from him and the dear Countess until fiveyears since, when the letters ceased. They constantly urged our returnto Rossillon. You remember well the thousand pretty toys and giftsthey showered upon your childhood?"

"Ah! yes, mother, I remember. And you have not heard a word from themfor five years!"

"Not a word". 

"Do you wish to go back to France, mother?"

"It is the only wish of my heart that is unsatisfied. I am full ofceaseless yearnings for the beautiful home of my youth. Would that wecould return there. But it may not be. France is in a state ofturmoil. I know not what fate has befallen either my uncle, or hisestate. He may be dead. Or, if living, he may no longer be theproprietor of beautiful Rossillon. We cannot learn how it is". 

"Cannot my father go to France and ascertain what has happened there?Perhaps, mother, he might find a home for you once more in your dearPicardy". 

"He is thinking of it even now, _ma fille_". 

"Is he, mother? Then be comforted. You will see that sweet home oncemore, I feel assured". 

She rose and flung her arms around Mrs. Dubois, exclaiming, "Dear, beautiful mother!"

An hour later, Adèle might have been seen, wandering about in Micah'sgrove, her mind and heart overflowing with new, strange thoughts andemotions. She had just received the first full revelation of the earlylife of her parents. Her knowledge of it before had been merely vagueand confused. Now a new world was opened for her active fancy to revelin, and fresh fountains of sympathy to pour forth, for those whom sheso fondly loved. She sighed as she recalled that yearning, wistfullook upon her mother's face, in those hours when her thoughts seemedfar away from the present scene, and grieved that her gentle spiritshould so long have suffered the exile's woe. 

For weeks after, she continually fell into reverie. In her day dreamsshe wandered through the saloons and corridors of the old chateau, where her mother had spent so many years, chequered with sunshine andshade. She rambled over the park and cooled her fevered head and handsin the water that dripped from the tresses of the marble Aphrodite. Fancy took her over the route of foreign travel, her mother hadpursued with the Count de Rossillon. She longed herself to visit thoseregions of classic and romantic interest. During the long, golden, September afternoons, she spent hours, in the Madonna room, questioning her mother anew respecting the scenes and events of herpast life, and listening eagerly to her replies. The young examinedistant objects as through a prism. Adèle's imagination invested thesescenes and events with rainbow splendors and revelled in the wealthand beauty, she had herself partially created. The new world thusopened to her was infinitely superior to the one in which she held hercommonplace, humdrum existence. She never wearied of her mother'sreminiscences of the past. Each fresh description, each recalled itemof that history, added to the extent and the charms of her new world. 

Mrs. Dubois herself felt a degree of pleasure in thus living overagain her former life with one, who entered artlessly andenthusiastically into its joys and sorrows. She also experienced aninfinite relief in pouring out to her sympathizing child the regretsand longings which had, for so long a period, been closely pent in herown breast. Mother and daughter were drawn nearer to each other day byday, and those hours of sweet communion were among the purest, thehappiest of their lives. 

CHAPTER XI. 

MR. BROWN. 

Nearly two weeks had elapsed since the night when Mr. Dubois hadbrought Mr. Brown, in a sick and fainting condition, into his house. That gentleman had lain very ill ever since. The disease was typhoidfever; the patient was in a critical state, and nothing now but theutmost care and quiet could save his life. 

"What directions have you left for to-day, Dr. Wright?" said Adèle tothe physician, as he came one morning from the sick-room. 

"Mrs. McNab has the programme", he replied. 

"Will you please repeat it to me, sir? Mrs. McNab has been calledelsewhere, and will not have charge of the gentleman to-day". 

Mrs. Dubois looked at Adèle with some surprise. She made no remark, however, as Dr. Wright immediately began to give the directions forhis patient to that young lady. 

When he had taken leave and closed the door, Adèle turned to hermother and said, "I have suspected for several days that things werenot going on properly in that sick-room. Last night, I becameconvinced of it. I cannot stop to tell you about it now, mamma, asthere is no time to lose with our invalid. But Mrs. McNab mustdecamp. I have it all arranged, and I promise you I will not offendAunt Patty, but will dismiss her peaceably. Do trust her to me once, mamma. Please go now and tell her there is a message waiting for herin the dining-room. Stay with Mr. Brown just one half hour, and youshall have no more trouble to-day". 

"But, _ma chère_, you have no patience with Aunt Patty. I am afraidyou will be too abrupt with her". 

"Don't fear, mamma, I promise you I will not outrage Aunt Patty. Please go". 

"Ah! well! I will go", said Mrs. Dubois. 

Mrs. McNab soon made her appearance in the dining-room, and, with somedegree of trepidation, inquired who wanted her there. 

"Micah was here an hour ago", replied Adèle, "and said Mrs. Campbellsent him here to ask you to come and help her. Four of her childrenare sick with the measles and she is nearly down herself, inconsequence of fatigue and watching. I did not speak to you then, as Isupposed you were sleeping. I told Micah I had no doubt you wouldcome, as there are enough here to take care of the sick gentleman, andMrs. Campbell needs you so much". 

"Weel, Miss Ady", said Mrs. McNab, twitching violently a stray lock ofher flaming hair and tucking it beneath her cap, "I dinna ken how youcould tak' upon yourself to send such a ward as that, when Mr. Brownis just on the creesis of his fever and not one of ye as knows how-totak' care o' him more than a nussin' babe". 

"Ah! indeed! Aunt Patty", said Adèle, pretending to be offended, "doyou say that my mother knows nothing about sickness, when you areaware she has carried my father through two dangerous fevers and methrough all the diseases of babyhood and childhood?"

"That mon 'ull never get weel if I leave him noo, when I've the run ofthe muddesons and directions. A strange hand 'ull put everything wrangand he'll dee, that's a'". 

"And if he does die", said Adèle, "you will not be responsible. Youhave done what you could for him and now you are called away. I amsure you will not permit Mrs. Campbell to suffer, when she gave you acomfortable home in her house all last winter". 

"Weel, Mrs. Cawmmells' a gude woman enough and I'm sorry the bairnsare sick. But what's the measles to a fever like this, and the monnigh dead noo?" Aunt Patty's face flushed scarlet. 

"Aunt Patty", said Adèle, very slowly and decidedly, "Mr. Brown is myfather's guest. We are accountable for his treatment, and not you. Mymother and I are going to take charge of him now. I sent word to Mrs. Campbell that there was nothing to prevent you from coming to assisther. You have had your share of the fatigue and watching with ourinvalid. Now we are going to relieve you". There was something inAdèle's determined air, that convinced Mrs. McNab the time for her toyield had at length come, and that it was of no use for her to contestthe field longer. Feeling sure of this, there were various reasons, occurring to her on the instant, that restrained her from a furtherexpression of her vexation. After a few moments of sullen silence, sherose and said--

"Weel! I'll go and put my things tegither, that's in Mr. Brown's room, and tell Mrs. Doobyce aboot the muddesons and so on". 

"That is not necessary", said Adèle; "The Dr. Has given me directionsabout the medicines. Here is breakfast all ready for you, Aunt Patty. Sit down and eat it, while it is hot. I will go to the gentleman'sroom and gather up what you have left there. Come, sit down now". 

Adèle placed a pot of hot coffee and a plate of warm rolls upon thetable. 

Mrs. McNab stood for a moment, much perplexed between her impulse togo back to Mr. Brown's room and unburden her mind to Mrs. Dubois, andthe desire to partake immediately of the tempting array upon thebreakfast-table. Finally, her material wants gained the ascendency andshe sat down very composedly to a discussion of the refreshments, while Adèle, anticipating that result, hastened up stairs to collectthe remaining insignia of that worthy woman's departing greatness. 

Mrs. Dubois, on going to Mr. Brown's room, had found the atmosphereclose and suffocating, and that gentleman, tossing restlessly on thebed from side to side, talking to himself in a wild delirium. She leftthe door ajar and began bathing his fevered head in cool water. Thisseemed to soothe him greatly and he sank back almost immediately intoa deathlike slumber, in which he lay when Adèle entered the chamber. 

Cautioned by her mother's uplifted finger, she moved aboutnoiselessly, until she had made up a large and miscellaneous packageof articles; then descended quietly, inwardly resolving that the"Nuss" as she called herself, should not for several weeks at least, revisit the scene of her late operations. 

Mrs. McNab was still pursuing her breakfast, and Adèle sat down, withwhat patience she could command, to wait for the close. 

"You'll be wanting some ain to watch to-night, Miss Ady", said AuntPatty. 

"Yes, Mr. Norton will do that. He has offered many times to watch. Hewill be very kind and attentive to the invalid, I know". 

"I s'pose he'll do as weel as he knows hoo, but I havena much faith ina mon that sings profane sangs and ca's 'em relegious heems, to apeople that need the bread o' life broken to 'em". 

"Have you heard him sing, Aunt Patty? I did not know you had attendedhis meetings at the grove". 

"I havena, surely. But when the windows were up, I heard him singin'them jigs and reels, and I expectin' every minut to see the men, women, and bairns a dancin'". 

"They sit perfectly still, while he is singing", said Adèle, "andlisten as intently as if they heard an angel. His voice is sometimeslike a flute, sometimes like a trumpet. Did you hear the words hesang?"

"The wards! yes! them's the warst of a!" said Mrs. McNab, expandingher nostrils with a snort of contempt. "They bear na resemblancewhatever to the Psalms o' David. I should as soon think o' singingthe' sangs o' Robby Burns at a relegious service as them blasphemousthings". 

"Oh! Aunt Patty, you are wrong. He sings beautiful hymns, and he tellsthese people just what they need. I hope they will listen to him andreform". 

"Weel he's a very light way o' carryin himself, for a minister o' thegospel, I must say". 

"He is cheerful, to be sure, and sympathizes with the people, andhelps them in their daily labor sometimes, if that is what you referto. I am sure that is right, and I like him for it", said Adèle. 

"Weel! I see he's a' in a' with you, noo", said Mrs. McNab, at lastrising from the table. "I'll go up noo and tak' leave o' the patient". 

"No, no", said Adèle. "He is sleeping. He must not be disturbed on anyaccount. His life may depend upon this slumber remaining unbroken". 

She rose involuntarily and placed herself against the door leading tothe stairs. 

Mrs. McNab grew red with anger, at being thus foiled. Turning aside tohide her vexation, she waddled across the room, took her bonnet andshawl from a peg she had appropriated to her special use, andproceeded to invest herself for her departure. 

"Weel! I s'pose ye'll expect me to come when ye send for me", saidshe, turning round in the doorway with a grotesque distortion of herface intended for an ironical smile. 

"That is just as you please, Aunt Patty. We shall be happy to see youwhenever you choose to come. Good-by". 

"Good by", said Mrs. McNab in a quacking, quavering, half resentfultone, as she closed the door behind her. 

Adèle went immediately to the adjoining pantry, called Bess, a tidylooking mulatto, gave her directions for the morning work and thenwent up stairs to relieve her mother. Mrs. Dubois made signs to herthat she preferred not to resign her post. But Adèle silently insistedshe should do so. 

After her mother had left the room, she placed herself near thebedside that she might observe the countenance and the breathing ofthe invalid. His face was pale as that of death. His breath came andwent almost imperceptibly. The physician had excluded every ray ofsunshine and a hush, like that of the grave, reigned in the apartment. In her intercourse with the people of the settlement, Adèle had oftenwitnessed extreme illness and several dying scenes; but she had neverbefore felt herself so oppressed and awestruck as now. As she satthere alone with the apparently dying man, she felt that a silent, yetmighty struggle was going on between the forces of life and death. Shefeared death would obtain the victory. By a terrible fascination, hereyes became fixed on the ghastly face over which she fancied she couldperceive, more and more distinctly, shadows cast by the hand of thedestroyer. Every moment she thought of recalling her mother, butfeared that the slightest jarring movement of the atmosphere mightstop at once that feeble respiration. So she remained, watching terrorstricken, waiting for the last, absolute silence, --the immovablerepose. 

Suddenly, she heard a long, deep-drawn sigh. She saw the head of thesufferer turn gently on one side, pressing the pillow. A color--thefaintest in the world, stole over the features. The countenancegradually settled into a calm, natural expression. The respirationbecame stronger and more regular. In a few moments, he slept as softlyas a little child. 

Adèle's heart gave one bound, and then for a moment stood still. Sheuttered a sigh of relief, but sank back in her chair, wearied byexcess of emotion. She felt instinctively, that the crisis had beensafely passed, that there was hope for the invalid. 

Then, for a long time, her mind was occupied with thoughts respectingdeath and the beyond. 

Suddenly a shadow, flitting across the curtained window recalled herto the present scene. 

Ah! what a mercy, she thought, that Aunt Patty did not kill him, before I discovered her beautiful mode of nursing sick people. Nowonder he has been crazed all this time, with those strange manoeuvresof hers!

On the previous, night, Adèle had been the last of the family toretire. Stealing noiselessly past the door of the sick-room, which wassomewhat ajar, her steps were arrested by hearing Aunt Patty, whosevoice was pitched on a very high key, singing some old Scotch song. Thinking this rather a strange method of composing the nervous systemof a delirious patient, she stood and listened. Up, far up, into theloftiest regions of sound, went Aunt Patty's cracked and quaveringvoice, and then it came down with a heavy, precipitous fall into aloud grumble and tumble below. She repeated again and again, in a mosthilarious tone, the words--

 "Let us go, lassie, go, To the braes of Balquhither, Where the blaebarries grow. 'Mang the bonnie Highland heather". 

In the midst of this, Adèle heard a deep groan. Then she heard theinvalid say in a feeble, deprecating tone--

"Ah! why do you mock me? Am I not miserable enough?"

Mrs. McNab stopped a moment, then replied in a sharp voice, "Mockin'ye! indeed, it's na such thing. If ye had an atom o' moosic in ye, yewad ken at ance, its a sweet Scotch sang I'm singin' to ye. I've sungmony a bairn to sleep wi' it". 

There was no reply to this remark. All was quiet for a moment, whenAdèle, fancying she heard the clinking of a spoon against the side ofa tumbler, leaned forward a little and looked through the aperturemade by the partially opened door. The nurse was sitting by the fire, in her huge headgear, wrapped in a shawl and carefully stirring, whatseemed, by the odor exhaled, to be whiskey. Her face was very red andher eyes wide open, staring at the coals. 

The sufferer uttered some words, which Adèle could not distinguish, inan excited voice. 

"I tell ye, there isna ony hope for ye", said Mrs. McNab, who, forsome reason, not apparent, seemed to be greatly irritated by whateverremarks her patient made. 

"There isna ony hope for thum that hasna been elected. Ye might talkan' pray a' yer life and 'twould do ye na gude, I dinna ken whereyou've been a' yer life, not to ken that afore. With a' yer furbelowedclaithes and jewelled watch and trinkets, ye dinna ken much aboot thegospel. And then, this new preacher a' tellin' the people they can besaved ony minut they choose to gie up their hearts to the Lord! Its a'tegither false. I was taught in the Kirk o' Scotland, that a mon mightpray and pray a' his days, and then he wadna be sure o' bein' saved. That's the blessed doctrine I was taught. If ye are to be saved, yewill be. There noo, go to sleep. I'll read the ward o' God to ye". 

Alas! for the venerable church of old Scotia, had she many suchexponents of her doctrine as Mrs. McNab. 

Having thus relieved her mind, the nurse swallowed the contents of thetumbler. She then rose, drew a chair towards a table, on which stood ashaded lamp and took from thence a Bible; but finding her eyesightrather dim, withdrew to a cot in one corner of the room, threw herselfdown and was soon sleeping, and snoring prodigiously. 

Adèle, who had, during the enactment of this scene, been preventedfrom rushing in and deposing Mrs. McNab at once, only by a fear ofexciting the patient to a degree of frenzy, stole in quietly, bathedhis head with some perfumed water, smoothed his pillow and seatedherself, near the fire, where she remained until morning. 

Mr. Brown slept only during the briefest intervals and was turningrestlessly and talking incoherently all night. 

Soon after day dawn, Aunt Patty began to bestir herself, but beforeshe had observed her presence, Adèle had escaped to her own room. Soon, hearing Micah's voice, she went to the kitchen. She found hismessage from Mrs. Campbell, just the excuse she needed to enable herto dispose of Mrs. McNab. She had become quite convinced that whatevergood qualities that worthy woman might possess as a nurse, herunfortunate proclivities towards the whiskey bottle, united with herrigid theological tenets, rendered it rather unsafe to trust herlonger with a patient, whose case required the most delicate care andattention. 

The queer, old clock in the dining-room struck one. Adèle heard it. She was still watching. Mr. Brown still slept that quiet sleep. Justthen, Mrs. Dubois entered, took her daughter's hand, led her to thedoor, and whispered--

"Now, take some food and go to rest. I will not leave him". Adèleobeyed. 

CHAPTER XII. 

A CASE OF CONSCIENCE. 

Mr. Brown remained in a peaceful slumber during the afternoon. Mrs. Dubois aroused him occasionally, in order to moisten his parched lips, and with her husband's aid and Mr. Norton's to change his position inthe bed. At such times he opened his eyes, gazed at them inquiringly, feebly assented to their arrangements, then sank away into sleepagain. 

The members of the family felt a peculiar interest in the stranger. Mr. Dubois had described him, as a man of intelligence, refined andelegant in his deportment and tastes. He had noticed in him, an air ofmelancholy, which even ludicrous events on the journey had dissipated, but for the moment. The wild words he had uttered on the night of hisarrival, revealed some deep disquiet of mind. Away from home, hoveringbetween life and death, and thrown on the tender mercies of strangers, Mrs. Dubois was filled with compassion and solicitude in his behalf. 

Having confidence in Mrs. McNab's skill as a nurse, she had notsuspected that her partiality for a hot dose at night, wouldinterfere with her faithfulness to her charge. Not having communicatedwith Adèle, she did not yet know why it had been deemed important todispose of her so summarily, and she secretly wondered how it had beenaccomplished with so little ado. When informed, she approved Adèle'sdecisive action. 

Mr. Norton had fully shared the interest felt by the family in thestranger, and was happy to relieve Mrs. Dubois in the evening and toremain by his bedside during the night. Since his first interview withMr. Brown, on the day of his arrival, he had felt that, inaccordance-with the vows by which he had bound himself to the greatMaster, the unfortunate stranger had a claim on him, which he resolvedto fulfil at the earliest moment possible. He had had no opportunityas yet, of executing his purpose, Mrs. McNab having guarded the doorof the sick-room like a lioness watching her cubs. When she had bychance permitted him to enter, he had found her patient wandering inmind and entirely incapable of coherent conversation. 

Meantime, he had prayed earnestly for his recovery and secretlyfelicitated himself with the hope of leading him to a rock ofrefuge, --a tower of defence, which would secure him from sin andsorrow. 

Mr. Brown continued to sleep so peacefully during the night, that Mr. Norton, whose hopes for his recovery had been increasing every hour, was not surprised at the dawn of day to perceive his eyes open, examining the objects in the room, with the air of a person justawakened from a bewildering dream. 

He gazed curiously at the heavy, carved bureau of dark wood, at thegrotesque little table, covered with vials and cups, at the cabinetfilled with specimens of foreign skill and art, at the Venetian carpetand at last, his eyes remained fixed upon a black crucifix, placed inthe centre of the mantle. He uttered a deep sigh. 

Mr. Norton, convinced that he had fully collected his scatteredthoughts and become aware of the realities of his situation, steppedgently forward from his station behind the bed and taking Mr. Brown'shand, said, in a cheerful tone, "How do you find yourself, my dearsir?"

After a momentary surprise, Mr. Brown replied--

"Better, I think, sir, better". 

"Yes sir. You _are_ better. I thank God for it. And also for thishospitable roof and the kind care these people have taken of you inyour illness. The Lord's angel must have guided your steps to thishouse, and mine also". 

"This house, sir! whose is it?"

"It belongs to Mr. Dubois". 

"Ah! I recollect. I came here with him and have been ill several days. And the country is--"

"Miramichi", said Mr. Norton. "A desperate region sir. A land wherethe darkness may be _felt_". 

Just then a ray of red, burning sunshine shot into the room. The goodman modified his remark, exclaiming, "Morally, sir, morally". 

Observing a cloud of anxiety stealing over Mr. Brown's face, he wenton. 

"Now, my dear sir, let me tell you--you have been very ill for twoweeks. The danger in your case is now over, but you are extremelyweak, and need, for a time, the attention of the two lovely nurses, who watched over you yesterday and are ready to bestow kind care uponyou again to-day. You must lay aside, for the present, all troubles ofmind and estate, and devote yourself to getting well. When you aresomewhat stronger, I have excellent things to tell you". 

"Excellent things!" exclaimed Mr. Brown, excitedly, --a flushoverspreading his wan features. "Has the traitor been found?" Thenwith a profound sigh of disappointment, he uttered feebly--

"Ah! you do not know". 

"I do not know what your particular trouble is, my dear sir, but Iknow of a way to relieve you of that, or any other burden that weighson your spirits. I will inform you when you get stronger. What youneed now, is a cup of oatmeal gruel, mingled with a tea-spoonful ofwine, which shall immediately be presented to you by the youthfulqueen of this mansion". 

He turned to go and call Adèle. But Mr. Brown motioned him to remain. 

"Do you reside here, sir?" he asked, in accents indicating greatprostration and despondency. 

"No, sir. I arrived here only a few hours before you. I am from theState of ----. You are also from that region, and I shall not leave youuntil I see you with your face set towards your native soil. Now, mydear sir, be quiet. Perhaps your life depends on it". 

"My life is not worth a penny to anybody". 

"It is worth ten thousand pounds and more to your friends. Be quiet, Isay". 

And Mr. Norton went out of the room, gently but decisively. Mr. Brown's eyes followed him as he closed the door. 

Already he felt the magnetic power of that good and sympathizingheart, of that honest, upright soul, which inspired by heavenly loveand zeal, cast rays of life and happiness wherever it moved. 

Moreover, he was too much prostrated in mind and body, vigorously tograsp the circumstances of his situation, whatever they might be. Painand debility had dulled his faculties and the sharpness of his sorrowalso. The good missionary's cheery voice and heartfelt smile soothed, for the time, his wounded spirit. It was as if he had taken a sip ofLethe and had come into the land in which it always seemeth afternoon. 

Soon Adèle opened the door and approaching the table gently, placedupon it the gruel. When she turned her eyes full of sympathy andkindness upon him and inquired for his health, he started with aremembrance that gave him both pain and pleasure. She reminded himstrangely of the being he loved more than any other on earth--hissister. He answered her question confusedly. 

She then raised his head upon the pillow with one hand and presentedthe cup to his lips with the other. He drank its contents, mechanically. 

Adèle proceeded noiselessly to arrange the somewhat disordered room, and after placing a screen between it and the bed, raised a window, through winch the warm September atmosphere wandered in, indolentlybathing his weary brow. As he felt its soft undulations on his face, and looking around the pleasant apartment observed the gracefulmotions of his youthful nurse, the scenes through which he hadrecently passed, appeared like those of an ugly nightmare, and floatedaway from his memory. The old flow of his life seemed to come backagain and he gave himself up to pleasant dreams. 

Mr. Brown continued thenceforward to improve in health, though slowly. Mr. Norton slept on a cot in his room every night and spent a part ofevery day with him, assisting in his toilet, conversing with him ofthe affairs, business and political, of their native State, andreading to him occasionally from books furnished by Mr. Dubois'slibrary. 

He informed Mr. Brown of his mission to this wild region of Miramichi, and the motives that induced it. That gentleman admired the purity andsingleness of purpose which had led this man, unfavored indeed by acareful classical culture, but possessing many gifts and muchpractical knowledge, thus to sacrifice himself in this abyss ofignorance and sin. He was drawn to him daily by the magnetism which astrong, yet heroic and genial soul always exercises upon those whoapproach it. 

In a few days he had, without any effort of the good man andinvoluntarily on his own part, confided to him the heavy weight thattroubled his conscience. 

"Ah!" said Mr. Norton, his eyes full of profound sorrow, and probingthe wound now laid open to the quick, "it was a terrible weakness tohave yielded thus to the wiles of that artful foreigner. May Heavenforgive you!"

Surprised and shocked at this reception of his confession, Mr. Brown, who had hoped-for consolation or counsel from his sympathizingcompanion, felt cut to the heart. His countenance settled into anexpression of utter despair. 

"Why have you sought so diligently to restore me to health, --to adisgraced and miserable existence? You must have known, from thedelirous words of my illness, of which you have told me, that lifewould be a worthless thing to me. You should have permitted me theprivilege of death", said he bitterly. 

"The privilege of death!" said Mr. Norton. "Don't you know, my dearsir, that a man unprepared to live, is also unprepared to die? Everyeffort I have put forth during your illness has been for the purposeof saving you for a happy life here, and for a blissful immortality". 

"A happy life here! For me, who have deeply offended and disgraced myfriends and my pure and unstained ancestry!"

"It is true, in an hour of weakness and irresolution, you have sinnedagainst your friends. But you have sinned all your life against aBeing infinitely higher that earthly friends. Your conduct hasdisturbed family pride and honor, and thereby destroyed your peace. But, do you never think of your transgressions against God? For aworld, I would not have had you present yourself before His justtribunal, with your sins against Him unrepented of. Is there no otherthought in your heart, than to escape the misery of the present?"

Mr. Brown was silent. Mr. Norton continued. 

"It is utter weakness and cowardice, in order to escape presentdiscomfort and wretchedness, to rush from this world into another, without knowing what we are to meet there". 

A flush of resentment at these words covered the invalid's face. Justthen Adèle knocked on the door, and said a poor woman below wished tosee Mr. Norton. 

He rose instantly, went towards Mr. Brown, and taking his thin handbetween his own and pressing it affectionately, said, "Look back uponyour past life, --look into your heart. Believe me, my dear sir, I amyour friend". 

Then he went to obey the summons, and Mr. Brown was left alone. 

The emotion of anger towards his benefactor soon passed away. He hadbeen trained early in life to religious truth, and he knew that Mr. Norton presented to him the stern requisitions of that truth, only infriendliness and love. The good man was absent several hours, and thetime was employed, as well as the solitude of several subsequent days, by Mr. Brown, in looking into his heart and into his past life. Hefound there many things he had not even suspected. He saw clearly, that he had hitherto held himself amenable only to the judgment ofthe world. Its standard of propriety, taste, honor, had been his. Hehad not looked higher. 

His friend Mr. Norton, on the contrary, held himself accountable toGod's tribunal. His whole conversation, conduct, and spirit, showedthe ennobling effect which that sublime test of character had uponhim. In fine, he perceived that the basis of his own character hadbeen false and therefore frail. The superstructure he had raised uponit, had been fair and imposing to the world, but, when its strengthcame to be tried, it had given way and fallen. He felt that he hadneglected his true interests, and had been wholly indifferent to thejust claims of the only Being, who could have sustained him in thehour of temptation. He saw his past errors, he moaned over them, butalas! he considered it too late to repair them. His life, he believedto be irretrievably lost, and he wished only to commit himself to themercy of God, and die. 

For a few days, he remained reserved and sunk in a deep melancholy. 

At length, Mr. Norton said to him, "I trust you are not offended withme, my dear sir, for those plain words I addressed to you the otherday. Be assured that though stern, they were dictated by my friendshipfor you and my duty towards God". 

"Offended! my good friend. O no. What you said, is true. But it is toolate for me to know it. Through the merits of Christ, I hope for thepardon of my sins. I am willing to live and suffer, if it is Hisbehest. But you perceive my power to act for the cause of truth isgone. My past has taken away all good influence from my future course. Who will accept my testimony now? I have probably lost caste in my owncircle, and have, doubtless, lost my power to influence it, evenshould I be received back to its ties. In society, I am a dishonoredman. I cannot have the happiness of working for the truth, --forChrist. My power is destroyed". 

"You are wrong, entirely wrong, my dear sir. Have courage. Shall notthat man walk erect and joyous before the whole world, whatever hispast may have been, whose sins have been washed away in the blood ofChrist and whose soul is inspired by a determination to abide by faithin Him forever? I say, yes. Do the work of God. He will take care ofyou. Live, with your eye fixed on Him, ready to obey His will, seekingHis heavenly aid, and you can face the frowns of men, while serenepeace fills your heart". 

Thus cheered and strengthened from day to day, Mr. Brown gainedgradually in health and hope. Especially did Mr. Norton strive toinvigorate his faith. He justly thought, it was only a strong grasp oneternal realities, that could supply the place of those granitequalities of the soul, so lacking in this lovable, fascinating youngman. 

CHAPTER XIII. 

THE GROVE. 

In the meanwhile, three or four times during the week, Mr. Nortoncontinued to hold meetings for the people in Micah's Grove. 

There had been but little rain in the Miramichi region during thesummer and autumn. In fact, none worthy of note had fallen for twomonths, except what came during the late equinoctial storm. The grasswas parched with heat, the roads were ground to a fine dust, which abreath of wind drove, like clouds of smoke, into the burning air; theforest leaves, which had been so recently stained with a marvellousbeauty of brown, crimson and gold, became dim and shrivelled; a slighttouch snapped, with a sharp, crackling sound, the dried branches ofthe trees; even the golden rod and the purple aster, those hardychildren of autumn, began to hang their heads with thirst. All daylong, the grasshopper and locust sent through the hot, panting air, their shrill notes, stinging the ear with discord. The heaven abovelooked like a dome of brass, and a thin, filmy smoke gathered aroundthe horizon. 

Even the rude settlers, with nerves toughened by hardship, unsusceptible of atmospheric changes, were oppressed by the long, desolating drought. 

It was only when the shadows of afternoon began to lengthen and thesun's rays to strike obliquely through the stately trees of the Grove, that they were able to gather there and listen to the voice of themissionary. He had so far succeeded in his work, as to be able to drawthe people together, from a considerable distance around, and theirnumber increased daily. 

On the opposite bank of the river, half way up a slight eminence, stood a small stone chapel. Tasteful and elegant in its proportions, it presented a picturesque and attractive appearance. There, once oneach Sunday, the service of the Church of England was read, togetherwith a brief discourse by a clergyman of that order. 

Behind the chapel, and near the top of the hill, was a large stonecottage surrounded by pretty grounds and with ample stableconveniences. It was the Rectory. 

The Chapel and Rectory had been built and the clergyman was sustained, at a somewhat large cost, by the Establishment, for the purpose ofenlightening and Christianizing the population of the parish of ----. 

Unfortunately, the incumbent was not the self-sacrificing personneeded to elevate such a community. Though ministering at the altar ofGod, he had no true religious feeling, no disinterested love for men. He was simply a man of the world, a _bon vivant_, a horse jockey andsportsman, who consoled himself in the summer and autumn for his exilein that barbarous region, by filling his house with provincialfriends, who helped him while away the time in fishing, hunting, andracing. The winter months, he usually spent at Fredericton, andduring that interval no service was held in the chapel. Of late, thefew, who were in the habit of attending the formal worship there, hadforsaken it for the more animating services held in the Grove. 

Not only the habitual church-goers, but the people of the parish atlarge, began to feel the magnetizing influence, and were drawn towardsthe same spot. For a week or more past, late in the afternoons onwhich the meetings were held, little skiffs might have been seenputting off from the opposite shore, freighted with men, women, andchildren, crossing over to hear the wonderful preachings of themissionary. 

What attracted them thither? Not surely the love of the truth. 

Most of them disliked it in their hearts, and had not even began tothink of practising it in their lives. They were interested in theman. They were, in some sort, compelled by the magical power he heldover them, to listen to entreaties and counsels, similar to those towhich they had often hitherto turned a deaf ear. 

Mr. Norton spent much of the time with them, going from house tohouse, partaking of their rude fare, sympathizing in their joys andsorrows, occasionally lending them a helping hand in their toils, andaiding them sometimes by his ingenuity and skill as an artisan. Theyfound in him a hearty, genial, and unselfish friend. Hence when heappeared among them at the Grove, their personal interest in himsecured a certain degree of order and decorum, and caused them tolisten to him respectfully. 

Even beyond this, he held a power over them, by means of his naturaland persuasive eloquence, enlivened by varied and graphicillustrations, drawn from objects within their ken, and by thewonderful intonations of his powerful and harmonious voice. He beganhis work by presenting to them the love of Christ and the winningpromises of the gospel. 

This was his favorite mode of reaching the heart. 

On most of these occasions, Adèle went to the Grove. It varied hermonotonous life. The strange, motley crowd gathered under themagnificent trees, sitting on the ground, or standing in groupsbeneath the tall arches made by the overlapping boughs; the level raysof the declining sun, bringing out, in broad relief, their grotesquevarieties of costume; the gradual creeping on of the soberingtwilight; the alternating expressions of emotions visible on thecountenances of the listeners, made the scene striking to herobserving eye. 

Another burning, dusty day had culminated. It was nearly five o'clockin the afternoon. Mr. Norton was lying upon a lounge in Mr. Brown'sapartment. Both gentlemen appeared to be in a meditative mood. Thesilence was only interrupted by the unusual sound of an occasionalsigh from the missionary. 

"Why! friend Norton;" at length exclaimed Mr. Brown, "have you reallylost your cheerfulness, at last?"

"Yes", replied Mr. Norton, slowly. "I must confess that I am wellnighdiscouraged respecting the reformation of this people. Here, I havebeen preaching to them these weeks the gospel of love, presentingChrist to them as their friend and Saviour, holding up the truth inits most lovely and winning forms. It has apparently made noimpression upon their hearts. It is true, they come in crowds to hearme, but what I say to them makes no permanent mark. They forget it, the moment the echo of my voice dies upon their ears. The fact is, friend Brown, I am disappointed. I did hope the Lord would have giventhis people unto me. But", continued he, after a moment's pause, "whatright have I to be desponding? God reigns". 

"According to all accounts", replied Mr. Brown, "they must be a hardset to deal with, both mentally and morally. I should judge, from whatMiss Adèle tells me of your instructions, that you have not put themupon the same rigid regimen of law and truth, that you may rememberyou prescribed for my spiritual cure". Mr. Brown smiled. "Perhaps", hecontinued, "these men are not capable of appreciating the mild aspectof mercy. They do not possess the susceptibility to which you havebeen appealing. They need to have the terrors of the law preached tothem". 

"Ah! that is it, friend Brown, you have it. I am convinced it is so. Ihave fell it for several days past. But I do dislike, extremely, toendeavor to chain them to the truth by fear. Love is so much morenoble a passion to enlist for Christ. Yet they must be drawn by somemotive from their sins. Love often follows in the wake and casts outfear". 

"I remember", said Mr. Brown, "to have heard Mr. N----, the famousMaine lumber-merchant, who you know is an infidel, say that the onlyway the lumbermen can be kept from stealing each other's logs, is bypreaching to them eternal punishment". 

"No doubt it is true", replied the good man, "and if these soulscannot be sweetly constrained into the beautiful fields of peace, theymust be compelled into them by the terrors of that death that hangsover the transgressor. Besides, I feel a strong presentiment that somegreat judgment is about to descend upon this people. All day, thethought has weighed upon me like an incubus. I cannot shake it off. Something terrible is in store for them. What it may be, I know not. But I am impressed with the duty of preaching a judgment to come tothem, this very afternoon. I will do it". 

A slight rattling of dishes at the door announced the arrival of Bess, with a tray of refreshment for Mr. Brown, and, at the same moment, thetinkling of a bell below, summoned Mr. Norton to the table. 

Half an hour later, the missionary, with a slow pace and the air ofone oppressed with a great burden, walked to the Grove. He seatedhimself on a rustic bench and with his head resting on the trunk of animmense elm, which overshadowed him, sat absorbed in earnest thought, while the people gathered in a crowd around him. 

At length, the murmuring voices were hushed into quiet. He rose, tookup his pocket Testament, read a portion of the tenth chapter ofHebrews, offered a prayer, and then sang in his trumpet tones, Charles Wesley's magnificently solemn hymn, commencing, --

 "Lo! on a narrow neck of land 'Twixt two unbounded seas, I stand Secure! insensible!"

He then repeated a clause in the chapter he had just read to them. "Ifwe sin wilfully after that we have received a knowledge of the truth, there remaineth no more sacrifice for sins, but a certain fearfullooking for of judgment and fiery indignation, which shall devour theadversaries". 

He began his discourse by reminding the people of the truths he hadpresented to them during the weeks past. He had told them faithfullyof their sinfulness before a holy God, and pointed out the way ofsafety and purification through a crucified Saviour. And he hadearnestly sought to induce them, by the love this Saviour bore them, to forsake their transgressions and exercise trust in Him. He now toldthem, in accents broken with grief, that he had every reason to fearthey had not followed his counsel, and observing their hardness ofheart, he felt constrained to bring them another and differentmessage, --a message less tender, but coming from the same divinesource. He then unfolded to them the wrath of the Most High, kindledagainst those who scorn the voice of mercy from a dying Saviour. 

They listened intently. His voice, his manner, his words electrifiedthem. His countenance was illumined with an awful light, such as theyhad not before witnessed there. His eye shot out prophetic meanings. At the close, he said, in a low tone, like the murmur of distantthunder, "what I have told you, is true, --true, as that we stand onthis solid ground, --true, as that sky that bends above us. This booksays it. It is, therefore, eternal truth. I have it impressed upon mymind, that a judgment, a swift, tremendous judgment, is about todescend upon this people on account of their sins. I cannot shake offthis impression, and, under its power, I warn you to prepare yoursouls to meet some dreadful calamity. 

"I know not how it will come, --in what shape, with what power. But Ifeel that death is near. It seems to me that I see many before me, whowill soon be beyond the bounds of time. I feel constrained to say thisto you. I beg you prepare to meet your God". 

When he ceased, a visible shudder ran through the multitude. They roseslowly and wended their way homeward, many with blanched faces, andeven the hardiest with a vague sense of some startling eventimpending. 

CHAPTER XIV. 

JOHN AND CÆSAR. 

At four o'clock in the afternoon on the following day Mrs. Dubois satin the Madonna room. Her fingers were employed upon a bit of exquisiteembroidery, over which she bent with a contracted brow, as if her mindwas filled with anxious thought. 

Adèle, robed in a French silk of delicate blue, her rich, dark hairlooped up in massive braids, sat listlessly, poring over a volume ofold French romance. 

Suddenly rising, she threw it hastily aside, exclaiming as she wenttowards an open window, "O! this interminable drought! It makes mefeel so miserable and restless. Does it not oppress you, _ma chèremère?_"

Mrs. Dubois started suddenly, as Adèle spoke. 

"Ah! yes. It is very wearisome", she replied. 

"_Ma mère_, I have disturbed you. Of what were you thinking when Ispoke?"

"Thinking of the chateau de Rossillon and its inmates. It is very longsince we have had news of them. I am much troubled about the dearfriends. It would be like rain on the parched ground, could I oncemore hear my uncle's voice. The good, kind old man!"

"Never fear, _ma mère_. You shall hear it. I have a plan that willsoon take us all to Picardy. You smile, but do I not accomplish mylittle schemes? Do not ask me, please, how I shall do it. Theexpedition is not wholly matured". 

"Not wholly matured, indeed!" said Mrs. Dubois, with an increduloussmile. 

"Nevertheless, it will take place, _ma mère_. But not this week. Inthe mean time, I am going to invite the gentlemen, who are doubtlessmoping in Mr. Brown's room, as we are here, to come in and examinethat curiously illuminated missal of yours. How agreeable Mr. Brownis, now that he is getting well! Don't you think so? And Mr. Norton isas good and radiant as a seraph! No doubt, they are pining withhomesickness, just as you are, and will be glad of our society". 

Adèle left the room, and soon returned, accompanied by the twoindividuals, of whom she had gone in search. 

She placed Mr. Brown, who looked quite superb in his brilliantlyflowered dressing-gown, in a corner of a sofa. Having examined themissal with interest, for a time, he handed it to Mr. Norton, and wassoon engaged in an animated conversation with Mrs. Dubois, respectingvarious works of ancient art, they had both seen in Europe. 

Adèle watched with pleasure the light kindling in her mother's eyes, as she went back, in memory and thought, to other days. 

Mr. Norton gazed at his friend Brown, transfigured suddenly from thedespairing invalid, who had lost all interest in life, to theanimated being before him, with traces indeed of languor and diseaseupon his person, but glowing now with life, thought, and emotion. "Aprecious jewel gathered for the crown of Him, who sits on the throneabove", he whispered to himself. 

Felicitating himself with this thought, he divided his attentionbetween the conversation of Mrs. Dubois and Mr. Brown, and the marvelsof skill, labor, and beauty traced by the old monk upon the pagesbefore him. 

"I must say, Miss Adèle, that these lines and colors are put on mostingeniously. But I cannot help thinking those ancient men might havebeen better employed in tracing the characters of divine truth uponthe hearts of their fellow-beings". 

"True", said Adèle, "had they been free to do it. But they were shutup from the world and could not. Illuminating missals was far betterthan to pass their lives in perfect idleness and inanition". 

"Don't you think, my dear", said the missionary, who had wisely neverbefore questioned any member of the family on the points of religiousfaith, "that the cloister life was a strange one to live, for men whoprofessed to have the love of God in their hearts, with a whole worldlying in sin around them, for a field to labor in?"

"Yes, I do, and I think too many other things are wrong about theRoman Church, but it pains my mother to hear me speak of them", saidAdèle, in a low tone, glancing at her mother. 

"Is it so?" exclaimed the good man. His face lighted up with a secretsatisfaction. But he fixed his eyes upon the book and was silent. 

Just then, some one knocked on the parlor door. Adèle opened it andbeheld Mrs. McNab, --her broad figure adorned with the brilliant chintzdress and yellow bandanna handkerchief, filling up the entire doorway, and her face surrounded by the wide, full frill, its usual framework, expressing a curious mixture of shyness and audacity. 

It was her first call at the house, since Adèle's summary process ofejection had been served upon her, and it was not until that younglady had welcomed her cordially and invited her to come in, that sheventured beyond the threshold. She then came forward, made a lowcourtesy, and seating herself near the door, remarked that Bess wasnot below, and hearing voices in the picture parlor, wishing to hearfrom the patient, she had ventured up. 

"An' how do ye find yersel' Mr. Brown?" said she, turning to thatgentleman. "But I needna ask the question, sin' yer looks tell ye'reamaist weel". 

Mr. Brown assented to her remark upon his health, and expressed to herhis obligations for her attentions to him during his illness. 

"Them's naethin;" she replied with a conscious air of benevolence. "'Tis the buzziness o' my life to tak' care o' sick bodies". 

"How are Mrs. Campbell's children?" inquired Mrs. Dubois. 

"All got weel, but Katy. She's mizerble eneugh". 

"Has she not recovered from the measles, Mrs. McNab?"

"The measles are gone, but sunthin' has settled on her lights. Shecoughs like a woodchuck. An' I must be a goin', for I tole Mrs. Cawmell, I wadna stay a bit, but wad come back, immediate". 

As she rose to go, she caught a sight of several objects on the lawnbelow, that rooted her to the spot. 

"Why ther's Mummychog", she exclaimed, "leading a gran' black charger, wi' a tall brave youth a walkin' by his side. Wha can he be?"

At that moment a low, clear laugh rang out upon the air, reaching theears of the little company assembled in the parlor. 

At the sound, Mr. Brown's pale face changed to a perfectly ashen hue, then flushed to a deep crimson. He started to his feet, and exclaimed, "John Lansdowne! brave fellow!"

It was even so. John and Cæsar had reached their destination. 

CHAPTER XV. 

TRAVELLING IN NEW BRUNSWICK. 

The following morning, Mr. Norton, Mr. Somers, alias Mr. Brown andJohn Lansdowne were sitting together, talking of the route from ---- toMiramichi. 

"You must have had a tedious journey, Mr. Lansdowne", observed themissionary. 

"By no means, sir. Never had a more glorious time in my life. Thereach through the forest was magnificent. By the way, Ned, I shot awolf. I'll tell you how it was, sometime. But how soon shall you feelable to start for home?"

"In two or three weeks, Dr. Wright says", replied Mr. Somers. 

"You must not take the road again, young gentleman", remarked Mr. Norton, "until we have had a fall of rain. The country is scorchedwith heat beyond anything I ever knew. Fine scenery on the St. JohnRiver, Mr. Lansdowne". 

"Wonderfully fine and varied! Like the unfolding of a splendidpanorama! In fact, it nearly consoled me for the sleepless nights andhorribly cooked dinners". 

"Ah! well--. I've had some experience while passing up and down inthese parts. In some localities, the country is pretty wellpopulated", said Mr. Norton with a broad smile. 

"I can certify to that geographical fact", said John, laughing. "Onenight, after retiring, I found that a large and active family of micehad taken previous shares in the straw cot furnished me. A stirringtime, they had, I assure you. The following night, I was roused upfrom a ten horse-power slumber, by a little million of enterprisinginsects, --well, --their style of locomotion, though irregular, accomplishes remarkable results. By the way, I doubt that story of apair of fleas, harnessed into a tiny chariot and broken into a trot". 

"So do I, " said Mr. Norton. "'Tis a libel on them. They couldn't gosuch a humdrum gait". 

"That reminds me", said Mr. Somers, "of a very curious and originalpainting I saw in England. It represented the ghost of a flea". 

"Ridiculous!" exclaimed John. "You are romancing, Ned". 

"I am stating a fact. It was painted by that eccentric genius, Blake, upon a panel, and exhibited to me by an aquaintance, who was a friendof the artist". 

"What was it like?" said John. 

"It was a naked figure with a strong body and a short neck, withburning eyes longing for moisture, and a face worthy of a murderer, holding a bloody cup in its clawed hands, out of which it seemed eagerto drink. The shape was strange enough and the coloring splendid, --akind of glistening green and dusky gold, --beautifully varnished. Itwas in fact the spiritualization of a flea". 

"What a conception!" exclaimed Mr. Norton. "The artist's imaginationmust have been stimulated by intense personal sufferings from saidinsect. The savage little wretch. How did you manage the diet, Mr. Lansdowne?" continued the missionary, a smile twinkling all over hisface. 

"Ah! yes, the _table d'hote_. I found eggs and potatoes safe, anddevoted myself to them, I was always sure to get snagged, when I triedanything else". 

"Verily, there is room for improvement in the mode of living, amongHis Majesty's loyal subjects of this Province. I should say, that inmost respects, they are about half a century behind the age", said Mr. Norton. 

"How did you ascertain I was here, John?" inquired Mr. Somers. 

"I learned at Fredericton that you had left with Mr. Dubois, and Iobtained directions there, for my route. Really", added John, "you arefortunate to have found such an establishment as this to be laid upin". 

"Yes. God be thanked for the attention and care received in this houseand for the kindness of this good friend", said Mr. Somers, laying hishand affectionately on the missionary's arm. 

"But this Mummychog", said John, breaking into a clear, musical laugh, "that I came across last night. He is a curiosity. That, of course, isn't his real name. What is it?"

"He goes by no other name here", replied Mr. Norton. "I met him", saidJohn, "a few rods from here", and asked him if he could inform me whereMr. Dubois lived. "Well, s'pose I ken", he said. After waiting a fewminutes for some direction, and none forthcoming, I asked, "will youhave the goodness to show me the house, sir?" "S'pose you hevparticiler business there", he inquired. "Yes. I have, sir". "Well! Is'pose ye are goin' fur to see _hur_?"

"Hur!" I exclaimed, my mind immediately reverting to the worthyancient, who assisted Aaron in holding up the hands of Moses on acertain occasion, mentioned in the old Testament. "Hur! who is Hur? Iam in pursuit of a gentleman, --a friend of mine. I know no otherperson here". "O well! come then; I'll show ye". As he was walkingalong by Cæsar's side, I heard him say, apparently to himself, "He's agone 'un, any way". 

"He is a queer specimen", said Mr. Norton. "And now I think of it, Mr. Somers, Micah told me this morning, that a good horse will be broughtinto the settlement, by a friend of his, in about a week. He thinks, if you like the animal, he can make a bargain and get it for you". 

"Thank you for your trouble about it, my dear sir", replied Mr. Somers. 

"Two weeks then, Ned", said John, "before the Doctor will let youstart. That will give me ample opportunity to explore the length ofthe Miramichi River. What are the fishing privileges in this region?"

"Fine, --remarkably good!" said the missionary. 

In the course of a few minutes, John, with the assistance of Mr. Norton, arranged a plan for a fishing and hunting excursion, uponwhich, if Micah's services could be obtained, he was to start the nextday. 

After inquiring for the most feasible way of transmitting a letter, heretired to relieve the anxiety of his parents by informing them of thesuccess of his journey. As might have been expected, after a somewhatdetailed account of his travels, the remainder of his epistle home wasfilled with the effervescence of his excitement at having found Mr. Somers, and thus triumphantly accomplished the object of hisexpedition. 

Beneath the flash and foam of John's youthful spirit, there weredepths of hidden tenderness and truth. He was warmly attached to hisuncle. The difference in age between them was not great, and eventhat, was considerably diminished by the peculiar traits of each. Johnpossessed the hardier features of character. He had developed astrong, determined will and other granite qualities, which promised tomake him a tower of defence to those that might shelter themselvesbeneath his wing. These traits, contrasting with his own, Mr. Somersappreciated and admired. They imparted to him a strengtheninginfluence. John, on the other hand, was charmed with the genialdisposition, the mobile and brilliant intellect of his uncle, and theready sympathy he extended him in his pursuits. In short, they weredrawn together in that peculiar, but not uncommon bond of friendship, symbolized by the old intimacy of the ivy and the oak. 

CHAPTER XVI. 

THE FLOWER UNFOLDING. 

There is nothing in human life more lovely than the transition of ayoung girl from childhood into womanhood. It suggests the springtimeof the year, when the leaf buds are partly opened and the tenderblossoms wave in the genial sunshine; when the colors so airy anddelicate are set and the ethereal odors are wafted gently to thesenses; when earth and air are filled with sweet prophecies of theripened splendor of summer. It is like the moments of early morn, whenthe newly risen sun throws abroad his light, giving token of themajestic glories of noon-day, while the earth exhales a dewy freshnessand the air is enchanted by the songs of birds, just wakened fromtheir nests. It recalls the overture of a grand musical dramaintroducing the joyous melodies, the wailing minors, the noble chordsand sublime symphonies of the glorious harmony. 

The development of the maiden is like the opening of some lovelyflower-bud. As life unfolds, the tender smile and blush of childhoodmingle with the grace of maidenly repose; the upturned, radiant eyegathers new depths of thought and emotion; the delicate features, thewavy, pliant form, begin to reveal their wealth of grace and beauty. 

Sometimes, the overstimulated bud is forced into intense and unnaturallife and bloom. Sometimes, the development is slow and almostimperceptible. Fed gently by the light and dews of heaven, the flower, at length, circles forth in perfected beauty. Here, the airy grace andplayfulness of a Rosalind, or the purity and goodness of a Desdemonais developed; there, the intense, passionate nature of a Juliet, orthe rich intellect and lofty elegance of a Portia. 

But, how brief is that bright period of transition! Scarcely can theartist catch the beautiful creation and transfer it to the canvas, ereit has changed, or faded. 

 "How small a part of time they share, That are so wondrous sweet and fair!"

Adèle Dubois had just reached this period of life. Her form wasripening into a noble and statuesque symmetry; the light in her eyesshot forth from darkening depths; a faint bloom was creeping into hercheek; a soft smile was wreathing those lips, wrought by nature, intoa somewhat haughty curve; the frank, careless, yet imperious mannerwas chastening into a calmer grace; a transforming glory shone aroundher, making her one of those visions that sometimes waylay and haunt aman's life forever. 

Her physical and intellectual growth were symmetrical. Her mind wasquick, penetrative, and in constant exercise. Truthful and upright, her soul shone through her form and features, as a clear flame, placedwithin a transparent vase, brings out the adornments of flower, leaf, and gem, with which it is enriched. 

In a brown stone house, in the city of P. , State of ----, there hangsin one of the chambers a picture of Adèle, representing her as she wasat this period of her life. It is full of beauty and elegance. Sun-painting was an art unknown in the days when it was executed. Butthe modern photographist could hardly have produced a picture soexquisitely truthful as well as lovely. 

CHAPTER XVII. 

THE DEER HUNT. 

Early in the morning, John Lansdowne, having donned his hunting suitand taken a hasty breakfast, seized his rifle and joined Micah, already waiting for him on the lawn in front of the house. 

He was equipped in a tunic-like shirt of dressed buckskin, withleggings and moccasins of the same material, each curiouslyembroidered and fringed. The suit was a present from hismother, --procured by her from Canada. His head was surmounted by ablue military cap and his belt adorned with powder pouch andhunting-knife. Micah with a heavy blanket coat of a dingy, browncolor, leggings of embroidered buckskin, skull cap of gray fox skin, and Indian moccasins; wore at his belt a butcher knife in a scabbard, a tomahawk, otter-skin pouch, containing bullets and other necessariesfor such an expedition. 

In the dim morning light they walked briskly to a little cove in theriver, where Micah's birchen canoe lay, and found it already storedwith supplies for the excursion. There were bags of provisions, cooking utensils, a small tent, neatly folded, Micah's old Dutchrifle, fishing tackle, and other articles of minor account. 

"Ever traviled much in a canoo?" inquired Micah. 

"None at all", replied John. 

"Well, then I'll jest mention, yeou needn't jump into it, like acatameount rampagin' arter fodder. Yeou step in kinder keerful and setdeown and don't move reound more'n ye ken help. It's a mighty cranklittle critter, I tell ye. 'Twould be tolable unconvenient to upsetand git eour cargo turned into the stream". 

"It would indeed!" said John. "I'll obey orders, Mummychog". 

John entered the canoe with tact, apparently to Micah's satisfactionand soon they were gliding down the river, now, owing to thelong-continued drought, considerably shrunk within its banks. 

Just as night gave its parting salute to the advancing day, thevoyagers passed into a region densely wooded down to the water's edge. Oaks, elms, and maples, birches of different sorts, willows andcranberry, grew in wild luxuriance along the margin, tinged with therich hues of autumn. A thousand spicy odors exhaled from thefrostbitten plants and shrubs, filling the senses with an intoxicatingincense. When the rising sun shot its level rays through the trees, the clear stream quivered with golden arrows. 

John viewed the scenes through which they glided with eager eye. 

Micah's countenance expressed intense satisfaction. He sat boltupright in the stern of the canoe, steering with his paddle, his keenbullet eyes dancing from side to side examining every object as theypassed along. Both were silent. 

At length, Micah exclaimed, "Well, Captin', this is the pootiest wayof livin' I know on, any heow. My 'pinion is that human natur wasmeant to live reound on rivers and in the woods, or vyagin' on lakes, and sech. I never breathe jest nateral and lively, till I git eout o'between heouse walls into the free air". 

"'Tis a glorious life, Micah! I agree to it". 

"Hark!" said Micah! "Got yer piece ready? Maybe you'll hev' a chanceto bring sumthin' deown. I heerd an old squaw holler jest neow". 

"I'm ready", said John. "But I didn't hear any sound. What was itlike?"

"O! kinder a scoldin' seound. Cawcawee! cawcawee! Don't yer hear thecritter reelin' of it off? Ha! 'tis dyin' away, though. We shall hearit agin, by and by". 

"An old squaw", said John, as the excitement the prospect of a shothad raised in his mind subsided. "Do you have such game as _that_, inMiramichi? I've heard of witches flying on broomsticks through theair, but didn't know before that squaws are in the habit of skylarkingabout in that way". 

"Well, ye'll know it by observation, before long", said Micah, with aslight twitch of one eye. "Them's ducks from Canada, a goin'south'ard, as they allers do in the fall o' the year. They keep upthat ere scoldin' seound, day and night. Cawcawee! cawcawee! kind ofan aggravatin' holler! But I like it, ruther. It allers 'minds me of abustin' good feller that was deown here from Canada once". 

"How remind you of him?" inquired John. 

"Well, he cam' deown on bissiniss, but he ran afowl o' me, and we waseout in the woods together, consid'able. He used to set eoutside thecamp, bright, starlight nights, and sing songs, and sech. He had apowerful, sweet v'ice, and it allers 'peared to me as ef every kind ofa livin' thing hushed up and listened, when he sung o' nights. Hecould reel off most anything you can think on. There was one kind of amournful ditty he sung, and once in a while he brung in achorus, --cawcawee! cawcawee, --jest like what them ducks say, only, theway he made it seound, was soft and meller and doleful-like. I likedto hear him sing that, only he was so solemn arter it, and would setand fetch up great long sythes. And once I asked him what made him sosober and take on so, arter singin' it. He said, Micah, my good lad, when I war a young man, I had a little French wife, that could runlike a hind and sing like a wild bird. Well, she died. The very lastthing she sung, was, that 'ere song. When I see how he felt, I neverasked him another question. He sot and sythed a spell and then got up, took a most oncommon swig of old Jamaky and turned into his blanket". 

Just as Micah ended this account, John caught sight of a large bird ata distance directly ahead of them, and his attention became entirelyabsorbed. It took flight from a partly decayed tree on the northernbank, and commenced wheeling around, above the water. The canoe wasrapidly nearing this promising game. 

Micah said not a word, but observed, in an apparently careless mood, the movements of his young companion. 

Suddenly, the bird poised himself for an instant in the air, thenclosed his wings and shot downward. A whizzing sound! then a plash, and he disappeared beneath the surface, throwing up the water intosparkling foam-wreaths. He was absent but a moment, and then boreupward into the air a large fish. 

John's shot took him on the wing, and he dropped dead, his claws yetgrasping the fish, on the water's edge. 

"Ruther harnsum than otherwise!" exclaimed Micah. "You've got yourdinner, Captin'". 

And he put the canoe rapidly towards the river-bank, to pick up thegame. 

They found it to be a large fish-hawk, with a good-sized salmon in itsfierce embrace. It was a noble specimen of the bird, tinted withbrown, ashy white, and blue, with eyes of deep orange color. 

"Well, that are a prize", said Micah. "Them birds ain't common inthese parts, bein' as they mostly live on sea-coasts. But this un wason his way seouth, and his journey has ended quite unexpected". 

Saying which, he threw both bird and fish into the canoe, and dartedforward on the river again. 

"When shall we reach the deer feeding-ground you spoke of, Micah?"

"O! not afore night", said Micah. "And then we mustn't go anyst ittill mornin'". 

"I suppose you have brought down some scores of deer in your huntingraids, Micah?"

"Why, yes, --takin' it by and large, I've handled over consid'ablemany of 'em. 'Tis a critter I hate to kill, Captin', though I s'poseit seounds soft to say so. Ef 't wan't for thinkin' they'll git pickedoff, anyway, I dunno but I should let 'em alone altogether". 

"Why do you dislike to kill them?"

"Well, to begin with, they're a harnsum critter. They hev sechgraceful ways with 'em, kinder grand ones tew, specially them bucks, with their crests reared up agin the sky, lookin' so bold and freelike. And them bright little does, --sometimes they hev sech a skeerd, tender look in their eyes, --and I've seen the tears roll out on 'em, when they lay wounded and disabled like, jest like a human critter. Itallers makes me feel kind o' puggetty to see that". 

They made a noon halt, in the shadows cast by a clump of silverbirches, and did ample justice to the provision supplied from thepantry of the Dubois house. 

At four o'clock they proceeded onward towards the deer hunt. Johnlistened with unwearied interest to Micah's stories of peril andhair-breadth 'scapes, by flood, field, and forest, gathering manyvaluable hints in the science of woodcraft from the practised hunter. 

Just at dark, they reached a broad part of the stream, and selectedtheir camping-ground. 

The tent was soon pitched, a fire of brushwood kindled and the salmonbroiled to a relish that an epicure could not have cavilled at. Thetable, a flat rock, was also garnished with white French rolls, slicedham, brown bread, blocks of savory cheese, and tea, smoking hot. 

The sylvan scene, --the moon shedding its light around, the low musicof the gently rippling waves, the spicy odor of the burning cedar, thesnow-white clouds and deep blue of the sky mirrored in the stream, made it a place fit at least for rural divinities. Pan might havelooked in, --ah! he is dead, --his ghost then might have looked in uponthem from behind some old gnarled tree, with a frown of envy at thisintrusion upon his ancient domain. 

On the following morning, at the first faint glimmering of light, Micah was alert. He shook our young hero's shoulder and woke him froma pleasant dream. 

"Neow's the time, Captin'", said Micah, speaking in a cautiousundertone, "neow's the time, ef we do it at all, to nab them deer. While your gittin' rigged and takin' a cold bite, I'll tell ye the layo' things. Ye see, don't ye, that pint o' land ahead on us, a juttin'out into the stream? Well, we've got to put the canoe on the waterright away, hustle in the things, and percede just as whist andkeerful as we ken, to that pint. Jest beyend that, I expect theanimils, when day's fairly up, will come to drink. And there's wherewe'll get a shot at 'em". 

"But what makes you expect they'll come to drink at that particularplace, Micah?"

"You see that pooty steep hill, that slopes up jest back o' the pinto' land, don't ye? Well, behind that hill which is steeper 'n it looksto be, there's a largish, level piece of greound that's been burntover within a few years, and it's grown up to tall grass and got anumber o' clumps of young trees on it, and it's 'bout surreounded by alot o' master rocky hills. That's the feedin' greound. There's a deepgorge cut right inter that hill, back 'o the pint. The gorge has apooty smooth rocky bed. In the spring o' the year, there's a brookruns through there and pours inter the river jest below. But it's alldry neow, and the deer, as a gen'al thing scramble eout of theirfeedin' place into this gorge and foller it deown to the river to gittheir drink. It brings 'em eout jest below the pint. We have got neowto cross over to the pint, huggin' the bank, so the critters shan'tsee us, and take a shot from there. Git yer piece ready, Captin. Efthere's tew, or more, I'll hev the fust shot and you the second. Don'tspeak, arter we git on to the pint, the leastest word". 

"I understand", said John, as he examined his rifle, to see that allwas right. 

"Now for it", said Micah, as having finished their arrangements, theyentered the canoe. 

Silently, they paddled along, sheltered from observation by the littlewooded promontory and following as nearly as possible the cranklingriver as it indented into the land. In a few minutes, they landed andproceeded noiselessly to get a view of the bank below. 

After a moment's reconnoitre, John turned his face towards Micah witha look of blank disappointment. 

But Micah looked cool and expectant. He merely pointed up the rockygorge and said under his breath--

"'T aint time to expect 'em yet. The wind, what there is on it, isfavorable tew, --it blows right in our faces and can't kerry any smellof us to 'em. Neow hide yourself right away. Keep near me, Captin', so that we ken make motions to each other". 

In a few moments they had secured their ambuscade, each lying on theground at full length, concealed by low, scrubby trees. By a slightturn of the head, each could command a view up the gorge for aconsiderable distance. 

Just as the sun began to show his broad, red disc in the east, newlight shot forth from the eyes of the hunters, as they perceived asmall herd coming down the rocky pathway. The creatures bounded alongwith a wild and graceful freedom, until they reached the debouche ofthe pass into the valley. There they paused, --scanned the scene witheager eyes and snuffed the morning breeze. The wind brought no tale oftheir enemies, close at hand, and they bounded on fearlessly to theriver's brink. 

It was apparently a family party, a noble buck leading the group, followed by a doe and two young hinds. They soon had their noses inthe stream. The buck took large draughts and then raising his haughtyfront, tossed his antlers, as if in defiance, in the face of the godof day. 

Micah's eye was at his rifle. A crack and a whizz in the air. Thenoble creature gave one mighty bound and fell dead. The ball hadentered his broad forehead and penetrated to the brain. 

At the report of the rifle, the doe, who was still drinking, gave abound in the air, scattering the spray from her dripping mouth, wheeled with the rapidity of lightning, and sprang towards the gorge. But John's instantaneous shot sped through the air and the animal felldead from her second bound, the ball having entered the heart. In themidst of their triumph, John and Micah watched, with relenting eyesthe two hinds, while they took, as on the wings of the wind, theirforlorn flight up the fatal pathway. 

Having slung their booty on the boughs of a wide-branching tree, andtaken some refreshment from the supplies in the canoe, Micah declaredhimself good for a scramble up the hill to the feeding-ground, aproposition John readily accepted. 

Over rock, bush and brier, up hill and down, for five hours, theypursued their way with unmitigated zeal and energy. They scaled thehill, cut by the gorge, --approaching, cautiously, its brow, overlooking the deer haunt. But they could perceive no trace of theherd. 

"It's abeout as I expected", said Micah, "them two little hinds weskeered, gin the alarm to the rest on 'em and they've all skulked offto some covit or ruther. S'pose Captin', we jest make a surkit reoundthrough the rest of these hills, maybe we'll light on 'em agin". 

"Agreed", responded John. 

They skirted the enclosure, but without a chance for another shot. As, about noon, they were rapidly descending the gorge, on their way backto the promontory, the scene of their morning success, Micah proposedthat they should have "a nice brile out of that fat buck at the pint, and then put for the settlement". 

"Not yet", said John. "Why, we are just getting into this gloriouslife. What's your hurry, Mummychog?"

"Well, ye see", said Micah, "I can't be gone from hum, no longerneow, any heow. Next week, I'll try it with ye agin, if ye say so". 

John acceded reluctantly to the arrangement, though his disappointmentwas somewhat mitigated by the prospect of another similar excursion. 

The meal prepared by Micah, for their closing repast, considering thecircumstances, might have been pronounced as achieved in the higheststyle of art. Under a bright sky, shadowed by soft, quiveringbirch-trees, scattering broken lights all over their rustic table, never surely was a dinner eaten with greater gusto. 

Life in the forest! ended all too soon. But thy memories live. Memories redolent of youth, health, strength, freedom, and beauty, come through the long years, laden with dews, sunshine, and fragrance, and scatter over the time-worn spirit refreshment and delight. 

As our voyagers were paddling up stream in the afternoon, in answer toquestions put by John to Micah, respecting the Dubois family, heremarked--

"Them Doobyce's came to the kentry, jest ten year before I did. Well, I've heerd say, the Square came fust. He didn't set himself up foranything great at all, but explored reound the region a spell, and waskinder pleasant to most anybody he came across. Somehow, or 'nuther, he had a kind of a kingly turn with him, that seemed jest as nateralas did to breathe, and ye could see that he warn't no ways used tosech a wildcat sort of a place as Miramichi was then". 

"I wonder that he remained here", said John. 

"Well, the pesky critters reound here ruther took to him, and hebought a great lot o' land and got workmen and built a house, andfetched his wife and baby here. So they've lived here ever since. Butthey're no more like the rest o' the people in these parts, than I'mlike you, and it has allers been a mystery to me why they should stay. But I s'pose they know their own bissiniss best. They're allers givin'to the poor, and they try to make the settlers more decent every way, but 'taint been o' much use". 

After a long, meditative pause, Micah said, "Neow Captin', I want yeouto answer me one question, honestly. I aint a goin' to ask any thingsarcy. Did ye ever in yer life see a harnsumer, witchiner critter thanMiss Adèle is?"

Micah fixed his keen eye triumphantly upon our hero, as if he wasaware beforehand that but one response could be made. John surprisedby the suddenness of the question, and somewhat confused, for themoment, by a vague consciousness that his companion had found the keyto his thoughts, hesitated a little, but soon recovered sufficientlyto parry the stroke. 

"You don't mean to say, Micah, that there's any person for beauty andbewitchingness to be compared with Mrs. McNab?"

"Whew-ew", uttered Micah, while every line and feature in hiscountenance expressed ineffable scorn. He gave several extra strokesof the paddle with great energy. Suddenly, his grim features brokeinto a genial smile. 

"Well, Captin'", he said, "ef yeou choose to play 'possum that way, ye ken. But ye needn't expect _me_ to believe in them tricks, cos I'man old 'un". 

John laughed and replied, "Mummychog, Miss Adèle Dubois is a perfectbeauty. I can't deny it". 

"And a parfeck angel tew", said Micah. 

"I don't doubt it", said John, energetically. "When shall we reach thesettlement, Micah?"

"Abeout three hours arter moonrise". 

And just at that time our voyagers touched the spot they had startedfrom the day before, and unloaded their cargo. They were received atthe Dubois house with the compliments due to successful hunters. 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

THE PERSECUTION. 

On the following afternoon, Mr. Norton preached to a larger and farmore attentive audience than usual. The solemn warnings he had utteredand the fearful presentiments of coming evil he had expressed on thelast occasion of assembling at the Grove, had been communicated frommouth to mouth. Curiosity, and perhaps some more elevated motive, haddrawn a numerous crowd of people together to hear him. 

He spoke to them plainly of their sinful conduct, particularizing thevices of intemperance, profanity, gambling, and Sabbath-breaking, towhich many of them were addicted. He earnestly besought them to turnfrom these evil ways and accept pardon for their past transgressionsand mercy through Christ. He showed them the consequences of theirrefusal to listen to the teachings and counsels of the book of God, and, at last, depicted to them, with great vividness, the awfulglories and terrors of the day of final account, "When the Judge shall come in splendor, Strict to mark and just to render". 

As his mind dilated with the awful grandeur of the theme, his thoughtskindled to a white heat, and he flung off words that seemed to scorchand burn even the callous souls of those time-hardened transgressors. He poured upon their ears, in tones of trumpet power and fulness, echoed from the hills around, the stern threatenings of injuredjustice; he besought them, in low, sweet, thrilling accents, to yieldthemselves heart and life to the Great Judge, who will preside in theday of impartial accounts, and thus avert his wrath and be happyforever. 

At the close, he threw himself for a few moments upon the rustic benchappropriated to him, covered his face with his hands and seemed insilent prayer. The people involuntarily bent their heads in sympathyand remained motionless. Then, he rose and gave them the eveningbenediction. 

Mr. Somers, his nephew, and Adèle had been sitting under the shade ofan odorous balm poplar, on the skirt of the crowd, at first watchingits movements, and then drawn away from these observations, by theimpressive discourse of Mr. Norton. 

"What a clear, melodious voice he has!" said John in an undertone toAdèle, as the missionary finished the opening service. 

"Wait, until you hear its trumpet tones, Mr. Lansdowne. Those willcome, by and by. They are magnificent. Please listen". And Adèleplaced a finger upon her lips, in token of silence. 

John listened, at first, in obedience to her request, but he soonbecame enchained by the speaker. 

After the discourse was concluded, the trio remained sitting as ifspellbound, quite unobservant of the crowd, slowly dispersing aroundthem. 

"What would that man have been, Ned", at length exclaimed John, "hadhe received the culture which such munificent gifts demand? Why, hewould have been the orator of our nation". 

"Ay, John", replied Mr. Somers, "but it is the solemn truth of histheme that gives him half his power". 

"It is as if I had heard the _Dies iræ_ chanted", said Adèle. 

As they walked on towards the house in silence, they encountered acompany of persons, of which Mr. Dubois and the missionary were thecentre. These two were conversing quite composedly, but thesurrounding groups seemed to be under some excitement. 

At the dispersion of the gathering at the Grove, as Mr. Norton was onhis way to the quiet of his own room, Mr. Dubois had presented to himthe bearer of a dispatch from Fredericton. The messenger said he hadbeen instructed to announce that the Provincial Court was in sessionin that city, and that a complaint had been lodged with the grand juryagainst Mr. Norton, and he was requested to meet the chargeimmediately. 

Mr. Norton was surprised, but said very calmly--

"Can you inform me, sir, what the charge is!"

"It is a charge for having preached in the Province of Brunswick, without a license". 

"Can you tell me by whom the charge was brought?"

"By the reverend Francis Dinsmoor, a clergyman of the EstablishedChurch, of the parish of ----". 

"Yes, sir. I understand. He is your neighbor on the other side of theriver, Mr. Dubois. Well, sir", continued Mr. Norton, "I suppose youhave just arrived and stand in need of refreshment. I will confer withyou, by and by". 

The messenger retraced his steps towards the house. 

In the mean time, a few rough-looking men had overheard theconversation, taken in its import, and now came about Mr. Dubois andMr. Norton, making inquiries. 

Tom Hunkins, more noted for profanity, hard drinking, and gambling, than any man in the settlement, and whom Mr. Norton at the risk ofmaking him a violent enemy, had on one occasion severely reprehendedfor the pernicious influence he exerted in the community, --hereinterposed a word of counsel. He was just speaking, when Adèle, Mr. Somers, and John, joined the group. 

"Neow ef I may be so bold", said Tom, "I wouldn't go anyst the cussedcourt. It's nothin' at all, but the meanness and envy o' that rowdypriest over the river there. He's jest mad, cos the people come overhere to git fodder instid o' goin' to his empty corncrib. They like tohear yer talk better than they do him, and that's the hull on it. I'dlet the condemed critter and court whizz, both on 'em. I would't goaynst 'em". 

"But Mr. Hunkins", said Mr. Norton, "I must attend to this matter. Iam exposed to a fine of fifty pounds and six months' imprisonment, forbreaking a law enacted by the Assembly of His Majesty's Province". 

"I'll tell ye what ye can do, parson. I'll take and put ye rightthrough to Chartham this very night, and ye ken take a schooner that Iknow is going to sail to-morrow for Eastport. That 'ill land ye safein the State of Maine, where ye ken stay till the Court is over, andthe fox has gone back to his hole, and then we'll give ye a lift backagin and ye ken go on with yer preachin'". 

"I thank you for your kind feeling towards me, Mr. Hunkins, but I mustgo to Fredericton. The case is just this. I knew, before I came toMiramichi, that the government was not particularly favorable todissenting ministers, and also that the Assembly had passed this law. But I had heard of the condition of this people and felt constrainedto come here, by my desire to serve Christ, my Master and my King. Byso doing, I took all the risks in the case. Now, if I, forconscience's sake, have violated an unjust law, I am willing to paythe penalty. I have not wittingly done harm to any of His Majesty'ssubjects, or endeavored to draw them away from their loyalty. I willtherefore go with the messenger to Fredericton and meet this charge. Iam not afraid of what evil-minded men can do unto me". 

"That is right, Mr. Norton", exclaimed Adèle, who had been listeningattentively to his words. "Will you not go with him, father?"

After a moment's meditation, Mr. Dubois replied, "If it is Mr. Norton's wish. I have a friend who is a member of the Assembly. Afavorable statement of the case from him, would doubtless have muchweight with the jury". 

"Thank you, sir, thank you. Such an arrangement would doubtless be ofgreat service to me. I should be exceedingly grateful for it". 

Micah, who had been hitherto a quiet listener to the colloquy, nowgave a short, violent cough, and said, "Captin', it's kinder queer Ishould happen to hev an arrand reound to Fredericton to-morrow. ButI've jest thought that as long as I'm a goin' to be in the place, Imight as well step in afore the jury and say what I know abeout thecase". 

"Thank you, Micah. I believe you have been present whenever I havediscoursed to our friends, and know precisely what I have said tothem". 

"Well, I guess I dew, pooty nigh". 

The affair being thus arranged, the party separated. 

Mr. Norton informed the messenger of his intention, early in themorning, to depart with him for Fredericton. 

He then retired to his room, spent an hour in reflecting upon thecourse he had adopted, examined faithfully the motives that influencedhim, and finally came to the conclusion that he was in the right path. He firmly believed God had sent him to Miramichi to preach the gospel, and resolved that he would not be driven from thence by any power ofmen or evil spirits. He then committed himself to the care of theAlmighty Being, and slept securely under the wing of his love. 

In the mean time, there was a high breeze of excitement blowingthrough the settlement, the people taking up the matter and makingcommon cause with Mr. Norton. He seemed to have fairly won their goodwill, although he had not yet induced them, except in a few instances, to reform their habits of life. They ventilated their indignationagainst the unfortunate clergyman of the parish of ----, in no measuredterms. 

There was, however, one exception to the kind feeling manifested bythe settlers, towards the missionary at this time, in the person ofMrs. McNab. She informed Mrs. Campbell, as they were discussing thematter before retiring for the night, that it was just what she hadexpected. 

"Na gude comes o' sech hurry-flurry kind o' doctrenes as that manpreaches. I dinna believe pussons can be carried into the kingdom o'heaven on a wharlwind, as he'd have us to think". 

"Well", said Mrs. Campbell, who had been much impressed with Mr. Norton's teachings, "I don't think there's much likelihood of manyfolks round here bein kerried that way, or any other, into thekingdom. And I shall always bless that man for his kindness to thechildren when they were so sick, and for the consoling way in which hetalked to me at that time". 

"His doctrenes are every way delytarious, and you'll find that's theend on't", said Mrs. McNab. 

To this dogmatic remark Mrs. Campbell made no reply. 

Sitting in the Madonna room, that evening, John remarked to Mr. Somers, "I have a growing admiration for your missionary. Did younotice what he said, in reply to the man who counselled him to flyinto Maine and so evade the charge brought against him? Small thingssometimes suggest great ones. I was reminded of what Luther said, whencited before the diet of Worms, and when his friends advised him notto go. 'I am lawfully called to appear in that city, and thither Iwill go, in the name of the Lord, though as many devils as tiles uponthe houses were assembled against me. '"

"Ay, John. There are materials in the character of that man for themaking of another Luther. Truth, courage, power, --he has them all". 

CHAPTER XIX. 

THE LIEUTENANT-GOVERNOR. 

The next morning at an early hour, Mr. Dubois and Mr. Norton, accompanied by the bearer of the despatch, started for Fredericton. They were joined by Micah, whose alleged urgent business in that cityproved to be nothing more nor less than to lend his aid towardsgetting the missionary out of what he called "a bad fix!"

Proceeding up the Miramichi River a short distance, they came to theportage, where travelling through the wilderness twenty miles to theNashwauk, they passed down that stream to its junction with the St. John's River, opposite Fredericton. 

After throwing off the dust of travel and resting somewhat from theirfatigue, the two gentlemen first named, went to call on Col. Allen, the friend of whom Mr. Dubois had spoken, who was a resident of theCapital. 

He was a man of wealth and consideration in the province. Havinglistened attentively to the statement made by Mr. Dubois respectingthe arrest of Mr. Norton, he promised to do all in his power to securefor him a fair trial. 

Although a high churchman in principle and feeling, he was yet candidand upright in his judgments, and happened, moreover, to be wellacquainted with the character of the clergyman of the parish of ----, who had brought the charge against Mr. Norton. He made a few inquiriesrespecting the evidence the missionary could produce of good characterin his native State. 

"It will be well", he remarked, "to call on his Excellency, theGovernor, and put him in possession of these facts. It is possible thecase may take some shape in which his action may be called for. Itwill do no harm for him to have a knowledge of the circumstances fromyourselves, gentlemen. Will you accompany me to the Government House?"

The Government House, a large building of stone, is situated near thenorthern entrance to the city. With its extensive wings, beautifulgrounds and military appointments, it presents an imposing appearance. In the rear of the mansion, a fine park slopes down to the bank of theriver, of which it commands frequent and enchanting views. 

The three gentlemen alighted at the entrance to the grounds, openingfrom the broad street, and after passing the sentry were conducted bya page to the Governor's office. His Excellency shortly appeared andgave them a courteous welcome. In brief terms Col. Allen presented tohim the case. 

The Governor remarked in reply, that the law prohibiting persons frompublicly preaching, or teaching, without a license, had been passedmany years ago, in consequence of disturbances made by a set offanatics, who promulgated among the lower classes certain extravagantdogmas by which they were led on even to commit murder; thinking theywere doing God service. The purpose of the law, he said, having beenthus generally understood, few, if any clergymen, belonging either tothe Established Church or to Dissenting congregations, had applied fora license, and this was the first complaint to his knowledge, that hadbeen entered, alleging a violation of the law. He said, also, thatfrom the statement Col. Allen had made, he apprehended no danger toMr. Norton, as he thought the charge brought against him could not bemaintained. 

"I advise you, sir", said he, turning to the missionary, "to go to theSecretary's office and take the oath of allegiance to the government. Mr. Dubois states you are exerting a good influence at Miramichi. Iwill see that you receive no further annoyance". 

"I thank your Honor", Mr. Norton replied, "for your kind assurances, and I declare to you, sir, that I have the most friendly feelingstowards His Majesty's subjects and government, as I have given someproof in coming to labor at Miramichi. But, sir, I cannotconscientiously take an oath of allegiance to your government, when mylove and duty are pledged to another. I earnestly hope that thepresent amicable relations may ever continue to exist between the twopowers, but, sir, _should_ any conflict arise between them, theimpropriety of my having taken such an oath would become too evident". 

"You are right. You are right, my good sir", replied the Governor. "Ipromise you that as long as you continue your work in the rationalmode you have already pursued, making no effort to excite treasonablefeelings towards His Majesty's government, you shall not be interferedwith". 

His Excellency then made numerous inquiries of Mr. Dubois and Mr. Norton, respecting the condition of society, business, means ofeducation and religious worship in the Miramichi country. He alreadyknew Mr. Dubois by reputation, and was gratified to have thisopportunity of meeting him. He inquired of the missionary how hehappened to light upon New Brunswick as the scene of his religiouslabors, and listened to Mr. Norton's account of his "call" toMiramichi with unaffected interest. 

The next day the case was brought before the Jury. The charge havingbeen read, Mr. Dubois appeared in behalf of the missionary, testifyingto his good character and to the nature of his spiritual teachings. Healso presented to the Jury three commissions from the Governor of theState of ----, which Mr. Norton had in his possession, one of thembeing a commission as Chaplain of the Regiment to which he belonged. Inquiry being made whether Mr. Norton's preaching was calculated todisaffect subjects towards the government, no evidence was found tothat effect. On the contrary, witnesses were brought to prove thereverse. 

Mr. Mummychog, aware before he left Miramichi, that a number of hiscompeers in that region, who had been in the habit of coming to theGrove to hear Mr. Norton discourse, were just now at Fredericton, onlumbering business, had been beating up these as recruits for theoccasion, and now brought forward quite an overpowering weight ofevidence in favor of the defendant. These men testified that he hadpreached to them the importance of fulfilling their duties ascitizens, telling them, that unless they were good subjects to thecivil government, they could not be good subjects in Christ's kingdom. They testified, also, that they had frequently heard him pray inpublic, for the health, happiness, and prosperity of His Majesty, andfor blessings on the Lord Lieutenant-Governor. 

After a few minutes of conversation, the Jury dismissed the charge. 

The party retired, much gratified at the favorable conclusion of whatmight, under other circumstances, have proved to the missionary anannoying affair. Mr. Norton warmly expressed his gratitude to Mr. Dubois, as having been the main instrument, in securing this result. He also cordially thanked Micah and his friends, for their promptefforts in his behalf. 

"Twant much of a chore, any heow", said Micah. "I never could stan' byand see any critter put upon by another he'd done no harm to, and Inever will". 

As they returned to the hotel, Mr. Dubois remarked that this journeyto the Capital, after all, might not be without good results. 

"You made", he said to Mr. Norton, "an extremely favorable impressionon the minds of several gentlemen, who wield power in the province, and should you be subjected to future persecutions, you will probablybe able to secure their protection". 

"Possibly--possibly. I am grateful, if I have in any way secured thegood will of those gentlemen. I was particularly impressed by theirdignity, affability, and readiness to oblige yourself. But, my dearsir, it is better to trust in the Lord than to put confidence inprinces". 

CHAPTER XX. 

MR. LANSDOWNE SUBMITS TO THE INEVITABLE. 

In the meanwhile, a change had come upon John Lansdowne. Only a fewweeks ago, he was a careless youth, of keen and vigorous intellectualpowers, satiated with books and tired of college walls, with the boyspirit in the ascendant within him. His eye was wide open andobservant, and his ringing laugh was so merry, that it brought aninvoluntary smile upon any one who might chance to hear its richpeals. His talk was rapid, gay, and brilliant, with but the slightestdash of sentiment, and his manner frank and fearless. 

But now his bearing had become quiet and dignified; his conversationwas more thoughtful and deep-flowing, less dashing and free; he spokein a lower key; his laugh was less loud but far sweeter and morethrilling; his eyes had grown larger, darker, deeper, and sometimesthey were shadowed with a soft and tender mist, not wont to overspreadthem before. The angel of Love had touched him, and opened a new andliving spring in his heart. Boiling and bubbling in its hidden recess, an ethereal vapor mounted up and mantled those blazing orbs in a dimand dreamy veil. A charmed wand had touched every sense, every powerof his being, and held him fast in a rapturous thrall, from which hedid not wish to be released. Under the spell of this enchantment, thecareless boy had passed into the reflective man. 

Stories are told of knights errant, in the times of Merlin and thegood King Arthur, who, while ranging the world in quest of adventures, were bewitched by lovely wood fairies or were lulled into deliciousslumber by some syren's song, or were shut up in pleasant durance inenchanted castles. Accounts of similar character are found, even inthe pages of grave chroniclers of modern date, to say nothing of whatbooks of fiction tell, and what we observe with our own eyes, in theactual world. The truth is, Love smites his victims, just when andwhere he finds them. Mr. Lansdowne's case then, is not anunprecedented one. The keen Damascus blade, used to pierce our heroand bring him to the pitiful condition of the conquered, had beenplaced in the hand of Adèle. Whether Love intended to employ thatyoung lady in healing the cruel wound she had made, remains to beseen. 

At the beginning of their acquaintance, they had found a common groundof interest in the love of music. 

They both sang well. Adèle played the piano and John discoursed on theflute. From these employments, they passed to books. They rummaged Mr. Dubois's library and read together, selected passages from favoriteauthors. Occasionally, John gave her little episodes of his past life, his childish, his school, and college days. In return, Adèle told himof her term at Halifax in the convent; of the routine of life andstudy there; of her friendships, and very privately, of the disgustshe took, while there, to what she called the superstitions, themummeries and idolatry of the Catholic church. 

When Mr. Somers had acquired strength enough for exercise onhorseback, Mrs. Dubois, Adèle, and John were accustomed to accompanyhim. Daily, about an hour after breakfast, the little party might havebeen seen fitting off for a canter through the forest. In the evening, the group was joined by Mr. Dubois and the missionary. The atmospherebeing exceedingly dry, both by day and night, they often sat andtalked by moonlight, on a balcony, built over the large, porch-likeentrance to the main door of the house. 

Thus John and Adèle daily grew into a more familiar acquaintance. 

During the absence of Mr. Dubois at Fredericton, Mr. Somers announcedto John that he felt himself strong enough to undertake the ridethrough the wilderness, and proposed that, as soon as their hostreturned, they should start on their journey home. 

With increasing strength, Mr. Somers had become impatient to return tothe duties he had so summarily forsaken. 

He wished to test, in active life, his power to maintain the newprinciples he had espoused and to ascertain if the nobler and holierhopes that now animated him, would give him peace, strength, andbuoyancy, amid the temptations and trials of the future. 

John, for several days, had been living in a delicious reverie, andwas quite startled by the proposition. Though aware how anxiously hisparents were awaiting his return, and that there was no reasonableexcuse for farther delay, he inwardly repudiated the thought ofdeparture. He even indicated a wish to delay the journey beyond thetime Mr. Somers had designated. A piercing look of inquiry from thatgentleman recalled him to his senses, and after a moment ofhesitation, he assented to the arrangement. But the beautiful dreamwas broken. He was thrown at once into a tumult of emotion. Unwillingto expose his agitation to the observation of others, he went directlyto his room and locked himself in. 

After sitting half an hour with his face buried in his hands, thechaos of his soul formed itself into definite shape. His first clearthought was this, --"Without Adèle, my life will be a blank. She isabsolutely necessary to my existence. I must win her". A very decidedconclusion certainly, for a young gentleman to reach, who when hearrived at this house, but a few weeks before, seemed to be enjoying aliberal share of hope and happiness. The question arose, Does she carefor me? Does she regard me with any special interest beyond thekindness and courtesy she accords to all her father's guests? On thispoint, he could not satisfy himself. He was torn by a conflict ofdoubt, hope, and fear. He thought her not averse to him. Sheconversed, sang, and rode with him as if it were agreeable to her. Indeed she seemed to enjoy his society. But she was equally pleased toconverse and ride with Mr. Somers and good Mr. Norton. He was unableto determine the sentiments she really cherished and remained tossedto and fro in painful suspense and agitation. 

A couple of hours passed and found him in the same state. Mr. Somerscame and tapped upon his door. Unwilling to awaken a suspicion of anyunusual discomposure, John opened it and let him in. 

"Hope I don't intrude", said Mr. Somers, "but I want you to look atthe horse Mummychog has brought for me". 

"Ah! yes", said John, and seizing his hat, he accompanied his friendto the stables. 

Their observations over, they returned to the house. 

"You have had a fit of solitude, quite unusual, my boy", said Mr. Somers, planting his hand on John's shoulder. 

"Yes, quite. For a novelty, I have been collecting my thoughts". Johnmeant to speak in a gay, indifferent tone, and thought he had done so, but this was a mistake. 

Besides he had in fact a decidedly conscious look. 

"If you have any momentous affair on hand, I advise you to wait, untilyou reach _home_ before you decide upon it, my boy", said Mr. Somers, with a light laugh, but a strong emphasis upon the word, home. 

And he passed up-stairs, leaving John, standing bewildered in thehall-door. 

"Ah! Ned has discovered it all", said he to himself. But he was toomuch occupied with other thoughts to be annoyed by it now. 

Mr. Somers's last remark had turned the course of his meditationssomewhat. He began to question what opinion his parents might have inregard to the sentiments he entertained towards Adèle, and the planhe had formed of endeavoring to secure her love. He knew, theyconsidered him as yet hardly out of boyhood. He had indeed, untilwithin a few weeks, looked upon himself in that light. 

Not yet freed from college halls, --would they not think him foolishand precipitate? Would they approve his choice?

But these queries and others of like character he disposed ofsummarily and decisively. He felt that, no matter how recently he hadpassed the limits of boyhood and become a man, it was no boy's passionthat now swayed his whole being, it seemed to him that, should he makethe effort, he could not expel it from his soul. But he did not wishto make the effort. Adèle was worthy the love of any man. 

It had been his fortune to find a jewel, when he least expected it. Why should he not avail himself of the golden opportunity and securethe treasure? Would his parents approve his choice? Certainly, Adèlewas "beautiful as the Houries and wise as Zobeide". Considerations ofpolicy and expediency, which sometimes appear on the mental horizon ofolder people, were quite unknown to our young hero. 

So he returned to the only aspect of the case that gave him realdisquiet. He had fears respecting Adèle's sentiments towards himself, and doubts of his ability to inspire in her a love equal to his own. But he must be left for the present to adjust himself to his newsituation as best he can. 

CHAPTER XXI. 

TROUBLED HEARTS. 

On the afternoon of the day following, Adèle was sitting alone in theparlor. She held a book in her hand, but evidently it did not muchinterest her, as her eyes wandered continually from its pages andrested, abstractedly, upon any object they happened to meet. 

She felt lonely, and wondered why Mr. Lansdowne did not, as usual atthat hour, come to the parlor. She thought how vacant and sad her lifewould be, after he and Mr. Somers had departed from Miramichi. Shequeried whether she should ever meet them again; whether, indeed, either of them, after a short time, would ever think of theacquaintances they had formed here, except when recalled by someaccident of memory, or association. She feared they might whollyforget all these scenes, fraught with so much interest and pleasure toher, and that fear took possession of her heart and made her almostmiserable. She strove to turn her mind upon her favorite project ofreturning with her parents, to France. But, notwithstanding herefforts, her thoughts lingered around the departing gentlemen, and theclose of her acquaintance with them. 

Suddenly she heard Mr. Lansdowne's step approaching the room. Conscious that her heart was at this moment in her eyes, she hastilythrew the book upon the table. Taking her embroidery, she bent herattention closely upon it, thus veiling the tell-tale orbs, with theirlong dark lashes. 

She looked up a moment, as he entered, to give him a nod ofrecognition. A flash of lightning will reveal at once the wholeparaphernalia of a room, even to its remotest corners; or disclose thescenery of an entire landscape, in its minutest details, eachpreviously wrapt by the darkness in perfect mystery; so, one singleglance of the eye may unveil and discover a profound secret, that hashitherto never been indicated, by either word or motion. By that quickglance, Adèle saw Mr. Lansdowne's face, very pale with the struggle hehad just gone through, and a strange light glowing from his eyes, thatcaused her to withdraw her own immediately. 

Her heart beat rapidly, --she was conscious that a tide of crimson wascreeping up to her cheek, and felt herself tremulous in every limb, asMr. Lansdowne approached and drew a seat near her. But pride came toher aid. One strong effort of the will, and the young creature, noviceas she was in the arts of society, succeeded in partially covering theflutter and agitation of spirit caused by the sudden discovery of herlover's secret. 

"When do you expect your father's return, Miss Adèle?" inquired Mr. Lansdowne. 

"In a day or two", was the reply. 

"Do you know that my uncle and I will be obliged to leave ournewly-found friends here, soon after your father gets home?"

"I know", replied Adèle, with apparent calmness, "that Mr. Somers'shealth has greatly improved and I supposed you would probably go awaysoon". 

"Pardon me, Miss Adèle", said John, in a voice that betrayed hisemotion, "but shall you miss us at all? Shall you regret our absence?"

Again Adèle's heart bounded quickly. She felt irritated and ashamed ofits tumult. 

By another strong effort, she answered simply, "Certainly, Mr. Lansdowne, we shall all miss you. You have greatly enlivened ournarrow family circle. We shall be very sorry to lose you". 

How indifferent she is, thought John. She does not dream of my love. 

"Miss Adèle", he exclaimed passionately, "it will be the greatestcalamity of my life to leave you". 

For a moment, the young girl was silent. His voice both thrilled andfascinated her. Partly proud, partly shy, like the bird who shuns thesnare set for it, only fluttering its wings over the spot for aninstant, and then flying to a greater distance, Adèle bestirred herpowers and resolved not to suffer herself to be drawn into the meshes. She felt a new, strange influence creeping over her, to which she washalf afraid, half too haughty to yield without a struggle. 

"Mr. Lansdowne, I am happy yo learn you place some value on ourfriendship, as we do on yours. But surely, your own home, such as youhave described it to me, must be the most attractive spot on earth toyou". 

"Is it possible", said Mr. Lansdowne vehemently, taking her hand andholding it fast in his, "that you cannot understand me, --that you donot know that I love you infinitely more than father, or mother, orany human creature?"

Surprised at the abruptness of this outburst, bewildered anddistressed by her own conflicting emotions, Adèle knew not what tosay, and wished only to fly away into solitude that she might collecther scattered powers. 

"Mr. Lansdowne, I am not prepared for this. Let me go. I must leaveyou", she exclaimed. 

Suddenly drawing her hand from his, she fled to her own room, lockedthe door and burst into a passionate flood of tears. Poor child! Herlover with his unpractised hand, had opened a new chapter in her life, too precipitately. She was not prepared for its revelations, and theshock had shaken her a little too rudely. 

John remained sitting, white and dumb, as if a thunderbolt had fallenupon him. 

"Gone! gone!" he exclaimed at length, "she does not love me! And, foolthat I was, I have frightened her from me forever!"

He bowed his head upon the table and uttered a groan of despair. 

Mr. Lansdowne returned to the solitude of his own room, sufficientlymiserable. He feared he had offended Adèle past healing. Looking overthe events of the week, he thought he could perceive that she had beenteased by his attentions, and that she wished to indicate this by thecoolness of her manner and words to him, during their recentinterview. And he had recklessly, though unwittingly, put the climaxto her annoyance by this abrupt disclosure of his love. He beratedhimself unmercifully for his folly. For a full hour, he believed thathis blundering impetuosity had cost him the loss of Adèle forever. 

But it is hard for hope to forsake the young. It can never whollyleave any soul, except by a slow process of bitter disappointment. John saw that he had made a mistake. The strength and tumult of hispassion for Adèle had led him thoughtlessly into what probablyappeared to her, an attempt to storm the citadel of her heart, and inher pride, she had repulsed him. 

He bethought him that there were gentler modes of reaching that seatof life and love. He became a tactician. He resolved he would, by hisfuture conduct, perhaps by some chance word, indicate to Adèle that heunderstood her repulse and did not intend to repeat his offence. Hewould not hereafter seek her presence unduly, but when they werethrown together, would show himself merely gentle and brotherly. Andthen, --he would trust to time, to circumstances, to his lucky star, tobring her to his side. 

In the mean time, after her tears had subsided, Adèle found, somewhatto her surprise, that this sudden disturbance of her usual equilibriumcame from the very deep interest she felt for Mr. Lansdowne. And, moreover, she was annoyed to find it so, and did not at all like toown it to herself. Naturally proud, self-relying, and in the habit ofchoosing her own path, she had an instinctive feeling that this newpassion might lay upon her a certain thralldom, not congenial to herhaughty spirit. This consciousness made her distant and reserved, whenshe again met Mr. Lansdowne at the tea-table. 

In fact, the manner of each towards the other had wholly changed. 

John was calm, respectful, gentle, but made no effort to draw Adèle'sattention. After tea he asked Mrs. Dubois to play backgammon with him. 

Adèle worked on her embroidery, and Mr. Somers sat beside her, sketching on paper with his pencil, various bits of ruin and sceneryin Europe, mixed up with all sorts of grotesque shapes and monsters. Mr. Lansdowne appeared, all the evening, so composed, so natural, andsimply brotherly, that when Adèle went to her room for the night, theinterview of the afternoon seemed almost like a dream. She thoughtthat the peculiar reception she had given to his avowal, might havequite disenchanted her lover. And the thought disturbed her. Aftermuch questioning and surmising, she went to sleep. 

The next day and the next, Mr. Lansdowne's manner towards Adèlecontinued the same. She supposed he might renew the subject of theirlast conversation, but he did not, although several opportunitiespresented, when he might have done so. Occasionally, she strove toread his emotions by observing his countenance, but his eyes wereaverted to other objects. He no longer glanced towards her. "Ah!well", said Adèle to herself, "his affection for me could not be soeasily repulsed, were it so very profound. I will care nothing forhim". And yet, somehow, her footstep lagged wearily and her eyeoccasionally gathered mists on its brightness. 

It was now the eve of the fifth of October. An unnatural heatprevailed, consequent on the long drought, the horizon was skirtedwith a smoky haze and the atmosphere was exceedingly oppressive. Mrs. Dubois, who was suffering from a severe headache, sat in the parlor, half buried in the cushions of an easy-chair. Adèle stood beside her, bathing her head with perfumed water, while Mr. Somers, prostrated bythe weather, lay, apparently asleep, upon a sofa. 

"That will do, Adèle", said Mrs. Dubois, making a slight motiontowards her daughter. "That will do, _ma chère_, my head is coolernow. Go out and watch for your father. He will surely be hereto-night". 

Adèle stepped softly out, through the window upon the balcony. 

A few minutes after, Mr. Lansdowne came to the parlor door, looked in, inquired for Mrs. Dubois's headache, gazed for a moment, at the sereneface of the sleeper on the sofa, and then, perceiving Adèle sittingoutside, impelled by an irresistible impulse, went out and joined her. 

She was leaning her head upon her hand, with her arm supported by alow, rude balustrade, that ran round the edge of the balcony, and waslooking earnestly up the road, to catch the first glimpse of herfather. Her countenance had a subdued, sad expression. She was indeedvery unhappy. The distance and reserve that had grown up so suddenlybetween herself and Mr. Lansdowne had become painful to her. She wouldhave rejoiced to return once more to their former habits of frank andvivacious conversation. But she waited for him to renew thefamiliarity of the past. 

She turned her head towards him as he approached, and without raisingher eyes, said, "Good evening, Mr. Lansdowne". He bowed, sat down, andthey remained several minutes in silence. 

"I suppose", said John, at length, making a desperate effort topreserve a composure of manner, entirely at variance with thetumultuous throbbings of his heart, "you are confident of yourfather's return to-night?"

"O, yes. I look for him every moment. I am quite anxious to hear theresult of the expedition". 

"I am, also. I hope no harm will come to our good friend, Mr. Norton. Do you know whether he intends to spend the winter here, Miss Adèle?"

"I think he will return to his family. But we shall endeavor to retainhim, until we go ourselves". 

"_You_ go, Miss Adèle", exclaimed John, unable to conceal his eagerinterest, "do you leave here?"

"We go to France next month". 

"To France!" repeated the young man. 

"My father and mother are going to visit their early home. I shallaccompany them". John, aroused by information containing so much ofimportance in regard to Adèle's future, could not restrain himselffrom prolonging the conversation. Adèle was willing to answer hisinquiries, and in a few minutes they were talking almost as freely andfrankly as in the days before Mr. Lansdowne's unfortunately rashavowal of his passion. 

Suddenly a thick cloud of dust appeared in the road, and Mr. Dubois, Mr. Norton, and Micah, were soon distinguished turning the heads oftheir horses towards the house. 

Adèle uttered an exclamation of joy, and bounded from her seat. As Mr. Lansdowne made way for her to reach the window, she glanced for amoment at his face, and there beheld again the strange light glowingin his eyes. It communicated a great hope to her heart. 

She hastened past him to greet her father. 

CHAPTER XXII. 

A MEMORABLE EVENT. 

The morning of the sixth of October dawned. The heat of the weatherhad increased and become wellnigh intolerable. At breakfast, Mr. Dubois and Mr. Norton gave accounts of fires they had seen in variousparts of the country, some of them not far off, and owing to theprevalence of the forest and the extreme dryness of the trees andshrubs, expressed fears of great devastation. 

They united in thinking it would be dangerous for the two gentlemen toundertake their journey home, until a copious rain should have fallen. 

During the forenoon, the crackling of the fires and the sound offalling-trees in the distant forest could be distinctly heard, announcing that the terrible element was at work. 

Mr. Dubois, accompanied by Mr. Norton and John, ascended the mostprominent hills in the neighborhood to watch the direction in whichthe clouds of smoke appeared. These observations only confirmed theirfears. They warned the people around of the danger, but these paidlittle heed. In the afternoon, the missionary crossed, from the Duboishouse, on the northern side of the river, to the southern bank, andexplored the country to a considerable distance around. 

In the evening, when the family met in the Madonna room, cheerfulnesshad forsaken the party. The languor produced by the heat and theheavily-laden atmosphere, solicitude felt for the dwellers in theforest, through which the fire was now sweeping, a hoarse rumblingnoise like distant thunder, occasionally booming on their ears, andgloomy forebodings of impending calamity, all weighed upon thedispirited group. 

Mr. Norton said it was his firm conviction that God was about todisplay His power in a signal manner to this people in order to arousethem to a sense of their guilt. 

Before separating for the night, he requested permission to offer up aprayer to heaven. The whole circle knelt, while he implored the GreatRuler of all, to take them as a family under his protecting love, whether life or death awaited them, and that He would, if consistentwith His great and wise plans, avert His wrath from the people. 

The night was a dismal, and for the most of the family, a sleeplessone. The morning rose once more, but it brought no cheering sound ofblessed rain-drops. The air was still hot and stifling. 

About noon, the missionary came in from a round of observation he hadbeen making, and urged Mr. Dubois to take his family immediately tothe south bank of the river. The fires were advancing towards themfrom the north, and would inevitably be upon them soon. He had notbeen able to discover any appearance of fire upon the southern sideof the river. It was true the approaching flames might be drivenacross, but the stream being for some distance quite wide, this mightnot take place. In any event, the southern side was the safest, at thepresent moment. He had faith in the instinct of animals, and forseveral hours past he had seen cattle and geese leaving their usualplaces of resort and swimming to the opposite shore. 

Mr. Dubois, also convinced that there was no other feasible method ofescape, hastened to make arrangements for immediate departure. 

A mist, tinged with deep purple, now poured in from the wilderness andoverspread the horizon. A dark cloud wrapped the land in a dismalgloom. The heat grew nearly insupportable. Rapid explosions, loud andstartling noises, filled the air, and the forest thrilled and shookwith the raging flames. Soon a fiery belt encircled them on the east, north, and west, and advancing rapidly, threatened to cover the wholearea. The river was the only object which, by any possibility, couldstay its course. 

Then followed a scene of wildest confusion. The people, aroused atlast to their danger, rushed terrified to the river, unmoored theirboats and fled across. Hosts of women, whose husbands were absent inthe forest, came with their children, imploring to be taken to theother side. The remainder of the day was occupied in this work, and atthe close of it, most of those living in the Dubois settlement hadbeen safely landed on the southern shore; and there they stood huddledtogether in horror-stricken groups, on the highest points they couldreach, watching the terrible, yet majestic scene. 

Mr. Somers had been occupied in this way all the afternoon and wasgreatly exhausted. As the darkness of night shut down upon the scene, he landed a party of women and children, who rushed up, precipitately, to join those who had crossed before. He had handed the last passengerover the edge of the boat, when a sudden faintness, produced by theexcessive heat and fatigue, overpowered him. He tottered backward andfell, striking his head violently upon some object in the bottom ofthe boat. It was a deathblow. 

There he lay, with face upturned towards the lurid glare that lit upthe darkness. The boat nestled about in the little cove, rocked uponthe waves, presenting the pale countenance, now half in shadow, nowwholly concealed by the overhanging shrubs, and now in full relief, but always with a sweet, radiant, immovable calm upon the features, instrange contrast to the elemental roar and tumult around him. 

In the mean time, the fires drew nearer and nearer the northern bankof the river. A strong breeze sprang up and immense columns of smokemounted to the sky. Then came showers of ashes, cinders and burningbrands. At last, a tornado, terrible in fury, arose to mingle itshorrors with the fire. Thunderbolt on thunderbolt, crash on crash rentthe air. At intervals of momentary lull in the storm, the roar of theflames was heard. Rapidly advancing, they shot fiery tongues intoevery beast lair of the forest, into every serpent-haunted crevice ofthe rock, sending forth their denizens bellowing and writhing withanguish and death; onward still they rushed licking up with hissingsound every rivulet and shallow pond, twisting and coiling round theglorious pines, that had battled the winds and tempests hundreds ofyears, but now to be snapped and demolished by this new enemy. 

With breathless interest, the inhabitants of the settlement watchedthe progress of the flames. The hamlet where they lived was situatedon a wide point of land, around which the Miramichi made an unusuallybold sweep. Micah's Grove partly skirted it on the north. 

From the Grove to the river, the forest-trees had been cleared, leaving the open space dotted with the houses of the settlers. Thefire pressed steadily on toward the Grove. The destruction of thatforest fane, consecrated so recently to the worship of God, and theburning of their homes and earthly goods seemed inevitable. Thepeople, with pale, excited faces, awaited this heart-rendingspectacle. 

Just at this moment, the tornado, coming from the North, with terrificfury, drawing flames, trees, and every movable object in its wake, whirling forward with gigantic power, suddenly turned in its path, veered towards the east, swept past the Grove and past the settlement, leaving them wholly untouched, and took its destructive course onwardto the ocean. The people were dumb with amazement. Ruin had seemed sosure that they scarcely trusted the evidence of their senses. 

They dared not even think they had been saved from so much misery. Fora time, not a word was uttered, not a muscle moved. 

Mr. Mummychog was the first to-recover his voice. 

"'Tis a maracle! and nuthin' else", he exclaimed, "and we've jest gotto thank Captin' Norton for it. He's been a prayin' ut we might bepast by, all 'long and 'tis likely the Lord has heerd him. 'Tain't oneour own acceounts, my worthy feller-sinners, that we've been spared. Mind ye remember _that_". 

The people in their joy gathered around the missionary, and unitedwith Micah, in acknowledging their belief, that his prayers hadaverted from them this great calamity. For a moment, their attentionwas distracted from the still raging horrors of the scene by the senseof relief from threatened danger. 

It was during this brief lull of intense anxiety and expectation, thatour friends first became aware of the absence of Mr. Somers. They hadsupposed, of course, that he was standing somewhere among the groupsof people, his attention riveted, like their own, upon the scenebefore them. Adèle first woke to the consciousness that he was notwith them. 

She turned her head and explored with earnest gaze the people around. She could see distinctly by the intense red light, nearly everycountenance there, but did not recognize that of Mr. Somers. A painfulanxiety immediately seized her, which she strove in vain to conceal. She approached near where Mr. Lansdowne stood, by the side of hermother, gazing after the fire, placed her hand lightly on his arm, andasked, "Can you tell me where Mr. Somers is to be found?"

"Mr. Somers! yes, --Ned. Where is he?" he exclaimed, turning, halfbewildered by her question, and looking in her face. 

In an instant, the solicitude her features expressed, passed into hisown, the same sudden presentiment of evil possessed him. 

Drawing Adèle's arm hurriedly into his, he said, "please go with me toseek him". 

Hastening along, they went from one to another, making inquiries. Itappeared that Mr. Somers had not been seen for several hours. 

Immediately, the whole company took the alarm and the search for himcommenced. 

John and Adèle, after fruitless efforts among the houses, at lengthtook their way to the river bank. As they were hastening forward, awoman standing upon a rock overhanging the path they pursued, toldthem that Mr. Somers brought herself and children over in the boat, just at dark, --that she had not seen him since, and she rememberednow, that she did not see him come up from the river after he landedthem. 

"Lead us to the spot where you left the boat", said Adèle. "Go on asquickly as you can". 

The woman descended from her perch upon the rock and plunged beforethem into the path. 

"I remember now", she said with sudden compunctions, at her ownselfish indifference, "that the gentleman looked pale and seemed to bedreadful tired like". 

Neither John nor Adèle made reply, and the woman hurried on. In a fewminutes, a sudden turn in the path brought them to the little covewhere the boat still lay. 

The woman first caught sight of the wan face in the bottom of theboat, and uttered a scream of horror. The lips of the others werefrozen into silence by the dread spectacle. 

Scarcely a moment seemed to have passed, before John rushed down intothe water, reached the boat, raised thence the lifeless form, bore itto the shore and laid the dripping head into the arms of Adèle, whoseated herself on the grass to receive it. 

"Go quickly", she said to the woman, "go for Dr. Wright. I saw himonly a moment ago. Find him and bring him here". 

John threw himself upon his knees and began chafing Mr. Somers'shands. "He is dead! he is dead!" he whispered, in a voice, hoarse andunnatural with fear and anxiety. 

"Let us hope not", said Adèle in a tone of tenderness. "Perhaps it isonly a swoon. We will convey him to some shelter and restore him". Andshe wrung the rain from his curls of long brown hair. 

John's finger was upon Mr. Somers's wrist. "It will break my mother'sheart", he said, in the same hoarse whisper. At that moment, Dr. Wright's voice was heard. He placed himself, without a word, upon thegrass, looked at the pale face, unfastened the dripping garments, thrust his hand in beneath them, and laid it upon the young man'sheart. 

"He is dead!" said Dr. Wright. "Friends, get a bit of canvas and ablanket and take him to some house, till day breaks". 

John, stupefied with horror and grief, still knelt by Mr. Somers, chafing his hands and wringing the water from his wet garments. Atlength, Mr. Dubois gently roused him from his task, telling him theywould now remove their friend to a house, where he might be properlycared for. 

"Let me lift him", said Micah to the young man. But John shook hishead and stooping, raised Mr. Somers and laid him on the canvas asgently as if he were a sleeping infant. 

Mr. Dubois, the missionary, John, and Micah conveyed the preciouscharge. The Doctor, with Mrs. Dubois and Adèle followed in melancholysilence. The crowd came behind. The terrific events of the night hadmade the people quiet, thoughtful, and sympathetic. 

Once, after the prolonged, clinging gaze of each upon the face of thesleeper, the eyes of the missionary and John met. 

"My dear young man", said Mr. Norton, in a low, emphatic voice, "Godhas taken him in mercy. The dear friend whom we loved, is himselfsatisfied, I doubt not. May the Eternal Father grant us all at the endof our course here a like blessed deliverance. Amen". 

John looked in the good man's face, as if he but half understood hiswords, and fixed his eyes again upon Mr. Somers. 

At length, the party reached a house near the river bank, where theydeposited the dead. 

Mrs. McNab, who had followed close on their footsteps, when theyreached the door, drew Adèle aside and said, "Naw, Miss Ady, I want the preevaleege o' trying to resoositate thatpuir gentelman. It wad be like rasin' the dead, but there'll be naeharm in tryin', to be sure". 

"He is dead. The doctor says so, Aunt Patty". And Adèle turned awayquickly. 

But Mrs. McNab caught her shawl and held it. 

"Naw, Miss Ady, dinna turn awa' fram a puir body, that was overtookance or twice with the whiskey, when a was tired and worrit for wanto' sleep. I wad nae ha' hurt a hair o' the gentelman's head. An' I wadlike the preevaleege o' wrappin' some blankets round him an' puttin'some bottles o' hot water to his feet". 

Adèle, who had listened more patiently than she was wont, now turnedand glancing at Aunt Patty, saw that she really looked humble andwishful, and two great tears were in her eyes. 

"Well, I will see", said she, struck with this new phase of Mrs. McNab's countenance. She went into the apartment, where they had justlaid Mr. Somers upon a bed. 

In a few minutes, she returned. 

"The doctor says it will be of no use, Aunt Patty. But Mr. Lansdownewould like to make an attempt to restore him. So come, mamma and Iwill help you". 

Notwithstanding Mrs. McNab's subdued state of mind and her genuine, unselfish wish to do all in her power to bring consciousness to thestricken form, she could not avoid, as she made one application afteranother, making also a few indicative observations to Mrs. Dubois. 

"Did ye hear what the preacher said to the young mon as we cam' alang?He's a mighty quick way o' desmeesin a' bonnie creetur like this outo' the warld and sayin' he's satisfied aboot it". 

"That was not what the missionary said, Mrs. McNab", replied Mrs. Dubois. "He said that Mr. Somers is happy now. He is in Paradise, andwe must not wish him back. He is satisfied to be with Jesus and theangels and his own mother. That is what he meant. And does he not_look_ satisfied? See his blissful countenance!"

Mrs. Dubois leaned over him a moment, and thinking of his sister, Mrs. Lansdowne, parted his hair with her pale, slender fingers andimprinted a kiss on his forehead. 

All efforts to restore warmth, or life to that marble form were invain, and at length they covered his face gently, until the day-dawn. 

John sat by the bedside, his head buried in his hands, until morning. He thought over all his past companionship with this youthful UncleNed, of his pleasantness, wit and fascination, of his generous spirit, of his love for his mother and himself, and wondered at the awfulstrangeness that had thus fallen, in a moment, between them. Then thethought of his mother's bitter grief swept over him like a flood andnearly unmanned him. Like the drowning man, his brain was stimulatedto an unwonted activity. He lived over again his whole life, in a fewminutes of time. This dread Power, who had never crossed his pathbefore, shocked him inexpressibly. Who of the young, unstricken bysorrow, ever associates death with himself or with those he loves, till the Arch Reaper comes some day and cuts down and garners hisprecious treasure?

John had heard of death, but he had heard of it just as he had heardof the poisonous Upas-tree, growing on some distant ocean island, orof an evil star, under whose baleful influence he might never fall. 

The young live as if this life were immortal. So much the more bittertheir experience, when they wake up from the delusion. 

The others of the party were gathered in an adjoining room, gazingsilently at the scene without. It was fearful, yet sublime. The wholenorthern side of the Miramichi river, for over one hundred miles, hadbecome involved in one mighty sheet of flame, which was sweeping on inswift destruction to the Gulf of St. Lawrence. The river boiled withthe fierce heat and tossed its foaming waters, filled with its nowlifeless inhabitants, to the shore. The fire was fed by six thousandsquare miles of primeval forest, --a dense growth of resinoustrees, --by houses and barns filled with crops, and by thriving townsupon the river's bank. 

Above all, the people could not put aside the horrible truth, thathundreds of men, women, and children, --their friends and theiracquaintances, --were perishing by the all-consuming element. Theycould not exclude from fancy, the agonized and dying shrieks of thosedear to them, and the demoniac light shone on countenances, expressingemotions of pity, grief, horror, and despair. 

While the missionary sat there waiting for the day, he recalled withstartling distinctness the wild dream he dreamed, on that first nighthe spent at the Dubois House. Of course, his belief in foregleams offuture events was confirmed by the scenes transpiring around him. 

Mrs. Dubois sat near him, her countenance expressing profound grief. 

"The dear young man!" she said. "How sad and awful thus to die!"

"My dear madam", said Mr. Norton, "let us not mourn as those who haveno hope. Our beloved friend, brilliant and susceptible, aspiring andtender, was illy fitted for the rude struggle of life. It is true hemight have fought his way through, girt with the armor of Christianfaith and prayer, as many others, like him, have done. But the fightwould have been a hard one. So he has been kindly taken home. Sad andawful thus to die? Say rather, infinitely blest the God-protectedsoul, thus snatched away from this terrific uproar of natural elementsinto the sphere of majestic harmonies, of stupendous yet peacefulpowers". 

At daybreak the little community took to their boats, crossed theriver and re-entered once more the dwellings they had but a few hoursbefore left, never expecting to return to them again. Some went homeand gathered their families in unbroken numbers around them. Others, whose husbands and sons had been absent in the forest at the time ofthe breaking out of the fire, over whose fate remained a terribleuncertainty, gathered in silence around lonely hearths. The terrors ofthe past night were, to such, supplemented by days and even weeks ofheartbreaking anxiety and suspense, closed at last by the knowledge ofcertain bereavement. 

All had been deeply impressed with the horror of the scene, andsobered into thoughtfulness. A few felt truly grateful to the MostHigh for their wonderful preservation. 

CHAPTER XXIII. 

THE SEPARATION. 

With the morning light and the return to the settlement, Mr. Lansdowneawoke to a consciousness of the duty immediately before him, that ofmaking arrangements for the safe conveyance home of the precious formnow consigned to his care. 

His friends at the Dubois house manifested the deepest sympathy in hisaffliction, and aided him in every possible way. In making his journeyhe concluded to take a boat conveyance to Chatham, and a tradingvessel thence to his native city. 

The missionary, who since the early spring had been laboring up anddown the rivers St. John and Miramichi, now concluded to return to hisfamily for the coming winter. Such had been his intention and hispromise to Mrs. Norton, when he left home. He was induced to go atthis particular time partly by the hope of rendering some service toMr. Lansdowne during his journey, and partly in order to see Mrs. Lansdowne and impart to her the particulars of her brother's residenceand illness at Miramichi. A scheme of mercy on the part of the goodman. 

On the return of Mr. Dubois to his house, he found a package ofletters, which, in the confusion and anxiety of the previous day, hadremained unopened. There was one from the Count de Rossillon, announcing the death of the Countess. He wrote as if deeply depressedin mind, speaking of the infirmities of age weighing heavily upon him, and of his loneliness, and imploring Mr. Dubois to come, make hisabode at the chateau and take charge of the estate, which, at hisdeath, he added, would pass into the possession of Mrs. Dubois andAdèle. 

Mrs. Dubois's heart beat with delight and her eyes swam with tears ofpleasure, at the prospect of once more returning to her belovedPicardy. Yet her joy was severely chastened by the loss of theCountess, whom she had fondly loved. 

Adèle felt a satisfaction in the anticipation of being restored to thedignities of Rossillon, which she was too proud to manifest. 

Mr. Dubois alone hesitated in entertaining the idea of a return. Hisinnate love of independence, together with a remembrance of the earlyantipathy the Count had shown to the marriage with his niece, made thethought repellant to him. A calmer consideration, however, changed hisview of the case. He recollected that the Count had at last consentedto his union with Mrs. Dubois, and reflected that the infirmities andloneliness of the Count laid on them obligations they should notneglect. He found, also, that his own love of home and country, nowthat it could at last with propriety be gratified, welled up andoverflowed like a newly sprung fountain. 

The tornado had spent itself, the fire had rushed on to the ocean, theatmosphere had became comparatively clear and the weather cool andbracing. 

On the evening before the departure of Mr. Norton and Mr. Lansdowne, the family met, as on many previous occasions, in the Madonna room. Initself, the apartment was as cheerful and attractive as ever, but eachone present felt a sense of vacancy, a shrinking of the heart. Thesunny changeful glow of one bright face was no longer there, and theshadows of approaching separation cast a gloom over the scene. 

These people, so strangely thrown together in this wild, obscureregion of Miramichi, drawn hither by such differing objects ofpursuit, bound by such various ties in life, occupying such divergentpositions in the social scale, had grown by contact and sympathy intoa warm friendship toward each other. Their daily intercourse was nowto be broken up, the moment of adieu drew nigh, and the prospect offuture meeting was, to say the least, precarious. Was it strange thatsome sharp pangs of regret filled their hearts?

Mr. Lansdowne, who had up to this time been wholly occupied with hispreparations for departure, was sitting, in an attitude betokeningweariness and despondency, leaning his arms upon a table, shading hisface with his hand. A few days of grief and anxiety had greatlychanged him. He looked pale and languid, but Adèle thought, as sheoccasionally glanced at him from the sofa opposite, that she had neverseen his countenance so clothed with spiritual beauty. 

Mr. Dubois, who had not yet spoken to his friends of his intention toremove to France, now broke the heavy silence, by announcing hispurpose to leave, in the course of a week, and return with his familyto Picardy. 

Mr. Lansdowne started suddenly and uttered a slight exclamation. Adèlelooked at him involuntarily. He was gazing at her intently. Thestrange light again glowed in his eyes. Her own fell slowly. She couldnot keep her lids lifted beneath his gaze. 

After the plans of Mr. Dubois had been discussed, mutual inquiries andcommunications respecting future prospects were made, until theevening hours were gone. 

"If my life is spared, I shall come here and spend another season, asI have spent the one just closing", said Mr. Norton. 

Thus they parted for the night. 

In the morning there was time for nothing, but a few hasty words. 

Adèle's face was very pale. Mr. Lansdowne, looking as if he had notslept for many hours, took her hand, bent over it silently for amoment, then walked slowly to the boat without turning his head. 

During days and weeks of tranquil pleasure in each other'scompanionship, these two young beings had unconsciously become lovers. No sooner had they awakened to a knowledge of this fact, than a greatdanger and an unlooked for sorrow, while deepening the current oftheir existence, had also deepened their affection. Was that formal, restrained adieu to be the end of all this?

CHAPTER XXIV. 

CHATEAU DE ROSSILLON. 

In the year 1828, three years after the occurrences related in thelast chapter, Adèle Dubois, grown into a superb beauty, stood near theAphrodite fountain, in front of the chateau de Rossillon, feeding fromher hand a beautiful white fawn. It was a warm, sunny afternoon inJune. Majestic trees shaded the green lawn, and the dark brown hue ofthe old chateau formed a fitting background for the charming tableau. Adèle was enveloped in a cloud of white gauzy drapery, a black velvetgirdle encircling her waist, fastened by a clasp of gold and pearls. Her hair was laid in smooth bands over her brow, then drawn into onemass of heavy braids upon the back of the head, and secured by agolden arrow shot through it. 

One who by chance had seen Adèle in the wilds of Miramichi, at the ageof sixteen, would at once recognize the lady feeding the fawn as thesame. At a second glance, the hair would be seen to have grown a shadedarker and a gleam more shining, the large sloe-colored eyes morethoughtful and dreamy, the complexion of a more transparentwhiteness, and the figure to have ripened into a fuller and richersymmetry. 

Nothing could surpass the exquisite moulding and fairness of the armextended alternately to feed and caress the pet animal before her. Nowonder the little creature looked up at her with its soft, almosthuman eyes, and gazed in her face, as if half bewildered by herbeauty. 

With a proud and stately grace, she moved over the sward, up themarble steps and passed through the great saloon of the chateau. Wasthere not a slight air of indifference and _ennui_ in her face andmovements? Possibly. It has been noticed that people who are loved, petted, and admired, who have plenty of gold and jewels, who sit atfeasts made for princes, and have the grand shine of splendor alwaysgleaming round them, are more likely to carry that weary aspect, thanothers. Queens even do not look pleased and happy more than half thetime. The fact was, that Adèle of Miramichi, having spent much time inParis, during the last three years, where she had been greatlyadmired, now that the novelty was over, had become tired of playing apart in the pageantry of courtly life and longed for something moresubstantial. 

As she crossed the saloon, a page informed her that Mrs. Dubois wishedher presence in the library. She immediately obeyed the summons. 

This apartment, one of the pleasantest in the chateau, was a favoritewith the Count; and as age and infirmity crept upon him, he grew moreand more attached to it, and was accustomed to spend there the greaterpart of his time, amused and soothed by the attentions of Mrs. Duboisand Adèle. It was a lofty, but not very large apartment, the wallsnearly covered with bookcases of oak, carved in quaint old patternsand filled with choice books in various languages. Several finelyexecuted statues were placed in niches, and one large picture, byRubens, gathered a stream of sunshine upon its gorgeous canvas. 

The Count was sitting, buried in the purple cushions of an easy-chair, fast asleep, and as Adèle entered the room, her mother held up herfinger, warningly. 

"_Ma chère_", said Mrs. Dubois, in a low tone, "here is a packet ofletters for you, from Paris". 

Adèle took them from her mother's hand, indifferently. She read andcrushed together a note bearing the impression of a coat of arms. 

"Count D'Orsay and sister wish to come here next week", she said, witha half sigh. 

"_Eh, bien! ma chère_, they are agreeable people. I shall be glad tosee them". 

"Yes", replied Adèle, "Gabrielle is very lovely. Nevertheless, I regret they are coming". 

"Do you know, Adèle, how highly your father esteems the young Count?"

"Yes, mamma, and that is one reason why I do not wish him to come nowto Rossillon. You know he loves me, and my father approves. I cannever marry him. But I esteem and respect him so much, that it willgive me infinite pain to say nay". 

Mrs. Dubois looked at Adèle very tenderly, yet gravely, and said, "_Ma fille_, do not throw away a true, devoted affection, for the sakeof a phantom one. I fear that, while you are dreaming and waiting, happiness will slip out of your path". 

"Dreaming and waiting", repeated Adèle, a slight red color kindling onher cheek, "_am_ I dreaming and waiting?"

"It seems to me you are, _ma chère_; I fear it will at last spoil yourpeace. I do not see how the Count D'Orsay can fail to win your heart. Do not decide hastily, Adèle". 

"I have considered the affair a long time already. I have looked intomy heart and find nothing there, for Count D'Orsay, but simplerespect, esteem, and friendship. It would be a wrong to him, should Iconsent to marry him, without a warmer, deeper sentiment. It is of nouse thinking about it longer. The subject must be closed. I know Ishall not change, and his affection is too true and pure to betampered with. I shall tell him all frankly next week". 

"_Eh, bien_!" said Mrs. Dubois, with a sigh, and returned to herletters. 

Adèle, who felt quite unhappy to disappoint her mother's hopes in thecase, looked thoughtful. They were both silent for several minutes. 

"Here is a letter from the good missionary", suddenly whispered Mrs. Dubois, holding up to her daughter several sheets of large paper, wellcovered. "See what a nice long one. Now we shall hear the news fromour old home". 

She began to read the missive in a low tone, looking occasionally tosee if her voice disturbed the sleeper, and Adèle, whose countenancehad instantly brightened upon the mention of the letter, drew her seatnearer to her mother and listened intently. 

 MIRAMICHI RIVER, APRIL, 1828. 

 DEAR FRIENDS--

I am again on the memorable spot. You can scarcely imagine my interestin retracing the scene of my brief mission here, in the summer andautumn of 1825, or the deep emotion with which I revisit your formerresidence, the house under whose roof you so kindly sheltered andentertained one, then exiled, like yourselves, from home. I shall everrejoice that Providence threw me into your society, and bestowed uponme the precious gift of your friendship. 

Three years have passed since those eventful weeks we spent together, on the banks of this beautiful river, and you will be interested toknow what changes have taken place here during that time. 

Traces are still distinctly visible of the awful fire, but Time, thegreat healer of wounds, and Nature, who is ever striving to cover upthe desolations of earth, are both at work, silently but diligentlyoverlaying the hideous black disfigurement with greenness and beauty. The Miramichi and its picturesque precincts are now more alive thanever, with a hardy and active population. New villages are springingup on the banks of the river, and business, especially in the branchesof lumbering and fishing, is greatly increasing. There is also amarvellous change in the moral aspect of the country. It is ascribedin a great degree to the deep impression made upon the minds of thepeople by the conflagration, and doubtless this is the fact. It mustbe that God had a retributory end in view in that great event. It wasa judgment upon the community for its exceeding wickedness. Nothingshort of a grand, widespread illumination like that, could havepenetrated the gross darkness that hung over the land. 

The way has been thus prepared for the reception of the truth; andwhereas formerly the people, if they came at all to hear the preachingof God's word, were only drawn by motives of vain curiosity, or thedesire of novelty, they now come in great numbers and with a sinceredesire, as I believe, to be instructed in the way of salvation. Lastyear, I came to this region early in the spring and labored until latein the autumn, preaching up and down the river, from house to houseand from grove to grove, and found the people, almost everywhere, ready to hear. Many were baptized in the flowing waters of theMiramichi, made a profession of their faith in Christ, and have sinceexhibited in their daily lives, good and in some cases shiningevidence of their sincerity. 

You may perhaps be interested to know that yesterday, which was theSabbath, I discoursed, as in days gone by, in Micah's Grove. Thepeople came in from a great distance around, and it was estimated thatthere were not less than eight hundred present. 

My soul was completely filled with a sense of God's unbounded love tothe human family, and my heart was enlarged to speak of the wonderfulthings belonging to His goodness and mercy towards us, as a race. Iwas like a bottle filled with new wine, my heart overflowing with theremembrance of God's love. Conviction was carried in a most signalmanner to the souls of many present. The whole assembly seemed for atime to be overshadowed by the immediate Divine presence. 

It is remarkable, that though the people do at the present time seemto be under profound religious impressions, yet there are scarcely anytraces of the delusion and wildfire usually accompanying such seasons, among a somewhat uncultivated and undisciplined population. That greatfire sobered them, perhaps. 

But, my dear friends, I know you are impatient to hear some detailsrespecting the state of affairs at the "Dubois Settlement", so calledfrom the grateful attachment felt by the inhabitants for adistinguished family once residing there. The new people who haveestablished themselves here of late, are acquainted with the familyjust alluded to, of course only by tradition, but so deep has been theimpression made upon the minds of the new comers, by Mrs. McNab, MicahMummychog, and others, of the worth, benevolence, power, and presentgrandeur of said family, that these persons are more than willing, they feel honored in retaining the name of Dubois in this parish. Theabove is written, to elucidate to your minds the fact, obvious enoughhere, that you are not forgotten. 

Now, you will wish to hear what has befallen some of the queernotabilities of the Settlement. By courtesy, I begin with Mrs. McNab. You will remember her, as the general oracle and adviser of a certainportion of the female population in the neighborhood, and as greatlyopposed to some of the "doctreenes", as she called my instructions tothe people. Well, she remains in her entireness and individuality, hercostume as grotesque and her speech as Scotch as ever. 

You will be surprised, however, to learn that she has a far morefavorable opinion of your humble servant than formerly. I have hadsome difficulty in accounting for this change in her disposition. Itseems, however, that she had early taken a prejudice against Yankees, and had got an idea, in the beginning, that I had some wily andsinister intentions toward the people, connected with my labors here. No developments of that kind having been made, she began to look morecomplacently upon my efforts, and she thinks now that the way in whichI have endeavored to lead the community, is not so bad after all. 

"The warst thing I had agen ye, was this", she said to me not longsince. "My meenister o' the Kirk at Dumfries used to preach that apusson, might repent o' his sins, an' pray and pray a' his life lang, but wad nae ken, in this warld, whether or nae he was to be saved. Whereas, ye ken ye told the people that ef they repented o' their sinsand believed in Christ and gave the evidence o' gude warks they mightsettle right doon, and ken they'd be saved, anyhow. I ca' that apeskalent doctreen, an a loose ane to promoolgate. Though I mustconfess, ye hae na dune the meeschief I luked for". 

I did not think it best to go into a discussion of our theologicaldifferences, lest it should stir up the waters of strife, andtherefore waived the subject. 

Mrs. McNab occupies two comfortable rooms at Mrs. Campbell's house, from whence she issues forth, whenever occasion calls, to perform theduties of nurse, counsellor, and supervisor-general of the domesticaffairs of the community. The tea-drinkings in her parlor seem to beoccasions of great social enjoyment to the fortunate neighborsinvited. After the regular gossip of the day has been discussed, sheentertains her company with the same old stories of her former life inScotland, among its grand families, and to these she has added, forthe benefit of those who have more recently come into the Settlement, accounts of the "Doobyce" family, characterizing its members byremarking, that "Mr. Doobyce was a braw, princely mon, his wife asweet, fair spoken leddy, an' Miss Ady was a born queen, ef there everwas ane. She had her ane way wi' everybody, an' e'en I mysel' hae gienup to her, whiles". 

Micah Mummychog, alias Jones, Miss Adèle's special devotee, never abad-hearted person, has now become one of the influential men of theneighborhood, and sustains here every good word and work. About a yearafter the great fire, he had a long and dangerous illness, brought onby great exposure to cold while lumbering in the woods. 

Mrs. McNab voluntarily went to his house and took care of him mostassiduously, for many weeks, until his recovery. Micah said, that "itlooked remarkable kind in the old soul to come of her own accord andtake keer of him, when he'd allers plagued her so unmascifully". 

He felt very grateful to her and paid her handsomely for her services. Nevertheless, he teases her yet occasionally and says "he dont knowneow, which skeered him most, the great fire, or comin' to his sensesone night when he was sick, and seein' Aunt McNab with her headwropped up in its cotton night gear". 

Subsequent to Micah's recovery, he went to the Kennebec River andvisited his friends. After his return, he commenced trading, and isnow doing quite an extensive business. He has entirely broken off fromhis old habits of swearing and gambling, and discountenances themamong the people. He attends religious worship constantly, and sets aworthy example in keeping the Sabbath day. 

He is also getting his ideas up on the subject of education. Not longsince, he told me it was his opinion that "there warn't half schoollarnin' enuf among the people, and there'd oughter to be longerschools. There's Jinny Campbell, there, a bright leetle imp as everwas, and ef she'd had a chance would a taken to her books, like achicken to a dough dish. And there's others, most as smart as she is, all reound, that need schoolin'. I feel the want of it myself, neowits tew late to git it". 

A few days ago, Micah told me he expected to build a new house forhimself soon. 

"Ah! Micah", said I, "have you got tired of that comfortable old houseof yours, where we have had so many nice suppers and cosey timestogether?"

"Well, no, Captin'; I hain't, and I'm afeerd I shall never likeanother place as I dew that. But ye see, ef a feller is a goin' to gitmerried, he's got to stir reound and dew what suits other folks aswell as hisself". 

"Married! Micah", I said, in complete astonishment, "are you going tobe married?"

"That's jest the way I expected yeou'd look", said he, "when I told yeabeout it, because ye knew I used to talk agin it, like fury. But yesee, Captin'; I aint just as I used to be, abeout some things. I'lltell ye heow it came reound, any heow, so as to sahtisfy ye I ain'tcrazy. Well, when I was a beginnin' to git better o' that terablesickness, the fust and only one I ever had in my life, Miss Campbell, she used to send Jinny up, with bits o' briled chicken, nice broth andsech, to kinder tempt my appetite like. The little critter used tobring 'em in and be so pitiful to me and say, do Micah try to eatthis, so that you may git well; and she seemed so pooty, sincere andnateral like in all her ways, that I took to her mightily, speciallyas I hadn't Miss Adèle to look arter and chore reound for, any more. Once or twice, when she came to bring suthin, Ant McNab kinder advisedher to do this and that, and the way the leetle critter spunked up andhad her own way, made me think o' Miss Adèle and pleased me some, Itell ye. 

"Well, arter I got well, she seemed to be just as chipper and pleasantas ever, and was allers glad when I went to the heouse, and so it wenton (I won't bother abeout the rest on't) till six months ago. As I wasa walkin' hum from a meetin' at the Grove with her, she sed, 'what apooty Grove that is, of yours, Micah;' Witheout a considerin' a half aminit, I sed, right away, 'Jinny, I'd give yeou that Grove and all Ihave beside, upon one condition. ' I looked at her, arter I'd sed it, as skeered as I could be, fur fear she'd fly right at me, fur sayin'sech a thing. But she didn't. She only colored up awfully and sed, ina fluttered kinder way, 'what condition, Micah?' 'Pon condition thatyou'd merry me, Jinny. ' You may believe that arter I sed that, myheart stood still, better'n a minit. She didn't say a word at fust, seemed ruther took by surprise, and then, all of a sudding, she turnedher head and looked up inter my face as sarcy as ye ever see anything, and says she, 'Do yeou think I'd ever merry a man with sech a horridname as Mummychog?' 'Is that all the objection you hev, Jinny?' ses I. Ses she, ''Tis the greatest, I know of. ' Then ses I, 'There ain't nodiffikilty, for my name aint Mummychog, and never was. When I camedeown to this kentry, I was a wild, reckless kind of a critter, and Ithought I'd take some outlandish name, jest for the joke on it. I tookMummychog, and they allers called me so. But my real name is Jones. ''Well, Mr. Jones, ' ses she, lookin' sarcier than ever, 'I shall expectyeou to hev a sign painted with your real name on it and put up onyour store, and yeou must build a new heouse before I merry yeou. 'That sobered me deown a leetle. I sed, 'But Jinny, I don't want ye tomerry me, unless ye like me. I'll build a heouse and gin it tew ye, efthat's what ye want. But ye needn't merry me unless ye like me--neowremember. ' She looked at me, jest as soon as I sed that, and caught upmy big hand inter her little one, and ses she, 'O law, Micah, I'dmerry ye ef yer name _was_ Mummychog, and ye needn't build a heouse, nor nuthin'. I ken go right to the old place jest as well. I'd merryye ef ye hadn't a cent, for I like ye better'n anybody else in theworld, Micah. ' And then she began to cry, and I hushed her up. And so, neow it's all settled". 

"Well Micah", said I, after hearing this account of his courtship ofJenny Campbell, "I congratulate you on your choice; Jenny is a goodgirl and a pretty one. But isn't she rather young?"

"Well, yis. I thought yeou'd be speakin' o' that. I'm forty year oldand she's abeout eighteen, or so. Consid'able difference in eour ages. I told her abeout that t'other day, and she sed, well she didn't seebut I 'peared abeout as young as she did. She didn't see muchdifference. So ef she's sahtisfied, I'd oughter be. But Captin, ' I'lltell ye, she's a curus leetle critter as ever ye see. She has spellsof playin' off all kinds o' tricks on me and hectorin' me every wayshe ken, but the minit she sees me look sober, as ef I felt any waybad, she leaves right off, and comes up and kisses me, and ses shedidn't mean anything by it, and is as good as a kitten". 

Alas! poor Micah! You see, Miss Adèle, he is in the meshes, and therewe must leave him for the present. I have taken pains to give you theabove in his own language, as it is so much more graphic than any Icould employ. 

My letter of Miramichi gossip has, swollen, unconsciously, to anenormous size, and I fear I am getting tedious. Be patient a fewminutes longer, dear friends, while I tell you of Mr. John Lansdowne. 

I happened in the city of P---- last winter, on business, and justbefore leaving town I went to call on Mr. Lansdowne. Aunt Esther, Mr. John's nurse, an aged negro woman who has been a member of thehousehold many years, answered my ring at the door. Finding that noneof the family were at home, I was turning to leave when Aunt Estherbegged me to come in, saying she reckoned they would soon be back, asthey had already been several hours absent, adding, good soul, that"they'd all be dreffully disapinted not to see me. "

I knew that several months prior to this, Mr. Lansdowne had beenadmitted to the practice of law and had become junior partner inbusiness, to the distinguished Mr. Eldon of P. And I now gathered fromAunt Esther, that the Supreme Court was in session, and that a greatcriminal case was being tried before the jury. Mr. Eldon had beentaken ill, just before the trial came on, and had urged Mr. Lansdowneto take his place in Court, saying, he could argue the case as well ashimself. Mr. John, as Aunt Esther informed me, did it with greatreluctance, though she didn't see why. "He always does everything hesets out to do, 'markable nice. But Massa and Missus felt kind ofanxious, and they v'e gone into Court, with other gemmen and ladies, to hear how't goes. I feel no concern about it. I know he'll make asplen'id talk, anyhow, cos he always does". 

After waiting half an hour, I was obliged to leave messages of regretwith Aunt Esther and hasten home. 

I observed in "The Eastern Gazette" of the following week, a notice ofMr. Lansdowne's plea before the jury, in the great case of "TheCommonwealth _vs_ Jenkins, " in which he was eulogized in the highestterms. He was said to have displayed "great acumen, extensive legalacquirements, and magnificent powers of oratory. " So, Aunt Esther'sconfidence, about the "splen'id talk, " was not without a reasonablebasis. 

I was highly gratified, myself, in reading the flattering paragraphs. You know we all greatly admired the young gentleman at Miramichi. Hehas a brilliant earthly future before him, should his life andfaculties be spared. 

Micah was much charmed with the intelligence I brought him of his oldfavorite. 

"I ain't a mite surprised at what you v'e sed abeout the young man. Ever sence I took that trip inter the woods with him, I know'd he'dthe genooine ring o' trew metal tew him. When he gits to be Presidento' the United States, I shall sell eout here and go hum to theKennebec". 

Please let me hear from you soon, my dear friends. It seems long sinceI have had tidings from you. 

With an abiding gratitude for past kindness, shown by you to a wearywanderer from home, and with the warmest respect and friendship, Iremain as ever, Yours truly, SAMUEL J. NORTON. 

Mrs. Dubois not having but one pair of eyes, and those being fullyoccupied with the contents of the above letter, and the Count deRossillon remaining asleep during the entire reading, of course itcould not be expected that they observed the changes that took placeon Adèle's countenance. But an author, as is well known, has ways andmeans of observation not common to others, and here it may beremarked, that that young lady's face, had exhibited, during the lastfifteen minutes, or more, quite a variety of emotions. It had atfirst, been thoughtful and interested, then lighted with smiles, thenradiant with enjoyment of the good missionary's sketches of Mrs. McNaband Micah. But the moment her mother read the name of John Lansdowne, her face was suffused with a deep crimson, and she listened almostbreathlessly, and with glistening eyes, to the close. 

"Oh! the good noble man!" said Mrs. Dubois, as she folded up thesheets. "It will please your father to read this, where is he, Adèle?"

"He rode away with Pierre, not long ago. Please let me take theletter. I must read it again", said Adèle, having conquered heremotion, without her mother perceiving it. 

She took it away to her own boudoir, and as she read the pages, theflowing tears fell fast. Why should she weep over such a cheerfulletter as that? Why?

CHAPTER XXV. 

THE LAST SLEEP. 

Adèle had long since discovered that the events of greatest interestin her life had transpired before she entered the walls of Rossillon, or mingled in the festivities of the Court at Paris. 

The scenes that occurred at Miramichi, during Mr. Lansdowne'saccidental residence there, were fraught with a power over her heart, continually deepening with the flight of time. Those golden days, whentheir lives flowed side by side, had been filled with the strange, sweet agitations, the aerial dreams, the bewitching glamour, theintoxicating happiness of a first and youthful love. Those days wereimprinted yet more deeply in her memory by a consciousness that therewas somewhat with which to reproach herself connected with them. Justwhen she had reached the top of bliss, her pride had sprung up, andlike a dark stormcloud, had shadowed the scene. She could not forgetthat cold, sad parting from her lover. 

And now, though the ocean rolled between them, and the spheres inwhich each moved were so widely separated and the years had come andgone, she was yet calculating and balancing the probabilities, thatthey might meet again and the wrong of the past be cancelled. 

Mr. Lansdowne had been plodding among musty law books and threadinglegal intricacies, with occasional interruptions, caused by fits ofimpatience and disgust at the detail and tedium of study, until he hadat length fought his way through and placed himself in the front rankof his profession. His brilliant achievement in the famous Jenkinscase, in the outset of his career, had at once won for him a positionat the bar which most young men have to toil years to obtain. Hisfamily was wealthy and influential. It was not strange that with theseadvantages, united to the possession of remarkable personal beauty, heshould be the centre of a numerous group of friends and admirers. Hewas the object of pride among the older barristers and gentlemen ofthe bench, the cynosure of the young men, and the one among a thousandwhom elegant mammas and smiling maidens wooed with their selectestinfluences. 

Yet one great element of earthly happiness was wanting to his life. Hecould not forget the enchantment of those days spent in the far-offwilds of Miramichi. He turned continually to those scenes, as the mostprominent of his existence. There he had stepped from boyhood intomanhood. There he had seen life in new and before untried forms. Hehad there witnessed a wonderful display of God's power through theterrible agency of the all-devouring flame, and there, for the firsttime, he had confronted death and sorrow. There, he had loved once andas he believed, forever. He recalled Adèle, as she first appearedbefore him, --an unexpected vision of beauty, in all her careless graceand sweet, confiding frankness; in her moments of stately pride, whenshe chilled him from her side and kept him afar off; and in hermoments of affectionate kindness, and generous enthusiasm. In short, in all her changeful moods she was daily flitting before him and heconfessed to himself, that he had never met a being so rich in natureand varied in powers, so noble in impulse and purpose, so peerlesslybeautiful in person. 

Thus he lived on from day to day, remembering and yearning anddreaming, --the ocean yawning between him and his love. Concealed inthe depths of his soul, there was, however, a hope fondly cherished, and a purpose half formed. 

A few weeks after the reception of Mr. Norton's letter, the Count deRossillon died. Sitting, as usual, in his great purple-cushionedarm-chair, taking his afternoon nap, he expired so gently that Mrs. Dubois, who was reading by the window, did not know, or even suspect, when the parting between spirit and body occurred. Kindly, genial, andpeaceful had been his last years, and his life went out calmly as thelight of day goes out amid the mellow tints of a pleasant autumnsunset. 

When Mrs. Dubois went to arouse him from what seemed an unusually longslumber, she found a volume of Fénélon spread open upon his knee, andturning it, her eye ran over passages full of lofty and devoutaspiration. These, probably expressed the latest thoughts and desiresof the good chevalier, for as she looked from the pages to his face, turned upward toward the ceiling, a smile of assent and satisfactionwas still lingering there, although his breath had departed and hispulse was still. 

Mrs. Dubois stooped to kiss the forehead of her uncle, but startedback with a sudden thrill of fear. She gazed searchingly at him for amoment, and then she knew that Death, the conqueror, stood there withher, looking upon his completed work. 

After the first shock of surprise was over, she remained gazing uponthe spectacle in perfect silence. A truly devout Catholic, in hergrief she leaned with all a woman's trust and confidingness upon thelove and power of Christ, and something of the divine calmness whichwe associate with the character of the mother of our Lord, and whichhas been so wonderfully depicted to the eye by some of the olderpainters, pervaded her spirit. 

As she thus stood, spellbound, entranced, her eyes fixed upon thenoble features irradiated with a smile of content and peace, the longsilvery locks parted away from the forehead and flowing around thehead, like a halo, she thought it the countenance of a saint, and herpoetic fancy created at once a vision of the Saviour, with an aspectgrand, glorious, yet gracious and benign, placing with His right handa golden jewelled crown upon her uncle's head. A cloud swept up overthe gorgeous earthliness of the great Rubens picture, and from out itsfolds shone sweet and smiling angel faces, looking down upon thescene. 

Mrs. Dubois never knew how long she remained thus absorbed. She wasfirst aroused by hearing a voice saying, in tones of fervor, "Howblessed it is to die!" And Adèle, who had entered the room a littletime before, and had uttered these words, stepped forward andimprinted a kiss upon the pale uplifted brow of the sleeper. 

CHAPTER XXVI. 

POMPEII. 

About this period, Mrs. Lansdowne, whose health had been declining fornearly a year, was urgently advised by her physician to seek a milderclimate. John immediately offered himself as her _compagnon devoyage_, and manifested great alacrity in the preparations for theirdeparture for Italy. 

After a favorable sea passage, they landed at Civita Vecchia, and, with brief delays at Rome and Naples, went to Sorrento, intending toremain there several months. 

This place combines the most striking peculiarities of Italianscenery. It stands on a wide and beautiful plain, shut in by themountains and the sea. The fertile soil produces oranges, lemons, grapes, and figs of the richest quality and in great abundance. Thecoast line, a wall of volcanic rock, is broken into varied forms, bythe constant action of the waters. Here, they spent day after day, rambling about the old town, making excursions into the neighboringmountains, or crossing the bay to different points of interest. Theydelighted particularly in sailing under the shadow of the cliffs, watching the varying colors, blue, purple, and green, presented by theglassy surface, peering into the arched caverns, worn into the rockby the waves, and looking upward at the gay profusion of wild flowers, which, growing in every crevice, adorned its face with beauty. Fromthe balcony of the house they occupied, they looked upon gardens, invisible from the street, so closely were they walled in from theview of the passer by, and beheld orange and lemon trees, with roundedtops of dark green foliage, golden fruit, and snowy blossoms. The softair permitted them to sit during the evenings and listen to thewhisper of the sea on the beach, to watch the sails of the fishingvessels gleaming in the moonlight, and gaze at the dark form ofVesuvius, with his lighted torch, brooding at a distance, over thescene. 

A month had thus passed away. A marked improvement had taken place inMrs. Lansdowne's health, and John proposed that they should go toNaples and make an excursion thence to Pompeii. 

One morning, they drove out from the swarming city toward those famousruins, revealing to the curious so much of the old Roman civilization. After a drive of twelve miles past fields of lava and ashes, theaccumulations from recent irruptions of Vesuvius, they arrived at thestreet of tombs, a fitting entrance to the desolated city. Here, thebeautifully sculptured monuments, memorials of a departed generation, awoke in their hearts a peculiar interest. Through these they enteredat once into the inner life of joys and sorrows of an extinct race. 

"How terrible death must have been to these people, whose ideas of thefuture world were so vague and unsatisfying, and who had really noknowledge of immortality!" said Mrs. Lansdowne. 

"Yes", replied John. "And with nothing brighter or more glorious tolook forward to in the beyond, how reluctant they must have felt toleave these glowing skies, this delicious air, these scenes of beautyand art, for the darkness of the grave. I fancy it must have beenharder for them than if they had been surrounded with the sombretints, the chilling atmosphere, and the more subdued forms of life inour own clime". 

Leaving the cemetery, they passed on through the narrow streets, pavedwith blocks of lava, on which were the traces of carriage wheels worninto the material more than eighteen hundred years ago. They went intothe Pompeian houses, walked over the marble mosaic floors, looked atthe paintings on the walls, examined the bronzes, the statues, thedomestic utensils, the shop of the oil merchant, with his name on itstill legible, until, in imagination, they began to people thesolitude, --bringing back the gay, luxurious, beauty-loving Pompeiansagain to live and revel in their former haunts. 

At length, quite exhausted, Mrs. Lansdowne sank down on a seat in oneof the porticoes, and John, placing himself by her side, tempted herto partake of a lunch he had provided for the occasion. 

Soon, the pensive influences of the scene stole over them, and theysat for some time in perfect silence. 

Mrs. Lansdowne first interrupted it, by exclaiming, "John, what areyou thinking of?"

"Thinking of! why I was thinking just then how those Pompeians used tosit in these porticoes and talk of the deeds of Cæsar and of theeloquence of Cicero, while those renowned men were yet living, and howthey discussed the great combats in the amphitheatres of Rome. Andwhat were you cogitating, my dear mother?" said he, smiling. 

"Oh! I was thinking woman's thoughts. How slowly they excavate here! Ihave an extreme curiosity to know what there is, yet uncovered to thelight of day, beyond that dead wall of ashes". 

"If I were a magician, I would apply to your eyes some unguent, whichshould unveil what is there concealed", said John, smiling. "Will yougo now to the theatre?"

He drew his mother's arm within his, and they moved on. That portionof the city appeared as if it had been partially destroyed by aconflagration. 

Looking towards Vesuvius, he said, "I can easily imagine thesensations of those who gazed at the volcano on that terrible day andsaw for the first time its flames bursting out, and throwing theirhorrid glare on the snow-capped mountains around. Fire is atremendous element". 

As he uttered the words, the scene of the great conflagration atMiramichi rose to his view. 

"_Salve! Salve!_" exclaimed a rich, musical voice near him, just atthat moment. 

The word and the tone in which it was uttered, thrilled him, like anelectric shock. He looked, with a bewildered air, in the directionfrom whence the voice proceeded, and saw, standing before thethreshold of one of the Pompeian houses, a tall, elegant femalefigure, habited in mourning. 

Her eyes were fixed upon the word of salutation, written on thethreshold, at the entrance. After contemplating it a moment, sheturned her head involuntarily towards Mr. Lansdowne, who stoodtransfixed to the spot. Their eyes met in instant recognition. Neithermoved--they were both paralyzed with sudden emotion. 

Mrs. Lansdowne looked up in surprise. 

"What is it, John?"

"It is", said he, recovering himself, "it is, that I am astonished tomeet here, so unexpectedly, a friend whom I supposed to be inFrance--certainly not here". 

He led his mother forward a few steps and presented her toMademoiselle Dubois. 

M. And Mdme. Dubois, who were standing a little apart, examining someobjects of interest, while this scene of recognition transpired, nowjoined the group and were presented to Mrs. Lansdowne. During theremainder of the day, the two families formed one party. 

They visited the ruined theatre, the Forum, the temples of Isis andHercules, but the spell of Pompeii no longer bound the souls of Johnand Adèle. It is true, they walked on, sometimes side by side, sometimes with other forms between, absorbed, entranced; but a spiritmore potent than any inhabiting the walls of the old Roman city hadtouched the powers of their being and woven its sorceries around them. The living present had suddenly shut out the past. 

So, after three years, they had met. Such meetings are critical. Inthe lapse of time, what changes may occur! There is so much in life tomar the loveliest and noblest! In regard to character, of course noone can stand still. There is either a process of deterioration goingon, or a work of intellectual and spiritual advancement. Memory andimagination glorify the absent and the dead. The lovers had beenconstantly exercising, respecting each other, their faculty ofidealization. When they parted, they were young, with limitedexperiences of life, with slight knowledge of their own hearts. It wasa dangerous moment when they thus met. 

But there was no disappointment. Mr. Lansdowne gazed upon Adèle, withemotions of surprise and astonishment at the change a few years hadwrought in her and marvelled at the perfection of her beauty andmanner. 

Adèle, albeit she was not used to the reverential mood, experienced anemotion almost verging into awe, mingled with her admiration of thenoble form, the dignity and stately grace of him who had so charmedher girlish days. 

Thus the acquaintance, broken off, in that cold, restrained morningadieu, on the banks of the Miramichi, was renewed under the sunny, joyous sky of Italy. Their communion with one another was now nolonger marred by youthful waywardness and caprice. During those longyears of separation, they had learned so thoroughly the miseriesattending the alienation of truly loving hearts, that there was noinclination on the part of either, to trifle now. Day by day, thehours they spent together became sweeter, dearer, more full of love'senchantment. 

"Mademoiselle Dubois", said Mr. Lansdowne, a few weeks after theirrecognition at Pompeii, "I think I did not quite do justice to thatfamous excavated city, when I visited it. I was so occupied with thepleasure of meeting old friends that I really did not examine objectswith the attention they deserve. To-morrow I intend to revisit thespot and make amends for my neglect. Will you give me the pleasure ofyour company?"

"Thank you, Mr. Lansdowne, I shall be happy to go with you. A weekspent there, could not exhaust the interest of the place". 

The two families were still at Naples and from that city Mr. Lansdowneand Adèle started again to visit Pompeii. 

No evidence, as to the amount of antiquarian lore acquired on that dayby our two lovers has yet transpired, but it is certain that, whilewandering among the ruins, they came before the threshold of the door, where Adèle was standing, when first recognized, by Mr. Lansdowne. There, he gently detained her, and explained, how that ancient saluteof welcome to the guest and the stranger, when uttered by her lips, had thrilled his heart; how it had been treasured there as an omen ofgood for the future, and how the memory of it now emboldened him tospeak the words he was about to utter. There, within sight of Vesuviusand with the fiery memories of Miramichi hanging upon the hour, herenewed the avowal of his love, first made in the haste andeffervescence of youthful passion. 

And now, Adèle did not, as then, fly from his presence. She simply puther hand in his, and pronounced in sweet and almost solemn accents, the irrevocable promise. 

In the meantime, Mrs. Lansdowne had been cultivating the friendship ofM. And Mdme. Dubois. She was gratified to have an opportunity ofthanking them in person, for their hospitality and kindness to her sonand brother in Miramichi. Her profound gratitude for attentions tothose so dear to her, would have proved a bond of sufficient strengthto unite her to these new acquaintances. But she was attracted to themalso by traits of mind and character unfolded in their dailyintercourse. 

The discovery of John's attachment to Adèle explained many things inhis conduct, during the last few years, that had appeared enigmatical. With this fact made clear to her mind, it may well be supposed thatshe observed the young lady with keen scrutiny. At the end of a week, John confessed his intention to win Adèle if possible for his wife. His mother had no objection to such an alliance, and only wished himsuccess in his efforts. 

Having spent six weeks together at Naples and Sorrento, the partypursued their travels leisurely, for several months, through Italy andGermany, until at length they reached France. After a visit at Paris, they located themselves quietly at the chateau de Rossillon, wherepreparations were soon commenced for the marriage. 

It was observed, that the lovers, supposed to be the parties mostparticularly interested, were remarkably indifferent in regard tothese affairs. When needed for consultation on important arrangements, they were reported to be off, riding or driving or wandering in someremote part of the park, and when at last, an opportunity occurred topresent some point for their consideration, they seemed to have noparticular opinions on the subject. 

With a very decided taste of her own, in matters of dress, not lessthan in other things, Adèle could not be made to attend to the detailsof the _trousseau_, and at last the two older ladies took it intotheir own hands. 

In the mean time, the lovers were leading a rapturous life in thepast, the present, the future. In the past they remembered the morningglories of Miramichi; in the present they saw, daily, in each other'seyes, unfathomed depths of love; as to the future it shone out beforethem, resplendent with the light of an earthly Paradise. 

At last, the wedding day came, and the parting between Adèle and herparents. It was a great sacrifice on the part of M. And Mdme. Dubois. But, remembering their own early trials, they made no opposition toAdèle's choice. They sought only her happiness. 

CHAPTER XXVII. 

CONCLUSION. 

On a dark, stormy day, in the winter of 1845, at ten o'clock, afternoon, a tall, stout, elderly man, muffled in fur, rang at thedoor of Mr. Lansdowne. 

The house was large, of brown stone, and situated on H---- Street, inthe city of P----. 

As the servant opened the door, the hall light fell upon a face ofstrongly marked features, irradiated by an expression of almostyouthful cheerfulness. To the inquiry, if Mr. And Mrs. Lansdowne wereat home, the servant replied, that they were absent, but would returnshortly. 

"Miss Adèle is in the drawing-room sir", he added, immediatelythrowing open the door of that apartment, to its widest extent, as ifto insure the entrance of Mr. Norton, for it was no other than thegood missionary of Miramichi. He was still the warmly cherished andhighly revered friend of the entire family. 

Adèle, a young lady of sixteen, was sitting on a low seat in thedrawing-room, beneath a blaze of waxen candles, intently occupied witha new book. She gave a start, on being recalled so suddenly from thefancy land in which she was roaming, but after a moment ofbewilderment, flung aside her book, came quickly forward, put her armsaround the neck of Mr. Norton, who bent down to receive them, andwelcomed him with a cordial kiss. 

"Every day more and more like your mother, Miss Adèle", said he, as, after returning her salutation, he held her at arm's length andsurveyed her from head to foot. 

"Papa and mamma will be home soon", said Adèle. "They went to dine atMr. Holbrook's. It is time for their return". 

"All right, my dear. And how are you all?"

The young lady led him to a large, cushioned arm-chair. 

"How did you leave mamma Norton, Jenny, and Fanny?"

"All quite well. And they sent love;" replied the missionary. 

"How is Gray Eagle?"

"Ah! Gray Eagle is good for many a trot round the parish yet". 

"I have not forgotten how he shot over the hills with me, last summer. He began his scamper, the moment I was fairly seated on his back. Ihope he has sobered down a little since then", said Adèle. 

"Yes, I remember. Gray Eagle knew well enough that the little spritehe carried, liked a scamper as well as himself. The animal is quitewell, I thank you, and is on good behavior. So are your otheracquaintances, Cherry, the cow, and Hodge, the cat". 

"I am glad to hear it. I had a charming visit at Rockdale lastsummer. Johnny and Gabrielle are wild to go there. But mamma and I, and all of us, were so disappointed because you would not consent toFanny and Jenny coming to spend the winter with us. Mamma says shedoes not quite understand yet why you objected". 

"Ah! well, my dear, I'll make it all right with your mamma. The factis, I wish to get a few rational ideas into the heads of thoseprecious little ladies before they are launched out into city life. Just a little ballast to keep them from capsizing in a gale". 

"Mamma says they are both very much like you", said Adèle, archly. 

"True, my dear. That makes it all the more necessary to look afterthem carefully". 

After a few moments of chat, Adèle left the room to give orders forhastening supper. 

During her absence, Mr. Norton, with his eyes fixed upon the glowinggrate, fell into a fit of musing. Look at him a moment, while he sitsthus, occupied with the memories of the past. Twenty years have passedsince he was introduced to the attention of the reader, a missionaryto a remote and benighted region. He is now sixty years old, and veryfew have passed through greater toil and hardships than he hasendured, in asserting the claims of the Redeemer to the gratitude andlove of the race. Yet his health and vigor of mind are scarcelyimpaired, and his zeal continues unabated. 

Beginning his journey early each spring and returning to his familylate every autumn, he had spent sixteen successive summers inMiramichi, engaged in self-imposed labors. Each winter, he wrought athis anvil, and thus helped to maintain an honest independence. 

Four years previous, a parish having become vacant, in the town wherehe resided, it was urged upon his acceptance, by the unanimous voiceof the people. By his efforts, a great change had been wrought in thefield of his past labors and a supply of suitable religious teachershaving been provided there, he accepted the invitation as a call ofDivine Providence, and had ministered to the spiritual wants of thepeople of Rockdale since. 

Business called him occasionally to the city of P. His visits therewere always regarded by the Lansdownes as especial favors. The twofamilies had frequently interchanged visits and had grown into habitsof the closest intimacy. 

Having been in the city several hours and dispatched the affairs whichdrew him thither, he had now come to look in upon his friends for thenight, expecting to hasten away at day dawn. 

There was something in his situation this evening, thus housed inwarmth, light, and comfort, protected from the darkness and the stormwithout, and ministered unto by a lovely young maiden, that remindedhim of a like scene, that had occurred, twenty years ago. He vividlyrecalled the evening, when, after a day of toil and travel on thebanks of the distant Miramichi, he reached the house of Dubois, andhow while the tempest raged without he was cheered by the light andwarmth within, and was ministered unto by another youthful maiden, inform and feature so like her, who had just left him, that he couldalmost imagine them the same. A glance around the apartment, however, dispelled the momentary fancy. Its rich and beautiful adornmentsafforded a striking contrast to the appointments of that humble room. 

He was roused from his meditations by the ringing of the street bell, and in a moment Mr. And Mrs. Lansdowne came forward to welcome theirearly and long-tried friend. 

The good man, who loved them with an affection akin to that which hefelt for his own family, had preserved a watchful care over theirearthly and spiritual welfare. Sometimes he feared that their wealthand fame might draw away their hearts from the highest good and impairthe simplicity of their religious faith. 

After the first cordial greetings, in accordance with his habit onoccasions like this, he indulged in a careful scrutiny of his twofriends. 

Time had in no wise impaired the charms of Mrs. Lansdowne. Experienceof life, maternal cares, and religious duties had added a softer lightto her once proud beauty, and her old friend might well be pardoned athrill of admiration as he gazed and thought within his heart, thatMrs. Lansdowne, robed in black velvet, Mechlin lace, and the diamondsof the house of Rossillon, surpassed in loveliness, the radiant AdèleDubois, arrayed in the aerial garments of girlhood. 

When also his keen eye had wandered over the face and figure of JohnLansdowne, it returned from its explorations satisfied. No habits ofexcess had impaired the muscular strength and vigor of his form. Norhad ungoverned passion, avarice, political craft, or disappointedambition drawn deep defacing lives, to mar the noble beauty of hiscountenance. 

"It is well with them still", ejaculated the good man mentally, "andmay God bless them forever". 

THE END. 

 * * * * *

Loring's Railway Library. 

ADELE DUBOIS:

A STORY OF

The Lovely Miramichi Valley, IN NEW BRUNSWICK. 

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 * * * * *

 WAS IT A GHOST?

 The Murders in Bussey's Wood, is not a "sensational" story, as many suppose. It is a simple recital of all the facts that are or can be known in connection with this fearful tragedy, by one who lived in the immediate vicinity. The spiritual apparition was to him a reality. 

 A dual murder, so unaccountable, should not be allowed to die out till Justice is satisfied. 

 In this sense this book has a mission. 

 PIQUE:

 A Tale of the English Aristocracy. 

 11th edition. 1 vol. 12mo. Price $2. 00. 

 Three thousand eight hundred and seventy-six new books were published in England this last year, which is about the average number of past years. 

 Thirteen years ago PIQUE was first published in London, and up to the present time, notwithstanding the enormous number of new books that have been issued, the effect of which is to crowd the old ones out of sight, this remarkable novel has continued to have a large sale. 

 This is the strongest praise that can be bestowed on any book. 

 It is not in the least "sensational", but relies solely on its rare beauty of style and truthfulness to nature for its popularity. 

 It has the merit of being amusing, pleasantly written, and engrossing. 

 The characters being high-bred men and women, are charming companions for an hour's solitude, and one puts the book aside regretfully, even as one closes the eyes on a delicious vision. The American edition has taken everyone by surprise, that so remarkably good a novel should have so long escaped attention. 

 Everybody is charmed with it, and its sale is immense, and will endure for years to come. 

 FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD. 

 By the Author of "Boys at Chequasset". 

 11th edition. 1 vol. , 12mo. Cloth. Price $1. 75. 

 This charming story fills a void long felt for something for a young girl, growing into womanhood, to read. 

 It depicts that bewitching period in life, lying between FOURTEEN and TWENTY, with its noble aspirations, and fresh enthusiasm. It is written by a very accomplished lady, whose previous book was universally pronounced to be "the best Boys' book written". 

 A lady of rare culture, and wide experience, says, --

 "'Faith Gartney's Girlhood, ' is a noble, good work, that could only have been accomplished by an elevated mind united to a chaste, tender heart. From the first page to the last, the impression is received of a life which has been lived; the characters are genuine, well drawn, skilfully presented; they are received at once with kind, friendly greeting, and followed with interest, till the last page compels a reluctant farewell. 

 "'The book is written for girls, growing as they grow to womanhood. ' The story has an interest, far beyond that found in modern romances of the day, conveyed in pure, refined language; suggestive, pleasing thoughts are unfolded on every page; the reflective and descriptive passages are natural, simple, and exquisitely finished. 

 "In these days, when the tendency of society is to educate girls for heartless, aimless, factitious life, a book like this is to be welcomed and gratefully received. Wherever it is read, it will be retained as a thoughtful, suggestive--if silent--friend". 

 _Parents, give it a wide circulation_. 

 Margaret and her Bridesmaids. 

 BY THE AUTHOR OF

 "The Lady of Glynne", "Mr. And Mrs. Ashton", "Valley of a Hundred Fires", "The Ladies of Lovel Leigh", "The Challenge", "The Queen of the County". 

 3d edition. 1 vol. , 12mo. Cloth. Price $2. 00. 

 This talented authoress ranks first among the successful female novel writers of England. Her books are immensely popular there; edition after edition of each has been called for, and the announcement of a new one from her pen creates a new demand, and increases the popularity of what has been published. By an arrangement with her and her English publishers, all her books are to be brought before the American public, where she is almost wholly unknown, except to the readers at LORING'S CIRCULATING LIBRARY, and they are enthusiastic over them. 

 "Margaret and Her Bridesmaids" is the one chosen to introduce her with, as this, she writes me, has enjoyed the greatest popularity in England. This will be followed by "THE QUEEN OF THE COUNTY", and the others, as fast as compatible. 

 It is the history of four school-girls. 

 The _London Athenæum_, the highest literary authority, says of it: "We may save ourselves the trouble of giving any lengthened review of this book, for we recommend all who are in search of a fascinating novel, to read it for themselves. They will find it well worth their while. There is a freshness and originality about it quite charming, and there is a certain nobleness in the treatment, both of sentiment and incident, which is not often found. We imagine that few can read it without deriving some comfort or profit from the quiet good sense and unobtrusive words of counsel with which it abounds". 

 The story is very interesting. It is the history of four school-fellows. Margaret, the heroine, is, of course, a woman in the highest state of perfection. But Lotty--the little, wilful, wild, fascinating, brave Lotty--is the gem of the book, and, as far as our experience in novel reading goes, is an entirely original character--a creation--and a very charming one. No story that occurs to our memory contains more interest than this for novel readers, particularly those of the tender sex, to whom it will be a dear favorite. 

 We hope the authoress will give us some more novels, as good as "Margaret and her Bridesmaids". 

 TWICE LOST. 

 A NOVEL. 

 By S. M. , Author of "Linnet's Trial". 

 Read the Opinions of the English Press. 

 Another first-rate novel by a woman! The plot well conceived and worked out, the characters individualized and clear-cut, and the story so admirably told that you are hurried along for two hours and a half with a smile often breaking out at the humor, a tear ready to start at the pathos, and with unflagging interest, till the heroine's release from all trouble is announced at the end. *** We heartily recommend the book to all readers. It is more full of character than any book we remember since Charles Reade's "Christie Johnstone". --_Reader_. 

 "Twice Lost" is an entertaining novel; the struggle between the high-spirited, generous, half-savage heroine, and her specious, handsome, unprincipled, _soi-disant_ father, is exciting; and the sympathy of the reader is cleverly enlisted for the heroine, Lucia, from the first moment. The personages have all of them a certain look of reality, and there is a notion of likeness which insures the reader's interest. We can recommend "Twice Lost" as a novel worth reading. --_Athenæum_. 

 By far the cleverest book on our list is "Twice Lost".... This is bold and skilful drawing, and it is a fair sample of the earlier half of the volume. The combined vigor, ease, and perspicuity of the writing is unusual. --_Guardian_. 

 Nothing can be better of its kind than the first portion of "Twice Lost".... The caustic humor and strong common sense which mark the sketches of character in this book, betray a keenness of observation and aptitude for producing a telling likeness with a few strokes, which need only a wider cultivation to secure a more complete success than has been attained in "Twice Lost". --_Westminster Review_. 

 It is quite clear that the author has given a good deal of thought to the construction of the story, with a view to producing strong interest without the use of the common sensational expedients. To say that "Twice Lost" is very well written, and very interesting, would not be doing it justice. --_Morning Herald_. 

 There can be no doubt of the author's power. She holds her characters and incidents well in hand, writes firmly, and often very happily, and there are many passages which indicate power much above mediocrity. --_London Review_. 

 Not very often do we meet with a novel so thoroughly good as "Twice Lost". If, as may be assumed from both subject and style, its author is a woman, she may at once be classed with the Brontë sisters and George Eliot. She has the firm conception and distinct touch of the first-class artist. Her characters are real and individual. --_Press_. 

 This is a well-written romantic tale, in which we find many pleasing incidents and some successful portraiture of character. The character of Miss Derwent, the companion and governess of the heroine, Miss Langley, is very well developed in the course of the narrative. The moral tone of the book is very good, and so far as religious matters are touched upon, they are treated with propriety and reverence. -- _English Churchman_. 

 The characters are well drawn--the situations are new, the sentiments are unsentimental, and the incidental remarks those of a clever woman who is reasonable and tolerant. --_Globe_. 

 The plot of this tale is an original one, and well worked out.... We can sincerely recommend this tale; it is quite out of the general run of books, and is sure to prove an interesting one. --_Observer_. 

 We notice this story because its authoress will one day, we believe, produce a powerful novel. --_Spectator_. 

 The reader is carried along with unflagging and exciting interest, and the book is full of characters finely sketched, and of passages powerfully written. --_Patriot_. 

 That the author of "Twice Lost" can write well, the book itself furnishes sufficient evidence. --_Nation_. 

 This is a striking story. It has a freshness and originality about it which are very pleasant. --_Morning Advertiser_. 

 Without being a sensation novel this is a most exciting and attractive story. --_Daily News_. 

 A most romantic story, the interest being well sustained throughout, and everything coming right at the end. Any one must be entertained by it. --_John Bull_.