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MARIE GOURDON:

A Romance of the Lower St. Lawrence. 

by

MAUD OGILVY

Montreal:Published by John Lovell & Son1890

 TO MY FRIEND Lady Helen Munro-Ferguson of Raith, THIS LITTLE STORY IS DEDICATED IN REMEMBRANCE OF _Many happy days spent on the banks of the Lower St. Lawrence. _

INTRODUCTION

This little story is founded on an episode in Canadian history whichI found an interesting study, namely, the disbanding of a regiment ofScottish soldiers in the neighborhood of Rimouski and the districtabout Father Point. Many of these stalwart sons of old Scotia who werethus left adrift strangers in a strange land accepted the situationphilosophically, intermarried amongst the French families already inthat part of the country, and settled down as farmers in a small way. A visit to that part of the country will show what their industry haseffected. 

Before having been in the district, I had always thought that the coastsof Lower St. Lawrence were almost incapable of any degree of cultivation, and practically of no agricultural value; but when at Father Point, somethree summers ago, I was delighted to see all along the sandy road-sideslong ridges of ploughed land, with potatoes, cabbages and beans growingin abundance. Back of these ridges, extending for many miles, are largetracts of most luxuriant pasture land on which browse cattle in veryexcellent condition. 

The manners of the people of this district, who, "far from the maddingcrowd's ignoble strife, " live in Utopian simplicity, are most gentle andcourteous, and would put to shame those of the dwellers of many a morecivilized spot. 

It is very curious to trace the Scottish names of these people, handeddown as they have been from generation to generation, though theirpronunciation is much altered, and in most instances given a French turn, as, for example, Gourdon for Gordon, Noël for Nowell, and many others. However, in a few cases the names are such as even the most ingeniousFrench tongue finds impossible to alter, and they remain in theiroriginal form, for example, Burns, Fraser and McAllister. It is strangeto hear these names spoken by people who know no language but the French, and I was much struck by the incongruity. 

M. O. Montreal, June, 1890. 

CONTENTS. 

Introduction

I--"Wae's me for Prince Chairlie"

II--"Oh! Canada! mon pays, terre adorée, Sol si cher à mes amours. "

III--"Il y a longtemps que je t'aime, Jamais je ne t'oublierai. "

IV--"Red o'er the forest peers the setting sun, The line of yellow light dies fast away. "

V--"A parish priest was of the pilgrim train; An awful, reverend and religious man. His eyes diffused a venerable grace, And charity itself was in his face. Rich was his soul, though his attire was poor (As God hath clothed his own ambassador), For such, on earth, his bless'd Redeemer bore. "

VI--"The love of money is the root of all evil. "

VII--"Oh! world! thy slippery turns! Friends now fast sworn in loveinseparable shall within this hour break out to bitterest enmity. "

VIII--TEN YEARS AFTER. "Oh! wouldst thou set thy rank before thyself? Wouldst thou be honored for thyself or that? Rank that excels the wearer doth degrade, Riches impoverish that divide respect. "

IX--"Alas! Our memories may retrace Each circumstance of time and place; Season and scene come back again, And outward things unchanged remain: The rest we cannot reinstate: Ourselves we cannot re-create, Nor get our souls to the same key Of the remember'd harmony. "

X--"O! primavera gioventù dell' anno! O! gioventù primavera della vitæ!!!"

XI--"Because thou hast believed the wheels of life Stand never idle, but go always round; Hast labor'd, but with purpose; hast become Laborious, persevering, serious, firm-- For this thy track across the fretful foam Of vehement actions without scope or term, Call'd history, keeps a splendor, due to wit, Which saw one clue to life and followed it. "

XII--"I know, dear heart! that in our lot May mingle tears and sorrow; But love's rich rainbow's built from tears To-day, with smiles to-morrow, The sunshine from our sky may die, The greenness from life's tree, But ever 'mid the warring storm Thy nest shall shelter'd be. The world may never know, dear heart! What I have found in thee; But, though nought to the world, dear heart! Thou'rt all the world to me. "

EPILOGUE. "Our acts our angels are, or good or ill, The fatal shadows that walk by us still. "

MARIE GOURDON. 

CHAPTER I. 

 "Wae's me for Prince Chairlie. "

 Old Scotch Song. 

It was a dark gloomy night in the year 1745. Huge clouds hung in heavymasses over the sky, ready to discharge their heavy burden at any moment. The thunder echoed and re-echoed with deafening crashes, as if the wholeartillery of heaven were arrayed in mighty warfare, and shook even thegiant crag on which the castle of Dunmorton was situated. 

Fierce indeed was the tempest without, but within the castle raged onestill fiercer--that of two strong natures fighting a bitter battle. Soloud were their voices raised in altercation that the storm without wasscarce heeded. 

Dunmorton was a fine old castle of the Norman type, with a large moatsurrounding it, and having all the characteristics appertaining to thefeudal state. To the rear of the moat, behind the castle, stretched broadlands, on which were scattered many cottages, whose occupants had paidfeu-duty to the Lords of Dunmorton for many a generation. To the left ofthese cottages stretched a large pinewood, with thickly grown underbrush, where, in blissful ignorance of their coming fate, luxuriated goldenpheasants and many a fat brace of partridge. That night, the depths ofthe pine forest were shaken, for the storm was worse than usual even forthe east coast of Scotland, where storms are so frequent. 

Crossing the drawbridge, and coming to the low Norman arched doorway, oneentered at once into the hall. This was a lofty room some twelve feetwide. At one end of it was a broad fire-place, where huge resinous pinelogs sent up an odor most grateful to the senses and emitted a pleasant, fitful blaze, lighting up, ever and anon, the faces of The McAllister andhis second son Ivan. 

On the walls hung huge antlers and heads of deer, the trophies of many ahard day's sport, for they had been a race of sportsmen for generations, these McAllisters, a hardy, strong, self-reliant people, like their ownharsh mountain breezes. 

The two representatives of the race now quarrelling in the hall were bothfine looking men, though of somewhat different types. The McAllister wasa tall old man over six feet in height, well and strongly built. His hairwas iron-grey, his eyes blue and piercing, his nose rather inclined tothe Roman type, his mouth large and determined, and his chin firm, squareand somewhat obstinate. His eyebrows were very thick and bushy, thuslending to his face a sinister and rather forbidding expression. He worea rough home-spun shooting suit, and had folded round his shoulders atartan of the McAllister plaid, which from time to time he pushed fromhim with a hasty impatient gesture, as he addressed his son in angry, menacing tones, --

"An' I tell ye, Ivan, though ye be my son, never mair shall I call ye so, if ye join the rabble that young scamp has got together, and never mairshall ye darken the doors of Dunmorton if ye gae wi' him. Noo choosebetween that young pretender and your ain people. "

"Father, " said Ivan, "he is not a pretender, of that I am convinced, andyou will be soon. He is the descendant of our own King James VI. (whosemother was bonnie Queen Mary), and you paid fealty at Holyrood many yearsago to King James. My bonnie Prince Chairlie should by rights be sittingon the throne of Scotland, aye, and of England too, and, by the help ofHeaven and our guid Scotch laddies, he will be there ere long. "

"Never, " sneered The McAllister, scornfully. "I am not afraid of that. "

"Well, that is comforting to you at any rate, sir; then why care aboutmy going to join his army, for I am going, nothing can stop me now. " AndIvan McAllister's bonnie face glowed with an enthusiasm almost patheticas he thought of his beloved leader, for whom he would stake all hisworldly prospects, aye, and if need be his very life. 

"Ivan McAllister, " said his father, "I thought ye had mair common sense, though it is rare in lads o' your age. Ye can never imagine that a packo' young idiots are going to overturn the whole country. "

"No, sir, I do not, but a mighty army is to join us from the south; inEngland Prince Chairlie has many friends, and to-morrow I go to jointhem. The next day a mighty host will move to the west coast to welcomeour future King. And then----"

"Do you know, Ivan, that by your mad folly you seriously endanger theMcAllister estates? An' though it is well known at court that I am nota Jacobite, yet I have many enemies who will soon tell the King my sonis with the rebels. You endanger, too, your brother Nowell's position atcourt. "

"Well, father, I have promised to go, and a McAllister never breaks hisword. "

"What! you are determined? You persist in your selfish course of folly?You will go in spite of all I say?"

"Yes, father, I must go, my word is pledged. "

The McAllister's ruddy face grew white with anger, he clenched his handsas if he would strike his son and by main force reduce him to obedience, then with a great effort he controlled his anger and said in an ominouslycalm voice: "Then, Ivan McAllister, I tell ye, never mair shall ye setfoot in this house, at least, when I am above ground; never mair callyourself son of mine, and may----" raising his right hand solemnly asif invoking supernatural aid. 

But here he was interrupted by a gentle voice which said:

"Nay, nay, Nowell, ye shall not curse your son, " and a soft hand was laidon his upraised arm. 

The McAllister paused and turned towards the speaker, a gentlerexpression coming over his stern face, for Lady Jean had the greatestinfluence over her husband, an influence which was always for good. 

She was a tall, slightly built woman of some fifty-eight years of age. Her hair was snow-white, contrasting admirably with her clear complexionand dark eyes, and was combed back high above her forehead, andsurmounted by a mutch (cap) of finest lace. She was dressed in a gownof pale green silk, which trailed in soft folds behind her and made arustling noise as she walked. 

A most distinguished lady was Jean McAllister, for the blood of theStuarts ran in her veins. 

Her face was beautiful, though not altogether with the beauty of correctfeatures, and certainly not with the beauty of youth, but it had in itthat indescribable loveliness, which one sees only in the faces of verygood women. It was what might be called a helpful face, and had upon itthat reflection of a divine light--all sympathetic natures possess, tosome degree. 

 "No angel, but a dearer being all dipt in angel instincts, breathing Paradise. "

Her voice was of soft and gentle _timbre_, soothing and tranquillizingeven at this heated moment, as she turned to her son and said:--

"Oh, me bairn, me bonnie bairn, could ye no' stay wi' us a while longer?It is sair and lonely wi'out ye here, and Prince Chairlie has many mairto fight for him. Can ye not stay wi' us?"

"No, mother dear; much as I should like to be wi' ye all, I fear Icannot. A promise is a promise, you know. _You_ have always taughtme that. Remember our motto, 'For God and the truth. ' You would not wishme to be the first McAllister who broke his word. "

"Ah! my dear one, " sobbed his mother, now fairly breaking down andweeping piteously, "must ye go, must ye go?"

"Yes, mother dear; but don't distress yourself about me, I shall be allright, and when bonnie Prince Chairlie comes into his own, we shall meetagain, and you, my ain bonnie mither, will be one of the first ladies atthe court of Holyrood. Now I must go. Father, " he said, turning to TheMcAllister, who was watching the scene in grim silence with folded armsand countenance cold and stern. "Father, do you mean what you said justnow? Do you mean to say you will never forgive me if I go to my prince?"

"Yes, " the old man thundered out. "Yes, by heaven, I do mean it. "

"Then you have driven me for ever from you, and I leave your houseto-night. You are hard, unjust, cruel, " and, kissing Lady Jean, hastily, without more ado, Ivan left the hall. Then he walked swiftly into thecourt yard, saddled his favorite horse, and whistling to his collie dogrode off into the dark tempestuous night to face the unknown. 

The unknown is always terrible, but at three and twenty the heart islight, care is easily shaken off, and hope springs up eternal. A mercifulgift of the good God this, and more especially so in the case of IvanMcAllister, for, poor lad, he was doomed to have many disappointments. 

Some weeks after leaving his father's house, he joined the troops of theyoung Pretender, Charles Edward; and three days afterwards was fought thebattle of Culloden, a battle fraught with such disastrous results to thehopes of many gallant and enthusiastic Scotchmen. 

CHAPTER II. 

 "Oh! Canada, mon pays, terre adorée, Sol si cher à mes amours"

 French Canadian Folk Song

It was a bright August afternoon. The sun was shining down with thatintense brilliancy which, I think, is only to be seen in Canada, orin the sunny climes of those countries bordering on the Mediterraneansea. The little village of Rimouski seemed this afternoon all asleep, for the heat made every one drowsy, and the old French Canadian womenat their doorsteps were nodding sleepily over their spinning-wheels. Spinning-wheels, improbable as it sounds to nineteenth century ears, arenot yet out of date in this part of the country, and many a table-clothand fine linen sheet, spun by the women of the district, find their wayto the shops of Quebec and Montreal. A quaint picturesque little villagethis; the houses are scattered and at uneven distances from each other. Nearly all of them have large verandahs projecting far out on theroadside, which is covered with uneven planks, --pitfalls in many placesto the benighted traveller. There are not many houses of importance here, but there is a fine convent, where the young women of the district aresent to be educated. There is also a school for boys, which adjoins thehouse of M. Le curé. The shops--picture it, ye dwellers in Montreal orQuebec!--are three in number, and are carried on in the co-operativestyle. Everything may be bought in them, from a box of matches or a poundof tobacco, to the fine black silk to serve for a Sunday gown for MadameDe la Garde, the lady of the Seigneury. 

Then, of course, there is the church, for in what village, however small, in Lower Canada is there not a church? This particular one is not veryinteresting. It is very large, and has the inevitable tin roof commonto most Canadian churches, a glaringly ugly object to behold on a hotafternoon, taking away by its obtrusiveness the restful feeling onenaturally associates with a sacred edifice. This on the outside; inside, fortunately, all is different, and more like the Gothic architecture ofNorthern France than one would imagine from the exterior. 

Next comes the railway station, a large ugly building painted a neutralbrown. Here everything was very quiet this afternoon, for except at theseasons of the pilgrimages to the church of the Good Saint Anne of FatherPoint, five miles lower down the line, there is as a rule little trafficgoing on. 

Between Rimouski and Father Point (called by the French Pointe à Père) isa long dusty road, very flat, and, except where the gulf comes in to thecoast in frequent little bays, very uninteresting. 

There are few houses on this road, and these are far apart. 

At the doorstep of one of these cottages--a well-kept, clean and neatlittle dwelling--sat, this August afternoon, an old woman, spinningbusily. She, although some of her neighbors might be, was not asleep. Oh, no! Seldom was Madame McAllister caught napping, save at orthodox hours, between ten p. M. And six a. M. In spite of her seventy-six years, was shehale and hearty, bright and active. She was a brisk little body, and hada most intelligent face. Her eyes were dark and bright with animation, and her coloring was brown and healthy, unlike that of her neighbors ofthe same age, for, as a rule, French Canadian women of the lower classeslead very hard-working lives, often marrying at sixteen or seventeen, andhave scarcely any youth, entering, as they do, on the trials and dutiesof womanhood before an English girl of the same age has left theschoolroom. 

But, as I said before, Madame McAllister was hale and hearty. Thiscircumstance was due most probably to the admixture of Scottish bloodin her veins, for her grandfather, Peter Fraser, had been one of thestanchest adherents of the young Pretender. Disappointed in his hopes, he had come out to Quebec to help in the wars against the French, and, after his regiment had been disbanded near Rimouski, he remained in thedistrict. His colonel, a certain Ivan McAllister, persuaded many of hismen to remain in that part of the country with him, cherishing thequixotic hope that in this new world he might form a kingdom over whichhis idol, Prince Chairlie, should reign. 

However, after struggling for some years to make a stronghold for hisrather erratic chieftain, he at length lost heart and gave up his idea. 

Most of his men remained in the district, and intermarried with theFrench families already settled there. 

Poor Colonel McAllister never got over the blow to his hopes. For thesake of the bonnie prince, so unworthy of his true devotion, he had beenestranged from his family, and had spent his small fortune in coming toCanada. Here he was, perforce, obliged to remain. 

After a while he settled down as a farmer, and managed to make enough tokeep body and soul together. Perhaps one of the most sensible things heever did was to marry Eugenie Laforge, the daughter of the mayor ofRimouski. She was a pretty girl, and had a nice little fortune, for moneywent further in those days than it does now; and thus the McAllisterswere fairly well to do. 

Their life for ten years was a happy, uneventful one, most of it spent bythe colonel in writing an account of Prince Charlie's adventures. Thisunfortunate young man, I need hardly remind the reader, had long ago, inthe dissipations of various European courts, forgotten that there stillexisted such a person as Ivan McAllister. 

True, the colonel did give certain spare hours to the education of hisson, but the Prince was ever first in his mind. One morning, --strangelyenough, the anniversary of the battle of Culloden--Ivan McAllister diedquietly after a few hours' illness. Even at the last he was true to hisidol, for his parting words were not addressed to wife or child, but itseemed that memory, bridging over the gulf of years, brought him back tothe old days, and there was something very pathetic in his dying words:"Oh, my Prince, my bonnie Prince, I shall see you soon!"

He was buried, according to a wish he had expressed some years before, in the churchyard of Rimouski, and at the head of his grave was placeda roughly hewn cross, bearing on it this inscription: "Here lies IvanMcAllister, Colonel, of the 200th Regiment of Highlanders, second sonof The McAllister of Dunmorton Castle Fife, Scotland. R. I. P. "

In his later days Ivan McAllister had, under the influence of the curé ofRimouski, become a devout Roman Catholic. 

His son inherited his little savings, and lived on at the farm, situatedbetween Father Point and Rimouski, and the McAllisters continued therefrom father to son up to the year 1877, when my story opens. 

Madame McAllister, sitting at the doorstep this summer afternoon was thewidow of a Robert McAllister, who had died two years ago, leaving oneson, a promising young man of three-and-twenty. Just now she was waitingfor the home-coming of her son Noël, who had been absent on a longfishing expedition to the north shore of the St. Lawrence. 

Suddenly the old lady lifted her head, for her quick ear heard the soundof an approaching footstep. She rose hurriedly, as her son drew near, andcried out in her pretty French voice: "Oh, Noël, my son, is that you?--isit indeed you? How long you have been away! and, oh! how I have missedyou! Noël, my son, it is good to see you again. "

"Yes, my mother, it is I. We landed at Father Point early this morning. We have had such good sport, and very hard work. I am hungry, though, mymother, for the walk up to Rimouski gave me an appetite. "

"Yes, my son, you must be. For three days, at this hour I have had ameal prepared for you, and yet you did not come. I was beginning to getanxious, though the Gulf is like glass, and the curé said there were nosigns of a storm. To-night also your supper awaits you, so come in. "

The old lady led the way into the house, which was small, but exquisitelyneat and well kept. The first apartment, which opened from a tiny hall, served as sitting and dining room. Like most other French Canadianhouses, Madame McAllister's was carpeted in all the rooms with arag carpet of three colors--red, white and blue. This carpeting isextensively woven by the good nuns at Rimouski Convent, and is prettyand effective, besides having the advantage of being cheap. 

On the walls of Madame McAllister's sitting room hung the inevitablepictures of the Good St. Anne, the mother of the Blessed Virgin, andof Pope Pius IX. Indeed, it would be difficult to find a house in thedistrict which did not possess one or more of these engravings. 

Through a half-opened door could be seen a glimpse of madame's bedroom--adainty interior. The wooden floor was snowy white, with here and there abright-colored mat spread on it; the brown roughly-hewn bedstead wascovered with a quilt of palest pink and blue patchwork, the patientresult of the old lady's years of industrious toil. 

Madame McAllister busied herself getting supper ready, all the whiletalking to her son. 

"Well, Noël, my son, what did you get this time? I trust a greatquantity. "

"Yes, my mother, we did very well. The first day we captured a fineporpoise, and after that six large seals. "

"Ah! that was good, " replied madame. 

Both mother and son spoke French in the Lower Canadian _patois_, ratherpuzzling to English ears trained to understand only Parisian French. For, not only is the pronunciation different, but several Scotch words areused by the inhabitants of this district, and one puzzles hopelessly overtheir derivation, until remembering the origin of the people. 

"Where did you leave your boat?" questioned madame. 

"At Father Point light-house with Jean Gourdon. He is to drive up with thepilot to-morrow, and by that time will have skinned the seals. "

"Surely the steamer is late this week?"

"Yes, but she will pass Father Point early to-morrow morning; she wastelegraphed from Matane, where there has been a dense fog. "

"I am glad, Noël, you had such good luck this time. "

"Yes, the porpoise will keep us in oil all winter, and as for theseal-skins, I can sell them at Quebec for a good round price. So far sogood. But this is the first stroke of luck this year. It has been a poorseason. Have you any news, my mother?"

"No, nothing much, my son. There is to be a great pilgrimage to theshrine of the Good St. Anne next week. Hundreds of lame, blind and sickfolk are coming from all parts of the country--from Quebec, and even fromGaspé. Oh, my son, it is wonderful what the Good St. Anne does for herchildren. "

"Yes, yes, " said Noël, impatiently, "but I want to hear the news of thepeople here. How is Marie Gourdon?"

"Marie Gourdon? Oh! much as usual--always singing or playing the organat the church, and M. Bois-le-Duc encourages her. I call it nonsensemyself, " and the old lady shrugged her shoulders deprecatingly. 

"But, my mother, she sings like an angel. "

"Yes, yes, Noël; so Eugène Lacroix says too. "

"Eugène Lacroix!" said Noël, starting; "I thought he was in Montreal. "

"He has been here for the last week. He came down for a holiday, and isalways with Marie Gourdon. "

"Yes, yes, they are old friends. I do not care much for Eugène Lacroix. He seems to me a dreamy, impractical sort of person, and only thinks ofhis books and those absurd pictures he is always making. "

"You think them absurd?" replied madame. 

"M. Bois-le-Duc told me he had great talent. You know that, for a timethe curé sent him to Laval at his own expense, and now talks of sendinghim to Paris. "

"To Paris! and for what purpose?"

"Oh! the curé thinks he will make a great painter. He is always paintingduring his holidays. I'm sure I can't see the good of it. "

"Well, my mother, M. Bois-le-Duc is a very clever man, and whatever hedoes is good, but I, for one, have no very high opinion of EugèneLacroix. "

While this conversation had been going on, Noël McAllister did amplejustice to the good fare his mother set before him. Madame McAllister wasnothing if not practical, and cooking was one of her strong points. Her_bouillon_, a sort of hotch-potch, was so good that a hungry Esau mightwell have bartered his birthright for it. Her pancakes and _galettes_were marvels of culinary skill. 

Noël, having appeased his appetite, sharpened by the salt sea breezes, and after enjoying a pipe, said, "Now, my mother, I think I shall go outfor a walk and hear the news. I shall not be late. "

"Very well, my son. Come back soon, " said the old lady, and, as she heardthe door close on Noël, she smiled grimly to herself and muttered, "The news, eh? The news! That is to say in plain words, Marie Gourdon. "

CHAPTER III. 

 "Il y a longtemps qui je t'aime, Jamais je ne t'oublierai. "

 French Canadian Song. 

It is a beautiful evening. The tide is rushing in over the crisp yellowsands of the beach at Father Point. The sun is setting slowly, as ifloath to leave this part of the world, and, as he departs, touches withhis rays the gold and crimson tops of the maple and sumach trees, whichborder the road leading into the churchyard of the Good St. Anne. 

The clouds are scudding over the sky in great masses of copper colorand gold, parting every here and there, and showing glimpses of cleartranslucent blue beyond. 

And how quickly the whole panorama changes as the sun sinks to his bed inthe sea. Anon everything was golden and amethystine, like a foreshadowingof the splendor of the New Jerusalem. A moment later and all is a deepvivid crimson, flooding the scene with its rich radiance and casting intoshade even the tints of yon tall sumach tree in the prime of its earlyautumn coloring. The old grey slate boulders on the beach are illuminedby it, and stand out in prominence from the yellow sands. 

All is still to-night, save for the beating of the waves against therocks, or ever and anon the sound of a gun fired from the distantlight-house. 

The light-house of Father Point stands out clear and distinct on a longneck of rocky land running into the St. Lawrence. 

All is still. But hark! A song comes faintly, carried on the eveningbreeze, and presently it grows clearer, louder, more distinct. 

The words now can be heard plainly. They are those of that old FrenchCanadian song so familiar to all dwellers in the Province of Quebec:

 "A la claire fontaine, M'en allant promener, J'ai trouvé l'eau si belle Que je me suis baigné. Il y a longtemps que je t'aime Jamais je ne t'oublierai. "

The voice was tuneful, strong, and full and clear, though lacking incultivation. It was that of a girl, who was sitting under the shadow ofa large boulder on the beach. She seemed about eighteen, though, in theuncertain wavering light of the sunset, it was impossible to distinguishher features clearly. 

Her gown was of simple pink cotton, and on her head she wore a largepeaked straw hat, which gave her a quaint old-world appearance. 

Her brown hair had escaped from beneath this large head-gear, and blewabout in pretty, untidy curls round her neck and shoulders. In her handwas a roll of music, which she had just brought from the church, whereshe had been practising for the morrow's mass. 

The girl was Marie Gourdon, only daughter of old Jean Baptiste Gourdon, fisherman of Father Point. As far as the educational advantages of FatherPoint and Rimouski could take her Marie had gone, but that was not sayingmuch. Her father was fairly well-to-do for that part of the world, andhad sent her, at an early age, to the convent of Rimouski. There she wasbrought up under the careful training of Mother Annette, the superioress, and received enough musical instruction to enable her to act as organistat the Father Point church, and to direct the choir at Grand Mass. 

Marie Gourdon was rather a lonely girl, although she had more outsideinterests than many of her age. She had few companions, for most of theyoung girls of the district obtained situations in Quebec, or some of thelarge towns, finding the dullness of Father Point insupportable. Herfather and brother had this summer been on long fishing expeditions, onetaking them even so far as the Island of Anticosti, so that Marie wasleft much to her own devices. Noël McAllister, it is true, was oftenhere, but neither his mother nor M. Bois-le-Duc seemed to like to see himin Marie Gourdon's society. 

This evening she had been thinking over these things afterchoir-practice. Lately she had found time pass very slowly. Her fatherand brother had come home early in the evening, but went off directlyafter supper to skin the seals, and she would see no more of them thatnight. In all probability in a few days they would go on anotherexpedition. 

A quick footstep crunching the sand and a voice saying, "Good evening, Marie, " made the girl turn round to see Noël McAllister standing besideher. 

She sprang to her feet and exclaimed, with a certain glad ring in hervoice:

"Oh! Noël, is that you? I am so pleased you are back. "

"Yes, Marie, it is I, not my ghost, though you look as if you had seenone. And are you pleased to see me?"

"Of course I am. I think you need scarcely ask that question. "

"And what have you been doing, my dear one, since I have been away?"

"Oh! Noël, the time has seemed so long, so wearisome. There has been noone here to speak to, except for a week or two when Eugène Lacroix camehome for his holidays. I used to watch him paint, and he talked to meabout his work at Laval. "

"Marie, I don't like Eugène Lacroix. He is stupid, conceited, impractical. "

"Indeed, I think you are mistaken. M. Bois-le-Duc calls him a genius. Eugène, too, is a most interesting companion, and he has told me manytales of countries far beyond here. "

"Well, he may be a genius, though I for my part cannot see it. And you, my dear one, do you long to see those countries beyond the sea? I knowI do. I am tired of this life, this continual struggle for a bareexistence. The same thing day after day, year after year; nothing newhappens. Why did M. Bois-le-Duc teach me of an outer world beyond thebleak Gulf of St. Lawrence? Why did he teach me to read Virgil and Plato?He did it for the best, no doubt; but I think he did wrong. He hasstirred up within me a restless evil spirit of discontent. Oh! Marie, to think I am doomed to be a fisherman here all my life. It is hard. "

"Yes, Noël, it is hard. It has always seemed to me that you with yourtalents, your learning, are thrown away here. But why not go to Quebec orMontreal? You would have a wider sphere there. "

"I would go to-morrow, Marie, if it were not for one thing. "

"What is that, Noël?"

"Marie, do you not know?"

"I suppose your reason is that you do not wish to leave your mother, "said the girl hesitatingly. 

"No, Marie, that is not the reason. My mother would let me go to-morrow, if I wished. "

"Then I cannot understand why you stay. You would do much better inQuebec, you with your ability. "

"You cannot understand, Marie? You do not know that it is because of_you_, and you alone, that I stay on in this place, smothering all myambitions, my hopes of advancement. No, Marie, you say you do notunderstand. If you spoke more truly you would say you did not care whereI went. "

"Noël, " said the girl gently, and looking distressed, "you know, my dearone, that I do care very much, and I cannot think why you speak to me inthat bitter way. "

"Marie, do you care? You have seemed lately so indifferent to my plans, and it has made me angry, for, my darling, you must have seen that mylove for you is deep, strong, mighty, like the flow of yonder greatriver. Aye, it is stronger, greater, more unchangeable. "

A glad light came into the girl's pale face, but she did not speak, andNoël went on:

"It is not as if my love for you were a thing of yesterday, for I cannever remember the time when you were not first in my thoughts. Yes, Marie--

 'Il y a longtemps que je t'aime, Jamais je ne t'oublierai. '"

"What, Noël, never? That is a long, long time. Are you sure, Noël?"

"Am I sure, Marie? Is yonder great rock, on which countless tides havebeaten, sure? Is the mighty Gulf sure of its ebb and flow? Is anythingsure in this world, Marie?"

The girl did not answer, and he went on:

"Tell me, Marie, do you care for me or do you not?"

Marie hesitated, and Noël impatiently gathered up some loose pebbles andthrew them into the water, walking hurriedly up and down the beach. 

"Marie, you must answer me to-night; I must come to a decision. "

The girl rose slowly from her seat, and, coming towards Noël, put bothher hands in his, and lifting up her great brown eyes, lighted withhappiness and perfect trust, said deliberately, --

 "'Il y a longtemps que je t'aime, Jamais je ne t'oublierai. '"

CHAPTER IV. 

 "Red o'er the forest peers the setting sun, The line of yellow light dies fast away. "

 Keble. 

"Well, I'm afraid, Webster, it's a thankless task. There are plenty ofScotch names about here, but not the one we want. I'm heartily tired ofgoing about from churchyard to churchyard, poking around like ghouls ormedical students. We've been to all the graves in the neighborhood, and, interesting as such a pursuit may be to an antiquary like yourself, Ifind it very slow. I'm one of those sensible people who believe in livingin the present, and letting the dead past bury its dead, as the poetsays. "

"Are you, indeed?" retorted his companion drily. "Too lazy, I suppose, todo anything else. "

"Well, that may be the case; but this I know, that I'm going to cableLady McAllister to-morrow, and tell her that I'm going back. You may stayhere if you like, as you appear to find the country so charming. "

"It is very kind, indeed, of you to give me your permission, " replied theother. "But, my gay and festive friend, I doubt very much whether LadyMcAllister will allow you to return. You know, as well as I, how decidedshe is. When she has once got an idea into her head, it is hard to get itout. "

"But, my dear sir, " said the younger man, "it is such an utterlyridiculous idea that she has got into her head now. "

"Not quite so ridiculous as you think. It is a well-known fact that, about the year 1754, Ivan McAllister, with a regiment of Scottishsoldiers, did embark for Canada, and landed at Quebec. It is just as wellknown that a Scottish regiment was disbanded near Rimouski a few yearslater, and we have every reason to believe, from our correspondence withthe Quebec Government, that Ivan McAllister settled in this district. "

"I grant you all that, but he is dead long ago. "

"Yes, but in all probability he has descendants living. If not, of coursethe McAllister male line is extinct, and Lady McAllister's hopes willreceive a terrible blow. "

"Poor Lady McAllister! she seems to have taken the thing very much toheart. I hope she won't be disappointed, but I wish I hadn't come on thiswild-goose chase. "

"You have come, " said the elder, "so you had better make the best of it. "

"Well, a precious lucky fellow this McAllister will be, if he exists. Why, Dunmorton Castle with its woods must be worth half a millionsterling. "

"Umph!" said the old man. "There is a condition. "

"Yes, yes, but not a very dreadful one. Still, I'm not sure that I'd liketo marry Lady Janet myself. "

"My young friend, your speculation on the subject is idle, for you willnever get the chance. "

"Well, it doesn't matter, " said his young friend philosophically, andwith a sentimental air, "my heart is another's. "

"Ah, indeed! And who may the un--" (he had nearly said unfortunate, butcorrected himself in time) "fortunate damsel be?"

"Miss Sally Perkins. Yes, she is the girl of my choice. Oh! that I hadnever crossed the briny ocean, so far away from Clapham and my Sally. TheSunday I broke the news of my departure to her I shall never forget. Itwas at tea; we were eating shrimps and brown bread and butter. She hadjust poured out tea, and had eaten only two shrimps, when I told her Iwas going across the broad Atlantic. She could eat no more shrimps thatday. She was overcome. "

"Poor Miss Perkins!" said his companion. "Sure devotion could no furthergo. She must be very fond of you. "

"She is; and I must go back to England. "

"You have come, and now I advise you to wait till I return. And, let metell you that cabling is very expensive just now. You will only wasteyour money for nothing, and besides will be snubbed for your pains byLady McAllister. "

The speaker who gave this sage advice was a little old man, with awizened face like parchment. His keen blue eyes had a shrewd twinkle inthem, and altogether he gave one the impression that he could see furtherinto a stone wall than most people. He was the confidential lawyer andintimate friend of Lady McAllister, of Dunmorton Castle in Fife, and hadserved the family for more than forty years. 

His companion was a young Londoner, somewhat of the Cockney stamp, byname Thomas Brown, a youth chiefly celebrated for his immense estimationof his own capabilities. 

The two men had arrived a week before by one of the mail steamers, andhad, in accordance with Lady McAllister's commands, visited nearly everychurchyard in the district to discover the name of McAllister. 

Hitherto this had been a thankless task. Now, dispirited and fatigued, they were leaning upon the rough wooden fence which divided the buryingground of Father Point church from the road. This church, dedicated tothe Good St. Anne, had been built by the pious efforts of pilots on theships plying the River St. Lawrence and the Gulf. It was intended to be athankful recognition to their patron saint for their deliverance from theperils of the deep. 

And the church had become a noted place for pilgrimages. Indeed, it wassaid that miraculous cures were effected by the agency of a sacred relicof St. Anne, and many a sufferer was brought here in the hope that, byperforming his devotions at the shrine of St. Anne, he would be cured ofhis maladies. 

There was something very pathetic about the lonely little churchyard ofFather Point, with its borders of overgrown raspberry bushes stragglingin untidy clusters round the graves. At one end of the ground were fivegraves, marked each by plain wooden crosses, painted a dull black, withthe Christian names in white of those who slept beneath. These roughcrosses marked the resting-places of the good nuns, who had spent theirlives working in this part of the country. All that is left to serve asremembrance of their struggles, their trials, their brief glimpses ofhappiness, are these wooden crosses, from which the rain of a few autumndays effaced even the names of those who labored so long and faithfully. 

This evening everything is very calm and still, and the peace of natureis only disturbed by the tinkling of the bells on the necks of the cattleas they are driven home by the French Canadian cow-herds. A silence seemsto have settled over the whole face of nature. Presently, however, fromthe open windows of the church comes a song, faint at first, but swellinglouder and stronger, on the evening breeze:

 "Maria, Maria, ora pro nobis, Ora, ora pro nobis, Sancta Maria. "

It is the evening hymn of the curé and his acolytes pealing out on thestill evening air. Higher and higher one treble voice goes like the cryof a soul in agonized entreaty:

 "Maria, Maria, Sancta Maria, Ora, ora pro nobis. "

Then it dies away, and all is still except the ever-present swish! swish!of the rising tide against the great boulders on the beach. 

"Oh! I say, Webster, " said young Brown, in his mincing, affected tone, "why not, after they have finished in there, " he pointed to the church, "go in and ask the priest whether he knows anything of these people? Heought to know them if anyone does. Good idea, eh?"

"Yes, " said the old lawyer, turning round suddenly and looking ratherannoyed, for in spite of his hard crust of Scotch dryness, his youngclerk's voice has jarred on him at this moment. He had been deeply movedby the beauty of the scene, and the sweet tones coming from the churchhad stirred within him long-forgotten memories. 

"Yes, for once you have hit on a bright idea, and we will act on it. Letus go in and see the priest. And, my young friend, remember that most ofthese priests are gentlemen, so mind your manners. "

"I expect that house next the church is his, " replied young Brown. "Wecan walk slowly on, and, in the meantime, the priest will come from hisdevotions. "

CHAPTER V. 

 "A parish priest was of the pilgrim train; An awful reverend and religious man. His eyes diffused a venerable grace, And charity itself was in his face. Rich was his soul, though his attire was poor (As God hath clothed his own ambassador), For such, on earth, his bless'd Redeemer bore. "

 Dryden. 

Réné Bois-le-Duc, curé of Father Point, had just come home, and waspreparing to take his ease after a hard day's toil, anticipating thearrival of the pilgrims, who were about to visit the church of the GoodSt. Anne. 

The curé was a man of some sixty years of age, though looking older, forhis had been a hard and toilsome life. Though secluded from the busyworld, he had had heavy responsibilities forced upon him, and there wasno one of his own class and education in these parts to cheer andsympathize with him in his rare moments of leisure. 

Belonging to one of the oldest families in Brittany, Réné Bois-le-Duchad, in spite of the strong attractions of worldly society, earlyconceived a high ideal of what life ought to be. 

This ideal was fostered by the influence of his instructors at college. His enthusiastic temperament and ascetic leanings led him to thinkseriously of entering holy orders when quite young, but this idea metwith strong opposition from his parents; so, for a time, he abandoned it. 

In Paris for one short winter with his elder brother Octave, he wasmuch sought after for his rare musical talents, as well as his personalattractiveness, which charmed all with whom he came in contact. Madamela Marquise was proud of both her sons, but Réné she idolized, and hereturned her affection with a devotion rare even in the best of children. 

Like a sudden clap of thunder, there came on the gay world of Paris onespring morning the news that Réné Bois-le-Duc had joined the greatDominican order, and had been hurriedly sent off at a moment's notice ona mission to America. At first it could not be believed possible; but atlength, after a year when he did not return, the fact could not bedoubted. But what was the reason for this sudden step? Why had he nottold his friends? Why did he leave in this way? There was a mystery aboutit, and his former friends were not slow in inventing evil reports aboutthe absent one. Octave Bois-le-Duc never mentioned his brother, nor wasthe mystery ever cleared up. 

All this, of course, happened many years before my story opens; andthough at first Réné Bois-le-Duc found his new life hard, exiled as hewas from all his former associates, he had never returned to France. Attimes he had been sorely tempted to do so, but he knew that none couldreplace him in his work at Father Point, and he had grown to love hispeople--to be, indeed, a father unto them, mindful both of theirspiritual and temporal well-being. 

Nor can it be said that his talents were entirely thrown away, for fromtime to time some highly polished poem or literary critique would findits way from the lonely little house on the banks of the St. Lawrenceto a standard French magazine; and old schoolmates of the curé wouldshrug their shoulders and say, "Oh, here is a capital thing by RénéBois-le-Duc. I thought he was dead and buried long ago. "

And he was, indeed, so far as men of his own standing and education wereconcerned. Except for an annual visit from his bishop, and occasionallyone from a pilot or sea captain, M. Bois le-Duc seldom heard news of theouter world. On the whole, his life was not an unhappy one, and certainlynot idle. Most of the hours not spent in parish work were occupied inperfecting the education of several of the young men in whom he wasinterested. With Noël McAllister he took special pains. Whether theresults were satisfactory in this particular case may be doubted; stillhe did what he considered best, and left the issue to Providence. 

In Marie Gourdon, too, he took a great interest. Her mother had died whenshe was scarcely six months old. Her father had never troubled his dullhead about her; and, after she left the convent at Rimouski, she led avery lonely life for so young a girl. 

There was much to interest even such a cultivated man as M. Bois-le-Ducin Marie Gourdon. She had inherited from her mother a remarkable talentfor music, such as many of the French Canadians have strongly developed. Her soprano voice was powerful, clear and flexible, and her ear was verycorrect. The good curé judged that, if given proper training, and theadvantages Paris alone could afford, the little Canadian girl mightbecome an artist of the first rank. But how send her to Paris? The thingseemed impossible. Where was the money to come from? True, M. Le curé hadbeen well paid for his last review in the Catholic Journal, but he hadexhausted this money in sending Eugène Lacroix, another _protégé_, toLaval for a twelvemonth. Alas now his treasury was empty; his cupboardwas bare!

This evening he was thinking all these matters over, when suddenly he wasroused from his meditations by the voice of Julie, his old housekeeper, calling out:

"M. Le curé, there is a gentleman asking for you at the door. "

"For me, Julie, at this hour? Who is he?"

"Not a Frenchman, that is very certain, monsieur; I should think not, indeed; his accent is execrable;" and the good woman lifted her handswith a gesture of despair. 

"Could you not understand what he wanted?" asked the priest. 

"No, monsieur; the only word I could make out was '_la cooré_, ' so Ithought that might mean you. "

"Well, well, " said M. Bois-le-Duc, laughing, "the best thing is for me tosee him myself. "

He went out into the tiny dark passage where Mr. Webster and his clerkwere standing. 

"Good-evening, " he said, in his polished courtly manner. "I mustapologize for having kept you waiting so long. Pray come into my study. I fear Julie was somewhat brusque and rude to you. She is a good soul, though. Please be seated, gentlemen. "

"M. _la cooré_, " said Webster, struggling hard with his one French word, and breaking down lamentably. 

"I can speak English, " said the priest, "if that will help you. "

"Oh, yes, " replied Webster, drawing a deep sigh of relief; "thank Heavenfor that. "

M. Le curé smiled benignly. 

"Well, sir, " went on the lawyer, "I've come to ask you whether you knew afamily called McAllister, supposed to be living in these parts. "

"McAllister! Why, of course I do. I have known them for years. "

"Oh, my good sir, you have relieved my mind of a heavy burden. For thelast three weeks my clerk and I have been searching every churchyardround about here for the name, and have hitherto failed to find it. To-night the idea entered my head that you might know. "

"My head, if you please, " murmured young Brown _sotto voce_. 

"I shall be most happy to be of any service to you, " said M. Bois-le-Duc. "Madame McAllister, with her son Noël, lives about three miles down theroad. You cannot mistake the cottage. It is a plain white one with ared-tiled roof--the only red-roofed cottage on the road. "

"Thank you very much, sir, " said Webster. 

"You will like Noël McAllister, " went on the curé; "he is a fine manlyyoung fellow, and was my pupil for many years, so I know him well. "

"I am infinitely obliged to you, sir, " said Webster, gratefully. "Isuppose we may call at the cottage the first thing in the morning. Theonly house on the road with a red-tiled roof you said? Thanks. We shallnot detain you longer. Good-evening, sir, good-evening. "

And Webster, having obtained the desired information, marched off withhis clerk, leaving the curé in wondering perplexity as to his relationswith the McAllisters. 

CHAPTER VI. 

 "The love of money is the root of all evil. "

"Yes, Mr. McAllister, there is no choice. The estates are so left by theold lord that unless you marry your cousin you can have no part of them. An empty title you will have, to be sure; much good that is to anyonenowadays! In case of your refusing the conditions imposed upon you by thelate lord's will, which Lady McAllister is determined to see faithfullycarried out, my advice to you is to stay here and remain a fisherman allyour life. A pleasant prospect that for a young fellow of your talents. "

"I must marry my cousin?" questioned Noël. 

"Yes, that is imperative. "

"What is she like?"

"Oh, she is like herself, no one else I ever saw. I'm not good atdescriptions, especially of ladies. She has yellow hair, I can tell youthat. "

"Yellow hair--yes, yes; but her disposition, her character? Is sheamiable?"

"Well, I don't think that amiable is quite the word to apply to LadyMargaret. She is self-reliant, sensible, a thorough woman of business, and the very one to help you on in the world. "

"Oh, indeed; but if I ever possess Dunmorton I shall be helped onenough. "

"What! have you no wish for more? Would you not like to go intoParliament to make a name for yourself? Your cousin could help you inthat. They say she used to write all her father's speeches, and very goodspeeches they were. "

"And Marie Gourdon?" said Noël slowly. "What of her? How can I leaveher?"

"Oh, nonsense!" said the little lawyer impatiently; "really I wonder at aman of your sense hesitating in such a matter. This Marie will get overit; all girls do. It's only a matter of time. She'll forget all about youin a month. "

Noël's thoughts went back to the scene on the beach two evenings ago, and he did not consider it at all probable that Marie Gourdon would everforget him. At any rate, he did not care to entertain the possibility. 

"Yes, " went on Webster, "I don't see that you can have any hesitation. Here you are, at the opening of your life, offered one of the finestchances I ever heard of, hesitating because of a little French girl. Umph! I've no patience with you, but, young man, you've got to decidebefore to-morrow's mail goes out. I must write to Lady McAllister. Good-bye I'm going for a walk to the light-house. The keeper is a mostinteresting man, and a great mathematician. Good-bye. I hope next timeI see you you'll have come to your senses. "

And Webster walked off, evidently imagining that there could be nohesitation about the matter of the inheritance. 

The whole of that day was a miserable failure to Noël McAllister. He hadone of those natures which hate making a decision. He was restless, andcould settle down to nothing, and walked up and down his mother's littleverandah like a caged animal. He could not bear the thought of giving upMarie, yet, on the other hand, he could not bear the thought of giving uphis inheritance. It was too tempting. To leave forever the monotony of alife at Father Point, to plunge all at once into luxury and riches, thatwas a dazzling prospect, with only Marie Gourdon on the other side tocounter-balance these attractions. And she had been so slow in tellinghim she cared for him that even now he half doubted whether she reallydid, in spite of the truthfulness in her great brown eyes, when sherepeated the refrain of that old French song. And the lawyer had said shewould forget in a month, like all other girls, and she was not differentfrom other girls. Yes, it was a difficult question to decide, there wasno doubt about that. He despised himself for thinking of giving up Marie, the mere thought horrified him, and yet--Dunmorton, ease, riches, luxury!

To give all these up without a struggle would have been difficult, evento a more heroic nature than Noël McAllister's. 

There was not long, however, for him to decide the question, and asevening came on, and he thought that by next morning the die must be castone way or the other, his head ached with the effort of anxious thought. Fresh air he felt he must have, so he went out from the cottage, andwalked hurriedly down the road. 

The moon was shining cold and clear, showing distinctly the delicatetracery of each branch and leaf overhanging the pathway. The cold, clearlight threw into strong relief each giant maple tree darkly loomingagainst the silvery evening sky. 

McAllister walked hurriedly on, deeply thinking, for about a quarter ofa mile. His head was bent, and he saw nothing, so absorbed was he inhis own meditations. Presently, however, a figure crossed his path. He started, and looked up to see a girl in a red cloak standing in thepathway. She stopped before him. It was Marie Gourdon, the last person inthe world he wished to meet just then. 

"Marie, my dear one, " he said, "what are you doing out so far alone, andat this hour too? Come; let me take you home. "

"Noël, I came to see you. I hoped to have met you. I have somethingimportant to say to you. "

"Indeed, Marie, what can it be? You should have sent for me. You cannottalk to me here. Let me take you home, and then you can tell me. "

"No, no, " said Marie persistently. "Jean and my father are in the house, and I wish to speak to you alone, and what I am going to tell you I mustsay to-night. "

"What is this tremendous secret?"

She did not answer the question but said abruptly:

"M. Bois-le-Duc tells me you are going away. "

"Going away? Um--um--I don't know, " Noël replied hesitatingly. "I thinknot. No no, M. Bois-le-Duc makes a great mistake. "

"You are not going away?" said the girl, a glad light coming into hereyes. "What, Noël you have not come into this fortune?"

"Oh! yes, there is no doubt about that; but there are conditions, and Ican't accept them. "

"What are the conditions?"

"One is that I shall have to leave you, to give you up. "

"Noël, there would be no need of that. "

"Why, what do you mean, Marie?"

"I give _you_ up, " said Marie proudly. "I could never stand in your wayof advancement. "

"Marie, did you not say to me most solemnly only the other night:

 'Il y a longtemps que je t'aime, Jamais je ne t'oublierai. '"

"What has that to do with it, Noël? That does not alter the case. It isjust because of that I will not let you stay here. You may think it aneasy thing to decide now, but in after years you would regret remaininghere. With your gifts, your ambition, you would be thrown away. No, Noël, _I_ bid you go. You must not stay. Good-bye, dear one, for the last time. You must tell them to-morrow that you will go. "

"It is impossible, " said Noël, in an angry tone. "You can never havecared for me to give me up in a moment like this. "

"You know that is not true, Noël. I can see into the future, and it isjust because I do care so much for you that I do not wish you to wasteyour life here. " She spoke with an effort, and as if she were repeatinga lesson learned beforehand. 

"No, that is not it, " said Noël; "I am perfectly sure you never cared forme or you could not give me up like this in a moment. "

The girl did not answer for a time, for she was deeply wounded at hiswant of understanding, his non-comprehension of her most unselfishmotives. Presently she turned to him, and said in a hurried tone, for shecould scarcely control herself just then, "Noël, believe me it is for thebest. Good-bye. "

Before he had time to answer she had walked swiftly away, and was hidfrom his sight by the turn of the road. All had happened so quickly, themomentous decision had been made so entirely without effort on his part, that his breath was fairly taken away. But, beneath all his surprise andwounded pride was a feeling of relief scarce acknowledged to himself, though his first exclamation was one of distressed self-love, as heexclaimed angrily, "She has no feeling; she does not care. "

Ah! M. Bois-le-Duc, your training of Noël McAllister was at faultsomewhere. You grounded him thoroughly in Latin and the classics, but youtaught him little of the study of human character, that most profoundlyinteresting of all studies. Had your teaching been different, NoëlMcAllister might have had a different estimation of the depths of anature like Marie Gourdon's, of a woman's true unselfish devotion. Hemight have made an effort to keep what he had already won--which wasabove all price. Had your teaching not failed in this one essentialpoint, Noël McAllister's life and career would have been far different. Well for him had it been so!

CHAPTER VII. 

 "O world! thy slippery turns! Friends, now fast sworn in love inseparable, shall within this hour break out to bitterest enmity. "

 Coriolanus, Act iv. , Scene iv. 

It was two months later, a chilly October afternoon. 

The glory of the maple and the sumach had departed, and a dingy russetbrown had succeeded the more brilliant tints of early autumn. The tidewas high, and the waves dashed angrily against the long pier at Rimouski. 

On this pier were gathered six persons, awaiting the arrival from Quebecof the outward-bound steamer. They were Madame McAllister and her sonNoël, Marie Gourdon, Pierre, her father, Jean, her brother, and M. Bois-le-Duc. What was the matter with M. Le curé this afternoon? Helooked anxious and care-worn, and scarcely spoke to anyone. Marie, onthe contrary, was very bright, and tried to keep up Madame McAllister'sspirits, which were at the lowest ebb. 

On the whole, there was not much talking done, for a cloud seemed to hangover the whole party. 

Presently, some miles out on the gulf, at first like a tiny black speck, appeared the steamer. Nearer and nearer it came, growing larger andlarger as it approached. The dark waters heaved up in huge waves as herbow pierced their depths. The foam dashed high, as if in angry protest atthe intruder. And Madame McAllister, glancing at the ship, said in herquaint, pathetic way: "Ah! Noël, my son, here is the ship like some hugemonster come to swallow you up. I cannot let you go. Oh! my son, my son!"

At length the steamer "Peruvian"--for Lady McAllister desired that Noëlshould travel in every way befitting her heir--reached the pier. Ropeswere thrown out and caught by the fishermen. 

The mails, in great leather bags, were thrown on board, and shouts wereheard of "All passengers aboard!"

During all this bustle Noël McAllister stepped aside, and said to M. Bois-le-Duc, in a hurried, anxious tone:

"And now, my father, are you not going to give me your blessing?"

M. Bois-le-Duc, strangely enough, had made no advance towards hisfavorite pupil; in fact, during the whole of the last month had seemedto avoid him. Now, when thus directly questioned, he answered:

"Yes, Noël, I wish you all happiness in your new life, and hope you willhave a safe and pleasant voyage. "

"And is that all you have to say to me, my father?"

The curé did not reply, but pointed to Madame McAllister, who was gazingat her son with eager, wistful eyes, jealously counting every moment ofabsence from her side. He obeyed the curé's unspoken command, andreturned to his mother, conscience-stricken at the silent rebuke of thishis best and most valued friend. 

No change of plan was possible now. The die was cast for good or evil. Weakness had triumphed over strength. Blame him--he was worthy of blame;but, pausing for a moment, may it not be said that nine men out of tenwould have decided as did Noël McAllister?

"Oh! my mother, you know I shall write every week. Do not distressyourself. Marie, good-bye. Remember always it was you who bade me go. Good-bye, Monsieur Gourdon. Good-bye, Jean. "

He was off at last, and the steamer moved out from the pier. How bitterthese partings are and how hard to bear, but the thought crossed M. Bois-le-Duc's mind just then that there were worse things than partings. 

"Take me home, " said Madame McAllister. "I cannot stay here watching myboy disappear. "

She was terribly distressed, and the curé and Jean Gourdon led her home. No one seemed to think of Marie. She had disappeared behind a huge pileof lumber, and had sat down to rest on a great log. There she sat for sheknew not how long; she seemed unconscious, oblivious of all, save thattiny black speck which was sinking lower and lower on the horizon. Finally it disappeared down the great waste of interminable ocean. 

The sun set, and the air grew chill; the tide rose high; the curlewshovered round with their weird cries; the Angelus from the church camewafted across the waters, faint and sweet in its distant music, and thelaborers in the fields paused a moment in their tasks to do homage to theHoly Maiden in murmured prayers. But Marie Gourdon heard none of thesesounds, felt not the cold of the evening air. Her senses were benumbed, and she was only conscious of a dull, aching pain. 

Two hours passed, and during these two hours Marie fought out her battlewith herself. When M. Le curé missed her, he went to look for her at herfather's house, and not finding her there, the idea occurred to him thatshe might be still on the pier. Returning, he found her. Laying a gentlehand on her down-bent head, he said:

"My child, come home with me. You must not give way like this, such griefis wrong, and--he is not worthy of it. "

"Oh! my father, " said Marie, lifting a wan, white face to his, "life isindeed hard. "

"Yes, " said the curé, raising his hat reverently, and looking out towardsthe cold, unfathomable waters of the great Gulf. "And, my child, there isonly One who can help us on that rough path. "

CHAPTER VIII

TEN YEARS AFTER. 

 "Oh! wouldst thou set thy rank before thyself? Wouldst thou be honored for thyself or that? Rank that excels the wearer, doth degrade, Riches impoverish that divide respect. "

 _Sheridan Knowles_

The morning-room at Glen McAllister was an ideal room of its kind, in arather plain and severe style. The floor was covered with dainty blue andwhite straw matting, and huge rugs of musk-ox skin, from the wilds of thegreat North-West of Canada, were scattered here and there about the room. At a large desk, looking as if it might belong to a man with an immensebusiness connection, sat Lady Margaret McAllister. She was addingaccounts with a methodical accuracy and speed even a bank clerk could nothope to excel. She was a woman of about forty, though looking younger, her hair being of that tawny shade of yellow that rarely turns grey, andher complexion bright and fresh, bearing witness to a healthy outdoorlife. 

That morning she was very busy counting up the week's expenses, andtrying to explain to her husband that the conduct of their bailiff wasmost reprehensible. Lady Margaret always used long words in preference toshort ones, which might express exactly the same meaning. This was one ofher peculiarities. 

"Three months' rent for the Mackay's farm is due, Noël. I really thinkyou might bestir yourself a little to look after the estate. Jones is themost execrable manager I ever knew. Here you are, with nothing to do allday except smoke or shoot, letting things go to rack and ruin. We shallbe in the poor-house soon. Umph! I've no patience with you. "

"No, my dear, you never had, and each year you have less. I am, indeed, asore trial to you, " replied her husband, smiling placidly. 

"You are, there can be no question about that, " said Lady Margaret, bitterly. 

Noël took his cigar out of his mouth, looked at her calmly for a moment, and said:

"Then why----"

"Why--Yes, I know what you are going to say, you have said it sofrequently--why did I marry you?" she interrupted. 

"You have guessed rightly, my dear; that was just what I was about toremark. "

"I married you because I could not help myself. "

"Oh, yes, you could. You might have refused, and I would have gone backto Canada--would gladly have done so. "

"No, Noël, " said his wife, rising and standing before him, a ratherterrifying figure; "be at least truthful. You would not have given upthe estate even though it was burdened with an incubus like me. "

"Well, well, my dear, " said Noël, yawning aggravatingly, "all that isover. As your poet says, 'Let the dead past bury its dead. '"

"Inexact in small things as well as great, " said Lady Margaret, who hadreturned to her accounts. "Your poet, you mean, for your quotation isfrom Longfellow, and he lived nearer your country than mine. "

"Oh! I never remember these fellows' names. I take it for granted you areright. You always are, my dear. But let us return to prose. Are you goingto Lady Severn's to-night to dinner?"

"Of course I am, and so are you. You know the famous prima donna, Mademoiselle Laurentia is staying at the Castle, and we shall hear hersing. "

"Who is she? Another of old Lady Severn's _protégées_, I suppose. All herswans turn out geese. I only hope this one will not be a worse failurethan usual. "

"You at least, Noël, ought to be interested in Mademoiselle Laurentia, for she comes from your part of the world--from the backwoods of Canada. "

"Really?" he questioned, with some show of interest at last. 

"Yes; and Elsie Severn began to tell me some romantic story about herwhich I can't remember, for, just as she was at the most exciting part, Jones came in and related the account of the arrears in the Mackays'rent, and that put all Elsie's story out of my head. "

"Yes, my dear, you have a faculty of remembering all the disagreeablethings and forgetting all the pleasant ones. This adds much to yourworth as a charming companion. I, who am honored with so much of yoursociety, fully appreciate this quality. "

Fortunately Lady Margaret did not hear this tender speech, for she wasagain deep in the recalcitrant Jones' accounts. 

Let us glance for a moment at Noël McAllister, and see how years andprosperity have agreed with him. Lazily smoking in a comfortablearm-chair, this man is very different from the tall and slender youth wesaw last on the pier at Rimouski. 

He certainly had improved in appearance, and was a tall, fine-looking manof about five-and-thirty. He wore a light-colored tweed shooting suit, which contrasted well with his dark hair and bronzed complexion. Aremarkably handsome man was The McAllister of Dunmorton, but to a closeobserver there was something lacking in his face--the old weakness aboutthe mouth and chin, which time, instead of eradicating, had only servedto develop. The hard school of adversity would have been a wholesomeexperience for Noël McAllister. 

His life was not a busy one by any means: in fact, he spent most of histime in hunting or shooting, taking little interest in his tenants. After much persuasion from Lady Margaret, he had been induced to run forthe county, and was returned unopposed, owing to the energetic canvassingof his wife, and the fact that most of the electors were his own tenants. 

Poor Lady Margaret! she, indeed, had her trials. A woman of unboundedenergy and ambition, she wished above all things that her husband shouldmake his mark in the world. Vain hope!--a silent member in the House ofCommons he was, and a silent member he would remain. 

When he first arrived from Canada, ten years ago, his cousin anticipatedgreat things from him. She saw his strong points as well as hisweaknesses, and, being by some years his senior, hoped to mould him toher will. Alas! it was like beating against a stone wall--a wall ofindifference and apathy. 

McAllister had got his estate and the large revenue it yielded, and thatwas all he wanted. Lady Margaret was an appendage, and a very tiresomeone into the bargain. She could not touch his sympathies, for whateverheart he ever had was far across the sea, where the cold green waters ofthe great St. Lawrence beat in unceasing murmur against the rocky beachat Father Point. 

McAllister heard occasionally from his mother, whom he had often beggedto come over to Scotland to share his prosperity, but the old lady alwaysrefused, saying that she was too old to venture so far from home. 

He had written several times to M. Bois-le-Duc, but never had receivedany answer or news of the curé until a year ago, when a friar from Quebechad come to Scotland on a visit, and had brought a letter of introductionfrom the curé of Father Point to McAllister. The letter consisted only ofa few short lines. Noël had often questioned his mother about MarieGourdon, but on this subject the old lady was silent, --it is so easy toleave questions unanswered in letters. 

"Margaret, " Noël called out suddenly, rousing himself from hismeditations, "I am going out now, and I shall not be back till fiveo'clock. I am going to ride up the Glen. "

"Very well, but remember to be back in time to dress for dinner. Lasttime we were invited to the Severn's you were half an hour late, andLady Severn has not forgiven you yet. "

"Oh! all right. I shall be strictly on time this evening, and trust tomake my peace with the old lady. Au revoir. "

CHAPTER IX. 

 "Alas! our memories may retrace Each circumstance of time and place; Season and scene come back again, And outward things unchanged remain: The rest we cannot reinstate; Ourselves we cannot re-create, Nor get our souls to the same key Of the remember'd harmony. "

 Longfellow. 

The dinner party at Mount Severn this evening was an undoubted success, as were most of Lady Severn's entertainments, for she possessed to agreat degree that invaluable gift of a hostess--the art of allowingpeople to entertain themselves. And, added to the charm of her manner, and her undoubted tact in bringing the right people together, LadySevern had all the accessories to make a dinner party go off well. Thelarge dining-room was a long, low, octagonal apartment, with a smallconservatory opening out at the lower end. There were numerous smallalcoves in the wall, and in the recesses of each of these were huge potsof maidenhair fern. 

All along the oak-panelled walls at short intervals were placedold-fashioned brass sconces with candles in them, which shed a clearthough subdued light on the dinner table and the faces of the guests, and brought into prominence the bright hues of the ladies' gowns andthe sparkling crystal and silver on the dinner table. 

At the head of the table sat Lord Severn, a hale, hearty old gentlemanof seventy. He was devoted to fox-hunting, and always ready to get upat five o'clock in the morning when a good run was in prospect. His wifesat opposite him. She was a beautiful old lady, her face clear-cut as acameo. Her features were regular, and her bright black eyes flashed underher high intellectual forehead with a brilliancy a girl of sixteen mighthave envied. Her hair was snowy white, and rolled back _à la pompadour_. 

To-night she was dressed in a gown of heliotrope satin, trimmed withwhite point lace, and here and there in her hair and gown she wore pinsmade of the Severn diamonds. Round her neck glistened a magnificentnecklace of these gems, which were of world-wide fame, having been givento Lord Severn by an Indian rajah as a recompense for saving him fromdrowning. 

Lady Severn had been talking about her celebrated guest, who was not atdinner this evening. 

"I am sorry you have not met Mademoiselle Laurentia; unfortunately shehas been suffering for the last two days with a very severe nervousheadache, and to-night did not feel inclined to come to dinner. However, I hope later on she will be better, and able to sing for you. Beforedinner she went out into the garden, thinking the cool air would do herhead good. "

"Yes, I am very anxious to meet her, " replied Lady Margaret, "and Noëlis, for him, quite excited about her, coming as she does from Canada. "

"Yes, she comes from Canada, and she has quite a romantic history. Perhaps she will tell you about that herself some day. She has only beenwith us a week, but already we are very fond of her, she is such awinning little creature, and her French Canadian songs are charming. "

"Oh! Noël will be delighted, " said Lady Margaret; "he waxes enthusiasticon the subject of French Canadian boat-songs. Do you think MademoiselleLaurentia would spend a week with us at the Glen?"

"No, I'm afraid not; she is engaged to sing at Her Majesty's next week, and goes from here to London. You may have better luck in the autumn, though, when her London engagement is over. "

"I'm sorry she can't come now, for we should have been delighted to haveher at the Glen. "

"Elsie dear, " said Lady Severn to her daughter, a tall, fair girl ofnineteen, who was endeavoring to amuse The McAllister, a difficulttask--"Elsie dear, what part of Canada does Mademoiselle Laurentia comefrom?"

"Oh! somewhere on the banks of the St. Lawrence--some unpronounceablename. "

"Delightfully vague, " said Noël McAllister. "The ideas you English peoplehave about our country are refreshing. One young lady, whom I supposed tohave been fairly well educated, asked me, in the most matter-of-facttone, whether we went down the rapids in toboggans. I can assure you itrequired a strong effort of will on my part to refrain from laughingoutright. "

"What did you tell her?" inquired Elsie. 

"Oh! I said if she had ever seen either a rapid or a toboggan; she wouldhardly think of associating the two. "

"Some day I wish you and Lady Margaret would make an excursion to Canada, and take me with you. It would be so exciting----"

"Come, Elsie, " interrupted her mother, "come, we must go. MademoiselleLaurentia will be lonely. "

The ladies rose to go, Elsie saying in an undertone to The McAllister:

"Now, don't spend an hour over those stupid politics. I want you to hearmademoiselle sing. "

"Politics!" he replied, with a disdainful shrug of his shoulders. "I takeno interest whatever in them. Do not fear, Miss Elsie. "

"I should like to know what you do take an interest in, " remarked theyoung lady mischievously, as she hurried out of the room. 

On entering the drawing-room they failed to find Mademoiselle Laurentia, so Lady Severn proposed that they should go into the garden. 

"Elsie, run up to my room and fetch some shawls; the evening is quitechilly. "

It was a lovely night in the end of April; the moon was full, andglimmering with sheeny whiteness over the distant hills. The garden atMount Severn was an old-fashioned one, laid out in the early Elizabethanstyle in stately terraces and winding paths. 

On each terrace were planted beds of luxuriant scarlet geraniums andearly spring flowers. Every once in a while one came across a huge copperbeech, and gloomy close-clipped hedges of yew divided the garden properfrom the adjacent park. 

Somewhere in the distance could be heard the trickling of a tiny rivulet, which supplied the fountain in the middle of the garden. There were manyroughly-hewn, picturesque-looking rustic chairs scattered about, and nearone of these Lady Margaret paused. 

"May we sit here?" she said, turning to her hostess. "I really think thisis the most delightful garden I ever saw in my life. They talk aboutDevonshire; I never saw anything half so lovely there. "

"Yes, certainly it is pretty, " assented its proprietress. "But where isMademoiselle Laurentia?"

"In her favorite nook beside the old copper beech. See, you can catch aglimpse of her if you look round that tree. "

Yes, there was Mademoiselle Laurentia, and a very insignificant littleperson she appeared at first sight. Her hands were clasped, and she wasapparently deep in thought. She was clad in a gown of some soft shimmerywhite material, which fell in graceful folds about her, and in the clearbeams of the moon looked like a robe of woven silver. Round her throatwas a row of pearls, and in her dark brown hair were two or three diamondpins. 

As Elsie Severn returned and came towards her, she lifted her head, andher face could be distinctly seen. A very sweet face it was, too, albeitnot that of a woman in the first freshness of her youth. 

The eyes were dark and bright, the forehead broad and low, with lines ofstrong determination marked on it. The mouth, that most characteristicfeature, was somewhat large and expressive. But the successful primadonna's face wore a not altogether happy expression, though when shespoke the sad look went out of it; only when in repose it was alwaysthere. 

"Well, Mademoiselle Laurentia, how is your head now? Better, I hope?"

"Yes, dear, the pain is quite gone now. And how did your dinner-party gooff?"

"Oh! very well. I sat next The McAllister, and he was a little morelively than usual. He is most anxious to meet you. You know he comes fromCanada. "

"Yes, I know, " said Mademoiselle Laurentia abruptly. 

"Did you ever meet him there?" went on Elsie. 

"I used to know a family called McAllister a long time ago, when I wasquite young. "

"Indeed? But, mademoiselle, don't talk as if you were a hundred. I'm sureyou don't look much older than I. "

"In years, perhaps, I am not so very much older; but in thought, Elsie, acentury. "

"Poor Mademoiselle Laurentia, your life has been a hard one, in spite ofall its success. I don't want to intrude, but I often think you must havehad some great sorrow. Have you?"

"Yes, my dear, I have. I cannot talk of it to-night, though. No, no, notto-night at any rate. "

Elsie rather wondered why she laid such particular stress on the presenttime, but did not like to pursue the subject. 

"Elsie, would you like me to sing for you now?" asked MademoiselleLaurentia suddenly. "This garden is an inspiration. "

"Yes, I should, above all things, if you feel well enough. "

"Then what shall it be? Choose. "

"Oh! if you please, Gounod's Slumber-song. This is just the time andplace for it. "

Accordingly, with only the rippling of the fountain as an accompaniment, the sweet clear notes rose, and the highly-trained voice of the primadonna performed the difficult runs and trills of this most beautiful ofslumber-songs with that precision and delicacy attained by years ofpractice and hard training. 

The song came to an end, and for a few moments no one spoke, till atlength Elsie Severn, drawing a deep sigh of relief, said in her impulsiveway:

"Why, Mademoiselle Laurentia, I have never heard you sing like thatbefore. I thought I had heard you at your best in London, but I never_felt_ your singing so much as to-night. "

"I am glad you were pleased, my dear. Would you like another?"

"Yes, above all things. Just wait a moment though; I want to speak tomamma. "

Elsie crossed over to where Lady Severn sat, and whispered to her saying:

"If the gentlemen come out while mademoiselle is singing, don't let anyof them come over to us. She can't bear a crowd round her, and I don'twant her to be disturbed. "

"Very well, child; it shall be as you wish. I hope, though, you did notask mademoiselle to sing; you must not do that. "

"No, no, indeed I did not, mamma. She offered to sing for me. "

A curious friendship had sprung up last winter in London between ElsieSevern and the famous prima donna. They had met one afternoon at areception, and been mutually pleased with each other. There was somethingabout the frank outspoken manner of the young girl which appealed toMademoiselle Laurentia, wearied as she was with the conventionaladulation, in reality amounting to so little, of the world in which shemoved. 

"Now, mademoiselle, " said Elsie, "I am ready. It is so good of you tosing for me. "

"My child, you know I love to give you pleasure, " she replied, strokingthe girl's fair hair caressingly. "Listen! I will sing for you a song Ihave not sung for years--ah! so many, many years. "

She began softly, slowly, a Canadian boat-song, heard often on theraftsman's barge or habitant's canoe, on the Ottawa or great St. Lawrence--a national song, with its quaint monotonous melody and simplepathetic words. 

And the voice which rendered so effectively the technical difficulties ofWagner and Gounod sang this simple air with a pathos and feeling all itsown:

 "A la claire fontaine M'en allant promener, J'ai trouvé l'eau si belle Que je me suis baigné. Il y a longtemps que je t'aime Jamais je ne t'oublierai. Il y a longtemps que je t'aime Jamais je ne t'oublierai. "

"Why, McAllister, whatever is the matter with you? Have you seen a ghost?You are as white as a sheet. Are you ill?"

"No, no, I'm not ill. Do be quiet, Jack. What a row you're making! I dofeel a little seedy; it's these horrid cigars of yours. "

"Nonsense!" retorted Jack Severn. "You couldn't get better ones; itisn't that. I believe you've seen the ghost of old Lady Severn, mygreat-grandmother, walking with her head in her hands. This is the timeof year she always turns up. It must be the spring house-cleaning thatdisturbs her rest. _Did_ you see her? I've sat up night after night totry and catch sight of the old lady, and I've always missed her. Where was she? Tell me quickly. I'll run after her. "

"I didn't see your great-grandmother or anybody else, so do stopchattering, Jack, and for goodness' sake let me hear that song, " saidMcAllister irritably. 

"Well, well, " muttered Jack Severn to himself, "I never saw TheMcAllister in such a temper before. As a rule, he is too lazy to beangry at anything, I really think he must be ill. "

Mademoiselle Laurentia finished singing. The McAllister's thoughts bythis time were far away on the pebbly beach at Father Point, where thetide was coming in rippling over the stones, and his memory had gone backto an evening ten years ago. He was again standing beside a huge boulder, on which sat a girl in a pink cotton frock. She was singing in a sweetlow voice:

 "Il y a longtemps que je t'aime, Jamais je ne t'oublierai. "

And he was saying to her:

"Marie, you know, my dear one--

 'Il y a longtemps que je t'aime. '

Yes, for years. My love for you is deep as that great river, andstronger, mightier. " And the girl had answered, looking at him with hergreat brown eyes full of unutterable tenderness and faith:

"Yes, Noël, I believe you will never change;" and their voices joined inthe refrain of that old boat-song, awaking the echoes:

 "Il y a longtemps que je t'aime, Jamais je ne t'oublierai. "

"Mr. McAllister, how ill you look, " said Elsie Severn, coming towardshim, and noticing his weary, abstracted expression. 

"Yes, that's just what I was saying, " put in the irrepressible Jack. "Ithink he'd better go home. "

"How rude you are!" said his sister. "Come, Mr. McAllister, come into thehouse, and I will give you a cup of tea. That will do you good, and thenI will introduce you to Mademoiselle Laurentia. "

"Oh! Miss Elsie, there's nothing the matter with me. I should like to beintroduced to Mademoiselle Laurentia now. "

"Very well. See, she is coming this way, " said Elsie. "Is she not pretty?Have you ever seen her before?"

"Seen her before? How could I have seen her before?"

He told the untruth unblushingly; it was by no means his first. 

Mademoiselle Laurentia was close to them now, and Elsie said, in herclear, distinct tones:

"Let me introduce Mr. McAllister to you, mademoiselle. You arecompatriots. "

Just then Lady Severn called Elsie, and Marie Gourdon and Noël McAllisterwere left alone for a moment. She was the first to break the awkwardsilence, as she said in her quiet voice, without the faintest shade ofembarrassment in it:

"How do you like this country, Mr. McAllister?"

"How do I like this country? Is that all you have to say to me afterthese years?"

"What else can I have to say to you? Is not this a fine old garden? Howbrightly the moon shines!"

"Marie Gourdon, do not speak to me in that calm, aggravating way. Reproach me! Anything but this. I cannot bear your indifference. "

"Reproach you? For what? Do you mean for leaving me? If so, that is anold story, told long, long ago. I am thankful now you did leave me. And, Mr. McAllister, I must remind you that only to my most intimate friendsam I known as Marie Gourdon. I must beg you to excuse me now; Lady Severnis calling me. "

CHAPTER X. 

 "O! primavera gioventù dell' anno! O! gioventù primavera della vitæ!!!"

It was a beautiful afternoon in the middle of June, and the London seasonwas at its height. Everyone who was anybody of importance was now intown. Sweet, fresh-looking girls, in the full enjoyment of their firstseason, were cantering by, gaily chattering in the Row, their facesglowing with excitement and pleasure as they caught sight of somepedestrian acquaintances and nodded their greetings. Stately old dowagerswere enjoying to the full the bright sunshine, as they lay comfortablyback in their well-padded broughams. Here were brilliantly apparelledmen and women, the very butterflies of London society, talking of theevents of yesterday, and speculating on the evening's entertainment, asthey walked leisurely up and down the broad promenade of the Park. Butnear, and almost touching the skirts of these favored ones, ran anundercurrent of poverty, distress and misery. So close allied were thetwo streams of human life, that scarce an arm's length divided them. 

Here and there, just outside the Park gates, were pale, emaciated womenand young girls, in whom was left no youth, for in truth their hard liveshad served to age them before their time. With thin, white hands theystretched out their offerings of flowers to sell the passer-by--brightspring flowers--crocuses, daffodils and violets, whose freshness andpurity served only to enhance the miserable aspect of their vendors. In verity it was a scene of velvet and rags, satin and sackcloth, richesand poverty: Lazarus looking longingly at Dives, and Dives going on hisway unheeding. 

At the marble arch entrance to the Park there stood this afternoon atall, rather melancholy looking man, dressed in deep mourning. He waswatching, with apparently little interest, the busy throng about them. From time to time he lifted his hat in a mechanical manner as herecognized some acquaintance, but there was nothing enthusiastic in hisgreetings. He had been standing at the entrance for about half-an-hour, when he was roused from his state of abstraction by a tremendous slap onthe back, and a sturdy voice, which said:

"Hello! McAllister, old boy, how are you? Why are you star-gazing here?Wake up, old boy, wake up!"

"Oh! Jack, how are you?" said McAllister, for he it was, turning roundsharply. "I'm glad to see you. I thought you were in France. "

"Well, so I was, but the fellow I went with couldn't speak a word ofFrench, and you know I can't. We started on this walking tour through thePyrenees, where no English is spoken. The consequence was that we werenearly starved--couldn't make the people understand. I got tired ofmaking signs, as if I were a deaf mute, so I just turned back and camehome, and here I am. "

"How are Lady Severn and Miss Elsie?"

"Both very well, thank you. Elsie is enjoying her season thoroughly. Inever saw such a girl before in my life. She is out morning, noon andnight. I declare she tires me out, and I can't begin to keep pace withher. One ball at nine, another at ten; rush, rush, all the time, it isterrible. She has the constitution of a horse, I believe. "

"Not very complimentary to Miss Elsie, " said Noël laughing. 

"True, nevertheless. I say, McAllister, you look very glum. What is thematter with you? Oh! ah! I beg your pardon, I--I----What an ass I am, always putting my foot into it. Pray forgive me. "

"Yes, " said Noël, "it was very sad. You know, Lady Margaret always woulddrive those ponies; we could not prevent her. She was determined to breakthem in, and, when she decided on a thing, she always carried her point. That morning, she drove to the Glen; the precipice there is very steep, and something frightened the ponies, and--and you know the rest. "

"Yes, yes, " said Jack shuddering, "I heard it all. I am very sorry foryou, old boy. Lady Margaret was very kind to me. She used to scold meoccasionally, but I expect I deserved it. No, no, don't talk about it anymore. You must cheer up, old boy. Come with me to the opera to-night. Mademoiselle Laurentia is going to sing in 'Aida. '"

"Mademoiselle Laurentia?"

"Yes, don't you remember her? She was up at Mount Severn last autumn. "

"Oh, yes! I remember her well enough; but, Jack, I can't go to the opera, much as I should like it. You see it would not look well, " touching thecrape band on his hat. 

"No, no, of course not, " said Jack hurriedly; "pray pardon me, how stupidI am; but I know what we can do. I have tickets for a conversazione atthe Academy to-morrow--there can be no harm in your going to that. I hearthere are some very good things at the Academy this year. "

"Yes, so I heard, I have not been there yet. "

"Every one is in ecstasies over a painting by a man called Lacroix; theysay it's the best thing that has been on view for a long time. "

"What! painted by a man called Eugène Lacroix? Does he come from FatherPoint?"

"Yes. My dear McAllister, you Canadians are having it all your own way inLondon this year. Whether it is this Colonial Exhibition, or whether youare all extremely gifted people, I don't know. "

"What is Eugène Lacroix like?" asked The McAllister. "I used to know hima long time ago. He was a quiet sort of man then. "

"He is quiet yet. He won't go out anywhere, but works, works all thetime. Sometimes he comes to tea at my mother's on Sunday afternoon, butthat is the only time we see anything of him. Mademoiselle Laurentiaintroduced him to us. All the Academy people speak well of him, strangeto say, for he is a foreigner, and they are prejudiced against outsiders, as a rule. He has had several things hung at the _Salon_ in Paris, and ahead he painted of Mademoiselle Laurentia made a great hit last spring. But, old boy, I must be going now, I've got to take Elsie to a dinnerparty to-night. Fearful bore, but when duty calls me, I always obey. You'll come with me to-morrow, eh? Then just drive round to thehouse at two o'clock sharp. Au revoir. "

"Stop a moment, Jack. Can you give me Mademoiselle Laurentia's address?"

"Yes, certainly, Number 17, The Grove Highgate. Are you going to see her?It always struck me that you and she didn't get on very well last autumnat Mount Severn. "

"Did it strike you in that way?"

"Yes, it did, and I couldn't help noticing that whenever you came in onedoor she seemed to go out of the other; in fact, old boy, I'm sure shedidn't like you much. "

"Are you?"

"Yes, and Elsie thought just as I do. "

"Indeed, you are wonderfully observant, Jack. I did not credit you withsuch powers of perspicacity. "

"I don't know what you mean by that, but I can see through a stone wallas well as any one else, though I was always very stupid at school. "

"Well, perhaps what you say may be true, Jack, but I'm going to call onMademoiselle Laurentia. You know we Canadians are very patriotic. "

"I admire you for your forgiving disposition. If you really want to seeMademoiselle Laurentia, the only time to catch her in is between five andsix. Good-bye, old fellow, I must be off. Don't forget to-morrow at twoo'clock sharp. "

After Jack went, McAllister hesitated for a moment, then glanced at hiswatch, hailed a passing hansom, jumped in, and called out to the driver, "Go to 17, The Grove, Highgate. A sovereign if you get there before sixo'clock. "

The cabman shook his head doubtfully and said, "I'll try my best, sir, but I'm afraid I can't do it. It's a long way off, you know. "

He did try his best at any rate, and off they went at break-neck speed, on! on! on! past rows and rows of houses, past wildernesses of brick andmortar. Far behind them they left churches, hospitals, buildingsinnumerable, the mansions of the rich and the wretched dwellings of thepoor, the squalid habitations of outcast London, on! on! on! Up the greathill of Highgate, where the tender green foliage of early summer and ofthe great oak trees bordered the roadside, and where the almond blossomsperfumed all the heated air with a subtle delicate fragrance, on! on! on!

Quickly they dashed past many an historic spot, past the house whereColeridge lived, past the walls of the great cemetery, which contains theashes of hundreds of illustrious dead, past the little church, perched onthe summit of the hill, from whose belfry could be heard the chimes forevensong, coming faintly on the still air; on! on! on!

But it is a long lane that has no turning, and at length the hansom drewup before a little cottage far back from the road. A long porch oflattice-work led up to the front door, and tall elm trees shaded thelittle garden. It was a pleasant enough little abode on the outside atany rate, sheltered from the noise and bustle of the great city. 

"No. 17, The Grove, sir, " called out the cabman, breathless, buttriumphant, "and it's only five minutes to six. "

"Well done, " said McAllister, "here's your well-earned sovereign. Nowtake your horse to the stables over there and wait for me. "

The cabman departed radiant, wondering over such unwonted generosity, andmusing as to the rank and wealth of his fare. 

McAllister knocked at the door of the cottage, and presently it wasopened by a neat maid-servant, who, in answer to his inquiry, said:

"I am afraid, sir, Mademoiselle Laurentia will not be able to see you. What name shall I say, please, sir?"

"Oh, say I'm a Canadian. I have no cards with me; but I have come on amatter of the utmost importance, and I must see your mistress. "

"Very well, sir; please walk up this way, " and the maid led the way toMademoiselle Laurentia's boudoir. 

It was a dainty little room furnished in blue and silver. On the wallshung numerous water-colors and engravings, showing that the prima donnahad an artistic eye. 

McAllister had not long to wait before the mistress of the house came in. She was dressed for her part in "Aida, " and wore an Egyptian robe of softwhite cashmere, embroidered in dull gold silk with a quaint conventionalpattern. Her gown was slightly open at the throat, round which was anecklace of dull gold beads. Heavy bracelets of the same materialencircled her arms, and a row of them held back her dark brown hair, which fell in heavy masses far below her knees. 

She came into the room with her hands stretched out in welcome, but atthe sight of McAllister drew back looking surprised. 

"How do you do, Mr. McAllister, " she said, in a formal tone. "This isindeed an unexpected pleasure. Pray pardon my theatrical dress, but Ihave such a long drive into town that I am obliged to dress early. "

"Certainly, Marie; your dress is very becoming; in fact, you lookaltogether charming. "

"Mr. McAllister, before you speak again, I think I may tell you that oncebefore I have had to remind you that only to my most intimate friends amI known as Marie Gourdon. "

"Am I not your friend? I have known you all your life. "

"I do not wish to continue that subject; and pardon me, Mr. McAllister, if I seem rude, but it is now past six o'clock, and I must leave here intwenty minutes. It is a long drive into town, and I must be at the operaon time. "

"I have something very important to say to you. My wife is dead. "

"What! Lady Margaret dead? I am really very sorry to hear that. She wasalways very kind to me. Poor Lady Margaret. "

"And do you know, Marie, what her death means to me?"

"No, I don't quite follow you, Mr. McAllister. You say your wife is dead, I suppose you _mean_ she is dead. "

"Yes, yes, of course, " replied Noël irritably, "but it means more. Itmeans that I am free. "

"Free! What do you mean?"

"Marie, can you ask me that? Can you pretend not to understand? For thelast ten years my life has been a burden to me. The thought of you hasever been with me. The memories of Father Point, of the happy days spentthere, haunt me always. And now, Marie, I have come to tell you thatDunmorton is yours, the Glen is yours, all that I have is yours, andMarie _I_ am yours. "

During this outburst Marie Gourdon's face grew at first crimson, thenvery white, and for a moment she did not answer; then she rose from herchair, and, looking straight at The McAllister, said in a very quiettone, without the faintest touch of anger in it:

"Noël McAllister, you are strangely mistaken in me. Do you think I amexactly the same person I was ten years ago? Do you think I am the samelittle country girl whose heart you won so easily and threw aside whenbetter prospects offered?"

"Marie, it was you who bade me go. "

"Yes, I bade you go. What else could I do? I saw you wished to be free. I saw that my feelings, yes--if you will have the truth--my love for youweighed as nothing in the scale against your newly-found fortune. I sawyou waver, hesitate. _I_ did not hesitate. And now I am rich, I amfamous, you come to me. You offer me that worthless thing, --your love. When I was poor, struggling alone, friendless, did you even write to me?Did you by word or look recognize me? No! The farce is played out. Iwonder at your coming to see me after all. "

"Marie, listen; a word----"

"No, not one word, Noël McAllister. I have said all I shall ever say toyou. Dunmorton, the Glen, all your possessions are very fine things, butthere are others I value infinitely more. Dear me! is that half-past sixstriking? I believe I hear the carriage at the door. I must beg of you toexcuse me. You know my duties are pressing, and managers wait for no one. Good-evening, Mr. McAllister. "

CHAPTER XI. 

 "Because thou hast believed the wheels of life Stand never idle, but go always round; Hast labored, but with purpose; hast become Laborious, persevering, serious, firm-- For this thy track across the fretful foam Of vehement actions without scope or term, Call'd history, keeps a splendor, due to wit, Which saw one clue to life and followed it. "

 Matthew Arnold. 

The day so long anxiously looked for of the great reception at the RoyalAcademy came at last. Fortunately the weather was beautiful, and the sunshone on the London streets with an unusual brightness even for that timeof year. 

Long rows of carriages lined the streets approaching the entrance to theAcademy. The great staircase leading into the main hall was carpeted withcrimson baize, for Royal visitors were expected, and on each stair wereplaced luxuriant pots of hothouse plants which perfumed the heated airwith an almost over-powering fragrance. 

As the lucky possessors of invitation cards passed in, a footmanresplendent in crimson and gold livery handed each a catalogue of thepictures. 

What a motley throng it was! Bohemia rubbing shoulders with orthodoxconventionality. Duchesses, actors, artists, bishops, newspaper men outat elbows, deans, girl art students, spruce looking Eton boys in tallhats and short jackets, all eagerly pushing their way to the envied goal. A frantic endeavor it was, too. To tell the truth, few of the throng cameto see the pictures; most of them, firmly believing that "the properstudy of mankind is man, " assembled to view each other. Of course therewere some conscientious art critics, but these were few and far between. 

The Gallery rapidly filled, and the guests by degrees formed themselvesinto little groups. 

Four or five men of the most Bohemian type were gathered in front ofa large canvas hung on the line, an enviable position. They were allforeigners, and were attracting much attention by their shrill voices andgesticulations. "Yes, " said one, a little Frenchman, "I know he's not anEnglishman, no Englishman ever painted like that. No, I should think not. The tone, the purity, the--the----"

"No, he's not an Englishman, " said a representative of the British nationpassing just then, and pausing to take up the cudgels for his country. "He's not an Englishman, but I don't like your prejudice; he's not aFrenchman either, for that matter, so you can't claim him. "

"What is he, then?" demanded the little Frenchman. 

"He's a Canadian. "

"Canadian, ah! What's his name?"

"Lacroix. "

"Oh! he's half French at any rate, " said the little artist triumphantly, "and I know he studied in Paris. Well, this is a masterpiece I know, nomatter who painted it. "

The picture which had caused so much discussion was a very large one, covering some five feet of canvas. In the foreground was a long sandyroad, on which was a procession of all manner of vehicles of differentkinds. Hay-carts, calashes, buck-boards, and rude specimens of cabs werebeing driven by French-Canadian habitants along the road. In the middledistance was a churchyard crowded with people, most of them looking veryill, and many of them leaning on crutches. The invalids seemed to beattended by their relatives or friends, whose strongly-knit frames andsun-burned faces contrasted vividly with those of the pilgrims. 

The wonderful thing about this picture was the distinct manner with whicheach of the many faces was brought out on the canvas. In a marvellousway, too, the interior of the church just beyond the graveyard wasportrayed. Through the door, flung widely open, and crowded with an eagermultitude, could be seen the High Altar, the candles brightly burning inhonor of the Holy Sacrament, and at the rail were lines of pilgrimsawaiting the approach of the officiating priest. 

The priest, an imposing figure clad in the gorgeous vestments of theRoman Catholic church, was bending down and allowing the worshippers totouch a relic of the Good St. Anne, in whose miraculous power of healingthey so firmly trusted. 

A well-put together picture, the critics said, and a new scene which inthese days is much to be desired. The manner in which Lacroix hadarranged to show both the exterior and interior of the church was aclever hit, every one agreed. Outside, with the clear blue sky forbackground, the spire of the church was clearly defined, and on a nichejust above the main doorway stood an exquisitely carved statue of thepatron St. Anne, holding by the hand her little daughter, the BlessedVirgin. And beyond the church and the mass of sorrowing, suffering humanlife at its doors was the great River St. Lawrence, a molten silverstream glimmering with a million iridescent lights, flowing swiftly, silently on. 

Far across its broad expanse, in the dim distance, like huge clouds, werethe misty blue Laurentian hills, grand, eternal, steadfast, an emblem ofOmnipotence itself. 

"Where is the painter of this masterpiece?" asked one; and a friend ofhis, a Royal Academician of some standing, replied:

"Oh! Lacroix has just come in. The prince admired 'The Pilgrimage' andinquired for the artist, so the president sent for him. The prince wasmost affable to him, and, it is said, has bought the picture. Ah! thereis Lacroix now. Wait a moment and I will bring him over here. "

Presently he returned with Lacroix, who was enthusiastically received byhis fellow artists, and congratulated heartily on his success. Lacroixwas a tall, rather uncouth-looking man of between thirty-five and forty, and his face wore a stern, care-worn expression. But, to an observer whocared to study his countenance, over the stern gravity of the artist'sface there was often a gleam of pleasing expression, more particularlywhen lighted up by one of his rare smiles. To-day he did not seem verymuch elated by his success; rather the contrary. Success had come toLacroix too late in life for him to have any very jubilant feeling aboutit. It seemed that he had long out-lived his youth, its hopes andambitions. Work was what he lived for now, work and his art; if successfollowed, well and good; if not, he did not much care. 

"Yes, " he said, in a voice with a slight French accent, in reply to somequestion they had asked him, "I studied in Paris, then I came to Londonlast year, and have been here ever since; but, I may say, I received allmy training in France. "

"Ah! I thought so, " said the little French artist. "Your style is toogood for the English school. You are a Canadian, I hear. We have a goodmany Canadians in London this year. I went to hear one sing last nightat Her Majesty's, Mademoiselle Laurentia. Do you know her? I can assureyou she is superb. She is a Canadian, too. "

"I did know her many, years ago, " said Lacroix; "but I have seldom seenher of late; in fact, I don't think she would remember me now. "

"She is here to-day, I am told, " said the little Frenchman, looking roundthe gallery. "Ah! there she is talking to Lady D----. See, there, thatlittle lady in grey!"

Lacroix glanced in the direction indicated. Was that fashionable littlelady conversing completely at her ease with one of the highest in theland indeed Marie Gourdon, the daughter of the fisherman at Father Point?Yes; there was no mistaking her, and he wondered a little whether Mariehad changed mentally as much as her outward circumstances had altered. 

"So, you did know the prima donna before?" went on the little Frenchartist. 

"Oh! yes; we are both natives of Father Point, on the Lower St. Lawrence. "

"Indeed, how interesting. Remain here a moment, and I shall askMademoiselle Laurentia to come over and look at your picture;" and thelittle man dashed off impulsively, and, detaching the prima donna fromLady D----, brought her over to the spot where Eugène was standing. 

No; she had not forgotten him, for she held out her hand and shook hiswarmly, saying, in the frank, sympathetic voice he remembered so well:

"I am very glad, indeed, to see you, M. Lacroix. Let me add mycongratulations to the many you have already received. Your pictureis indeed a masterpiece. "

"Thank you. You are, I suppose, the only one here to-day who can saywhether my picture is true to nature. "

"Yes, indeed, I can; it takes me back to the old days at Father Point, and how real it all is! There is M. Bois-le-Duc, dear M. Bois-le-Duc. I can almost fancy I am standing on the road watching the pilgrims gointo the church. "

"I am glad you like it. By the way, I heard from M. Bois-le-Duc byyesterday's mail. He wrote me a long letter this time. Would you like toread it?"

"Yes, very much, " said the prima donna, eagerly; "very much, indeed. "

"I think I have it here, " searching hurriedly through his numerouspockets. "Ah! no; but I shall send it to you. "

"Why not bring it, M. Lacroix?"

"May I?"

"Yes. I shall be very pleased to see you as well as the letter, " saidmademoiselle, smiling graciously. "I am always at home at five o'clock. You know my address, number 17, The Grove, Highgate. "

"Thanks, I will come to-morrow, with your permission. My time in London, you know, is very short, for I sail for Canada the first week of nextmonth. "

"Indeed, so soon? How I envy you. I am sorry you are going, though. Good-bye for the present, I must go back to Lady D----. Remember, fiveo'clock to-morrow. "

"Au revoir, mademoiselle. I shall see you to-morrow. "

Mademoiselle Laurentia had not left him many moments before the presidentcrossed the room to where he was standing, and said in a cordial tone:

"My dear Lacroix, I am happy to tell you that the prince has bought yourpicture. "

"'The Pilgrimage, ' do you mean?"

"Yes, yes; you don't seem very delighted about it. "

"Well, " said Lacroix, "the fact is that I shall miss it. It has been partof my life for the last four years. Oh! yes, I shall miss it. "

"But, my dear Lacroix, do be practical. Just think of the price you willget. Think, too, of the _éclat_. What a queer unworldly sort of creatureyou are. Any other man would be fairly beside himself with joy at suchsuccess as yours. "

"Yes, " replied Lacroix, wearily; "of course I know it is a great thingfor me. I appreciate it, indeed I do. "

"You do not show your appreciation very enthusiastically, " said thepresident, as he moved off to speak to some other guests who were justcoming into the gallery. 

Next day, early in the afternoon, Lacroix started for his long walk upHighgate Hill, with M. Bois-le-Duc's letter safely in his pocket thistime. He was a good walker and used to outdoor exercise, and enjoyed theprospect of the long tramp this bright summer day. 

He did not hurry himself, for there was plenty of time before fiveo'clock, and he stopped every few moments to examine some wayside plant, and to listen with the ardor of a true lover of nature to the merryvoices of the thrush and blackbird singing a gladsome carol. 

And he was often tempted by the fascinating beauty of the quietlandscape, as he left the grimy smoke of London far behind him andascended into the pure fresh country, to take out his sketch-book and dotdown dainty little glimpses, thus laying up a store for future work. 

But at length he reached number 17, The Grove, and the door was opened bythe trim little maid-servant, who replied, in answer to his inquiry--

"Yes, sir, Mademoiselle Laurentia is at home. Please walk up this way. "

CHAPTER XII. 

 "I know, dear heart! that in our lot May mingle tears and sorrow; But love's rich rainbow's built from tears To-day, with smiles to [**-?]morrow. The sunshine from our sky may die, The greenness from life's tree, But ever 'mid the warring storm Thy nest shall shelter'd be. The world may never know, dear heart! What I have found in thee; But, though naught to the world, dear heart! Thou'rt all the world to me. "

 Gerald Massey. 

Mademoiselle Laurentia was sitting at her five o'clock tea-table, adainty little wicker-work affair, covered with delicate china of palestpink, blue and green tints. The cups and saucers were clusteredinvitingly round a huge old-fashioned silver teapot, and, on the nob ofthe little fire-place a kettle was singing away merrily. A great rug ofwhite bear-skin was stretched on the floor, and curled up comfortablyin its warmest corner lay a large Persian cat, which, at the entrance ofthe visitor, merely turned languidly to see whether he had a dog, andthen sank into sleep again. 

A very homelike scene it was that Eugène Lacroix was ushered upon thatsummer afternoon, and the greeting of his hostess set him at once at hisease. 

"How do you feel, Mr. Lacroix, to-day, after all your triumphs yesterday?You received quite an ovation at the reception. "

"Oh, I feel very well, indeed, thank you; this fresh country air puts newlife into one. You were wise, mademoiselle, to choose your home in such aspot. "

"Yes, I think I did well, though the place has its drawbacks. It is along way from London and the opera. Still, I could not bear to live quitein town; the air there stifles me. After the clear bracing air of Canada, I find London very oppressive. But, M. Lacroix, you must be tired afteryour long walk up the hill. Do take that comfortable arm-chair and let megive you a cup of tea. "

"Yes, gladly; tea is one of my weaknesses. Oh! how I missed it in Paris. It is almost impossible to get a good cup of tea there. "

"I always make mine myself, and have it regularly at five o'clock, and, even now, I still keep the fire lighted here, for the evenings are apt tobe chilly, and I have to take care of my throat. That is _my_ fortune, you know. "

"Yes, it is indeed, mademoiselle. How strange that all three of thecuré's pupils should have succeeded so well in life, and all so far fromtheir own land. "

"It is indeed strange. That thought has often occurred to me, too, " saidMarie, musingly. 

"But, " went on Lacroix, "though, of course, I like London and Paris andall this excitement for a time, I often pine for our fresh Canadianbreezes, for the dash of the Gulf against the rocks at Father Point! Citylife is so trammelled, and I long for the unconventional home life fromwhich I have been removed so long. "

"Ah! I see you have _mal de pays_; you see I know the symptoms, " saidMarie, smiling. 

"Yes, I suppose it must be that. "

"But how delighted you must be at the success of your picture. I saw bythis morning's paper that it was bought by the prince. "

"Of course, I am glad of my success. True, it has come late in life; butstill it _has_ come. But I shall miss my picture very much. "

"Naturally. "

"However, I shall soon see the reality again. I am going home for aholiday next month. "

"Indeed? How I envy you. "

"Yes, I am really going, and I am counting the days until it is time tosail. But, mademoiselle, I am forgetting to show you M. Bois-le-Duc'sletter. I have it with me; shall I leave it here?"

"No, M. Lacroix. I am very lazy this afternoon, and if you would read itto me while I just sit in this comfortable arm-chair and do nothing butlisten, I should enjoy that above all things. "

"Certainly, mademoiselle; nothing would please me better. I imagine yourdays of laziness, as you call it, are few and far between. Now, I willbegin. The letter is dated Father Point, April 20th, 1887:--

 "My Dear Eugène, "I was very pleased to receive your last letter, and more than pleased to hear of your success; but the news that delighted me most of all was to hear that you were coming here this summer. 

 "What you tell me about my brother is very satisfactory; I knew he would be kind to you. I like to think of you as you describe yourself sitting in the great hall of the Hôtel Bois-le-Duc, in Paris, where I spent so many happy days. I knew you and the marquise would have many subjects in common, and, as you say, she is one of the ladies of the old school, now alas! past, yet she can sympathize with Bohemianism, provided that talent is allied with it. She is a woman good as she is charming, and highly cultivated. True, I have not seen my sister-in-law for years, but her letters to me are as clever and interesting as those of Madame de Stael, and I know from them how her mind, instead of being dimmed with advancing years, has developed with every day. 

 "Your description of the old garden, with its rippling fountains and quaint _parterres_, reminds me of the days of my youth, when my mother gave her receptions there. Yes, my dear pupil, the halls of that old house and the old-fashioned garden have been the scene of many gay gatherings in the olden time, when France had a true aristocracy. And not only stately dames and courtiers thronged to the Hôtel Bois-le-Duc, but the foremost minds of the day lent brilliancy to my mother's _salons_. Wits, authors, poets, artists, statesmen, whose words could change the fate of Europe, were proud to call the marquise friend. I am an old man now, and you must forgive an old man's prosiness; but a little sadness comes into my thoughts when I muse on the past. How many of those illustrious souls, then so full of life and power, remain? And I, long exiled from all I cherished, how have I progressed? No, no, Eugène; not even to you would I complain. What has a faithful follower of the Cross to do with the vanities of this world?

 "It is one of my temptations, still, to think on what might have been had I not chosen the hard road, had I not renounced the gay world and its fascinations, for it had, and _has_ fascinations yet for me. Eugène, my reward will be hereafter; but, as an old man, and one who has endeavored to do his duty for many years, I often wonder whether I mistook my vocation. But away with such doubts, they are a snare of the arch-enemy himself, a subtle snare. 

 "My dear pupil, hard as it was to let you go, I am glad you left me. I knew those years of labor _must_ tell in the end. I knew so much zeal could not be thrown away. 

 "Of Marie Gourdon, all you tell me is most satisfactory. When first I sent her to fight her way in the world, I had fears. In her profession there are so many evil influences to contend with that, in spite of her undoubted talent, I hesitated before letting her go. But I need not have feared. Marie Gourdon has one of those pure white souls----"

"Perhaps I had better not go on?" said Eugène, smiling. 

Marie nodded and murmured half to herself--"Dear M. Bois-le-Duc, I amglad to hear he thinks so well of me. Please continue. "

 "--one of those pure white souls that can pass through the fire of any temptation and come out purer, stronger, holier. She has doubly repaid me for any pains I took with her education. Long ago she insisted on returning the money spent on her training, and every year regularly, she sends me two hundred dollars to be spent on the poor suffering pilgrims, who come to the church at Father Point. Yes, I am justly proud of two of my pupils; the disappointment I suffer because of the conduct of the third only serves to heighten the contrast. I beg of you never to mention his name again to me. Never allude to Noël McAllister in your letters in the slightest way. The manner in which he treated----"

Here Lacroix hesitated, grew very red and lost his place. 

Marie, observing his distress, remarked placidly: "Please go on, I do notmind; that is all a closed page in my history. "

 "The manner in which he treated, " continued Lacroix, "that poor girl was unpardonable. At an age, too, when she should have been most carefully guarded, when her feelings were most sensitive, he, for all he knew to the contrary, broke her heart. And, under the cowardly pretence that it was she who bade him go, he left her to live, for aught he cared, a dreary, colorless existence at Father Point. 

 "Fortunately Marie was a girl of no ordinary stamp. She could rise above disappointments--remember, I do not say forget them; and she threw her whole energies into her art. I am a priest, and know human nature, its weakness and its strength--and human nature is the same all the world over--and I can honestly say that the daughter of the fisherman at Father Point is the noblest woman I have ever met. 

 "I can feel no interest in what you tell me of Noël McAllister. As I said before, I do not wish you to mention him. Madame McAllister died last week, very calmly and peacefully. We laid her in the churchyard beside her husband and his ancestors. She had been very frail of late years, but of course she was a great age, ninety-six. 

 "You will scarcely know Father Point when you return. An enterprising merchant from Montreal has built a large summer hotel on the Point, and hopes to attract crowds of visitors during the warm weather. 

 "Of course you have heard of the honor conferred on our Archbishop. I went up to Quebec to attend the ceremony when they gave him his Cardinal's hat, and he is soon to visit my humble parish, and I trust will approve of our progress, both in things spiritual and temporal. 

 "Hoping to see you soon, and with every good wish for your safe voyage, "Believe me, as ever, "Your very sincere friend, "Réné Bois-le-Duc, "Curé of Father Point, Province of Quebec, Canada. "

 * * * * *

"Dear M. Bois-le-Duc, " repeated Marie, "I am glad he thinks so well ofme. The approval of one true friend like that is worth more than all theapplause I get night after night at the opera. He knows me for myself;they only recognize my art and the pleasure it affords them. "

"Yes; you were always a first favorite with the curé, " said Lacroix. 

"How angry he is with Noël McAllister; needlessly so. _I_ have forgivenhim long ago. "

"Have you, indeed? And have you heard about Lady Margaret?"

"Yes. Mr. McAllister did me the honor of calling on me the other day. "

"Noël McAllister called on you, Marie?"

The old name slipped out accidentally, and, in his excitement, he did notnotice the mistake. 

"Yes. "

"And he told you about Lady Margaret, about his wife being dead?"

"Yes. "

"Was that all he told you?"

Marie looked rather surprised at being cross-questioned in this abruptmanner; but replied quietly:--

"No; it was not all. He told me much more. "

"Yes! yes!" said Lacroix, with the persistency of a cross-examininglawyer, "And you Marie, what did you say?"

"If you really want to know exactly what I said, my words were to theeffect that I had no time to reopen a closed chapter in my life, andthat my carriage was at the door. "

A strange expression, almost of relief, with surprise mingled, crossedthe artist's grave face, and he did not speak for a moment. Then hesaid, slowly, in a tone of half-pitying contempt:

"Poor McAllister! What with you and M. Bois-le-Duc, he is not a veryenviable person. "

"Then you are sorry for him?"

"Pardon me, I am not. I have only one feeling towards him, and that wouldbe wiser to keep to myself. Marie, long ago, at Father Point, I saw itall, though you imagined I was so taken up with my painting and my ownaffairs. I knew McAllister was wholly unworthy of the respect andaffection you and M. Bois-le-Duc lavished on him. 

"I knew him better than either of you, his weakness, his indecision; butit was not for me to warn you, how could I? Then, Marie, changes came toall of us. McAllister came into his inheritance; you went to seek yourfortune; I to work hard in a merchant's office in Montreal. For fouryears, I labored there at most uncongenial work, but I managed to scrapeenough together to pay for my course of study at the school of one of thebest masters in Paris. These years of drudgery in Montreal and Paris wereonly brightened by one hope--a hope I scarcely dared acknowledge tomyself, so vain did it appear. "

"Yes, " said Marie. "But you have succeeded, and your hope has beenrealized. "

"It has not been realized; it is as far from realization as ever. "

"I am astonished to hear you speak in such a way after your brilliantsuccess of yesterday. "

"Yes, success is satisfactory, and it is a means to an end in this case. Marie, my dear one, through all those long years of drudgery I heard ofyou only through M. Bois-le-Duc at rare intervals. But, through all thatweary time, I never ceased to think of you, though as one far, farremoved from me. Then you rose to fame and wealth; to me, a poorstruggling artist, further off than ever, and for a time I despaired. Youwere fêted by the highest in the land, all London was at your feet--whathad I to do with the brilliant prima donna? What claim had I to remindher of the old days at Father Point, of my life-long devotion? Oh! Marie, my darling, to keep silence, to think that I might lose you after all, was almost unendurable. Now, though, I _can_ speak. I, too, have achievedsuccess as the world counts it. We may now, on that score, meet asequals. Were it not so, I should keep silence always. Marie, I have lovedyou ever since I knew you. I have watched with interest your wholecareer, your failures, your successes. I dare not hope my affection isreturned--that is too much--and I must ask pardon for having spoken toyou to-day. "

The self-possessed prima donna had been very still while Lacroix spoke, and sat shading her face with one hand, and, strange to say, endeavoringto hide the tears which would come in spite of her efforts. 

"Marie, speak, my dear one. Have I distressed you? Oh! Marie, I shouldnot have spoken, only the thought of putting the Atlantic between uswithout telling you was too hard, Marie. "

"Eugène, why should you put the Atlantic between us?" said Marie, andsomething in the expression of her face gave him courage to ask--

"Marie, I am going to Father Point next month. Will you come with me?"

"Yes, Eugène, with you anywhere, " placing her hands in his, a look ofperfect rest and peace coming over her sweet, care-worn face. 

"Remember, Marie, " he said gravely, "it is no small thing I ask--to giveup your place at the opera, to sacrifice the applause of the world andthe pleasing excitement of your life. "

"I am tired of it all, Eugène, it is such an empty life. "

"And I may be in Canada a whole year--think of it, a year away fromLondon. You must consider all this, and, my dear one, I am not a richman. "

"But I am rich, " she said laughing, "very rich, and I never was so gladof it before. Now, have you any more objections to make, for I ambeginning to think you don't want me to go to Father Point with you afterall. "

That night at the opera Mademoiselle Laurentia, the critics said, surpassed herself, though, strange occurrence for usually one sopunctual, she kept the audience waiting for a quarter of an hour. Neverbefore had she sung so well. 

Great was the indignation of Monsieur Scherzo, her manager, when next dayshe told him that after this month she would sing no more in public. Heswore, he stormed, he tore his hair, and finding threats were in vain hewept in his excitable fashion, but neither threats nor entreaties movedmademoiselle from her decision. "Bah!" he said, "it is the way with themall, a woman can never be a true artist. Directly she rises to any heightshe goes off and gets married, ten to one to some idiot, who interferesin all her arrangements, and so her career is spoiled. I did thinkMademoiselle Laurentia was above such frivolity. I imagined that, atlast, I had discovered a true artist, one to whom her art was everything. No, I am again mistaken, and Mademoiselle Laurentia--why, she is not evengoing to marry a duke, there might be some sense in that, but only abeggarly artist. Bah! what folly!"

Some six weeks later, one sunny afternoon, there came up the Gulf of St. Lawrence a ship crowded with passengers bound for all quarters of thegreat Dominion. It had been a backward season, and even so late as thebeginning of July great icebergs were still floating down the Gulf, huge, white and glistening in the summer sun, as they floated on to theirdestruction in the southern seas. However, the good ship "Vancouver"passed safely through the perils of storms and icebergs, and after afairly prosperous passage of ten days arrived safely at Rimouski. Thereshe paused for a few hours to let off the mails and two passengers. 

These two passengers had been the cause of a great deal of gossip andattention on the voyage out, for they were both, in their differentspheres, celebrated personages, and known to fame on both sides of theAtlantic. It seemed rather strange that they should land at a littleout-of-the-way place like Rimouski. 

"Oh!" exclaimed one of the celebrities, a little lady clad in furs. "Oh, Eugène, everything is just the same as it used to be in the old days, andlook over there on the pier is M. Bois-le-Duc. "

Yes, there stood the tall, venerable priest, his hair now snowy white, and his shoulders bent under the weight of years. But the good curé wasenergetic as of old, and his eyes gleamed with excitement as the shipapproached. His hands were stretched out in welcome, and a smile of mostintense happiness lighted up his handsome features, and, as thetravellers stepped from the gangway to the pier, he went quickly forwardto greet them, exclaiming, in his bright cheery manner:--

"Eugène, Marie, my children, welcome home, a thousand times welcome. Heaven has indeed been good to me. My heart's desire is now fulfilled. "

EPILOGUE. 

 "Our acts our angels are, or good or ill, The fatal shadows that walk by us still. "

 Beaumont. 

Far up on the east coast of Scotland, where the huge breakers of theAtlantic dash in angry tumult against the granite crags of that ruggedshore, stands the castle of Dunmorton, a grim historic pile. 

For generations it has been the home of the McAllisters, and is stilllittle changed since the days of Bruce and Balliol, when armed men issuedfrom the low, arched doorway, to work destruction on their enemies of theSouth. 

The last of the race dwells there now; a man yet in the prime of life, though one who takes but little interest in the doings of the busy world. He leads a melancholy and purposeless existence, and seems, as the yearsgo on, to grow more morbid. Some say that he never got over the shock ofhis wife's sudden death, and that the terrible accident completelyshattered his nerves. Others, chiefly, old wives, who have lived on theestate for years, and are deeply versed in all matters connected withtheir chief's family, shake their heads wisely, and mutter that thereis a curse overhanging this branch of the clan. They say it has beenso since the '45, when The McAllister of that day turned his son Ivanadrift. 

Be that as it may, the present chief is a most miserable man. He haswealth, and everything wealth can command. He has broad lands, power, unbounded influence, for fortune has marked him for one of her favorites. But in the long winter evenings, when the great hall of Dunmorton, withits splendid trophies of the chase and grand oak panelling, is lighted upby the fitful glow of the huge pinewood fire, Noël McAllister sees avision, which freezes the blood within his veins. 

From a dim eerie in the great hall there glides with a slow, noiselessmovement a tall, slight lady, clad in a gown of pale green silk. Hersnow-white hair is crowned by a cap of finest lace. Her hands are claspedtogether convulsively, and she stretches them out and sobs in agonizedentreaty:

"Oh, Ivan, me bairn! me bonnie bairn, it is sair and lonely wi'out yehere. Will ye no stay wi' us a while longer? Oh! Ivan, me bairn!"

And night after night, so surely as the waves beat against the rocky cragof Dunmorton does the tall pale lady come, always as the clock strikestwelve, no matter who the guests may be. Doors may be barred, everyprecaution taken, nothing can prevent her entrance. 

It comes to pass that after a time gay visitors from London decline TheMcAllister's invitations, even the splendid shooting of the Glen does notcompensate them for the shock to their nerves caused by The McAllisterspectre, as they call it. Noël is left much alone, but he has Dunmorton, its broad lands and vast revenues. For these he bartered his honor, hisintegrity. By his own rule he should be happy, for all his earlyambitions are fulfilled. But in truth he has very little happiness orreal satisfaction in his prosperity, and there are few even of hispoorest neighbors who would care to change places with the "hauntedlaird. "

Far away across the sea, removed from the din and bustle of their busyLondon lives, for two months in every year, Marie and Eugène Lacroix maketheir home at Father Point. Although the famous prima donna has retiredfrom public life, still, on the occasion of pilgrimages in honor of theGood St. Anne, she graciously consents to sing for her own people duringthe celebration of Grand Mass at the pilots' church. There may be heardthe clear, sweet notes of the favorite pupil of the good curé, who, aftera life spent in good works, has passed to his eternal reward, but thememory of whose sainted example will ever remain in the minds of twopeople, who owe so much to the holy precepts of Réné Bois-le-Duc, curé ofFather Point.