turned to greet him her whole face became seemed to inclose the universe within its radiant with pleasurable emotion. The young Count St. Cyr, at the approach of his rival, drew back mortified and offended; but heedless of his annoyance, the happy St. Ours, following the guidance of the fair Clarice, threaded the long suite of rooms towards an open balcony, which, flooded now with moonlight, ran along the eastern wall of the château. High as the eyrie of the eagle hung this lofty terrace, overlooking the old town which, with its precipitous and narrow streets, lay hundreds of feet below. Beyond it gleamed the glorious St. Lawrence, broad as an ocean, in its majestic flow through the landscape, now only discernible by its dim and misty outline, its localities marked by twinkling lights which shone through the surrounding darkness, "as shines a good deed in a wicked world." It was October, but the weather was soft and balmy as a night in June. The late autumn flowers, which still bloomed profusely in the gardens of the château, freighted the air with their odours, while the rossignol, the Canadian nightingale, at intervals poured forth her liquid song from the coverts of lilacs and acacias where she sat concealed. The moon was over its full, yet it seemed not to dim the brilliant host of stars that sparkled in the heavens; though more glorious than either moon or stars appeared just now the resplendent coruscations of the majestic aurora, often so magnificent in the autumnal skies of northern latitudes. St. Ours and Clarice, moved by the grandeur of the spectacle, bent in silence over the stone parapet, watching its shooting splendours as they now darted in luminous shafts athwart the heavens, then broadened and reddened into sheets of flame, that moved to and fro like blood-red banners above the battle-field. Then again paling to a silver radiance, it seemed to shoot forth a thousand arrows of light up to the very zenith, which there uniting in a central point, formed a vast tent of inconceivable splendour, that folds. Attracted by the report of the brilliant phenomenon, many of the guests had come from the lighted salons to observe it from the balcony, when suddenly the strange brightness became more intense, the vast tent shook out its luminous folds, waving and shimmering till the heavens were one blaze of light, in the radiance of which every feature of the surrounding landscape became distinctly revealed-the rocky summit of Cape Diamond, the wooded promontory of Point Levi, the fair valley of St. Charles, with its guardian barrier of mountains, the little village of Beauport, and near its shores the dark ships of the invaders lying silently at their anchorage. Their tall masts stood clearly out against the glowing sky, and, as St. Ours pointed them out to Clarice, he felt her hand tremble as it rested on his arm, while, as if shrinking from the sight, she half whispered "I cannot look upon it-that hostile armament! for to-morrow-to-morrow, perhaps "-she could say no more, but paused suddenly, bending down her face to hide its emotion. It was sweet to feel for whose safety she so much feared, and yet what would it avail him! An impassable barrier separated them, and he must steel his heart to the softness which threatened to unman him. He put aside his grave mood, and spoke carelessly, as in answer to her half-uttered fear: "There is small chance that these bold invaders will venture an attack against such mighty odds," he said, "but even should they, and some of us pay with life the price of our loyalty, what would it greatly matter? There is compensation in that wise saying of the ancients, whom the gods love die young."" She cast on him a look of soft reproach, and in that momentary glance, so full of deep unspoken love, he read how wholly her heart was his, and how untruthful had been his con duct in not having before this revealed to her his true position. He would delay it no longer, but he could not speak it-that very night, before he slept, he would write her a full confession, and then, yes, if need be, go unregretfully to death. Clarice saw the sudden cloud upon his face, but she felt that she was beloved, and in the deep joy of her heart her voice assumed a tenderer tone, and her eyes, so beautiful always, shone with a radiance that told more eloquently than words the fulness of the heart's content. St. Ours could not understand her serenity, for though love had grown up between them, and they both knew it for its expression will crop out in looks, and words, and acts, not noticeable by all-yet Léon had never formally declared his passion, nor yet appealed to her guardian, the Comte de Fron- | tenac, for his sanction; and therefore, why, instead of doubting him, did she seem so assured, so satisfied, so ready to yield heart and love before a demand for it had been formally made? It was a mystery to him, a covert mystery, though it enhanced his unhappiness, and fixed him in the resolve to declare all and resign her for ever. While these two stood apart, going through all this heart-experience, yet uttering but few words, crowds had gathered on the balcony, eager to watch the mysterious coruscations of the aurora; and there were many among them who saw in its mystic streams of light a shadowing forth of hosts engaged in battle, and drew ill auguries from the omens, of defeat to the loyal cause. But no such fear filled the hearts of the brave garrison, and, staunchest among them, and of firmest resolve to maintain against all odds the rocky stronghold, was the Governor himself, the Comte de Frontenac, a gallant old noble, bred in the warlike school of Louis the Fourteenth, and a true follower of Henry of Navarre. Possessing the entire confidence of his Sovereign, it was his constant endeavour to advance the interests of the Canadian colony, and, by a wise administration and judicious policy, to render it a worthy appendage to the crown of France. But though just, generous and brave, the Comte's imperious temper often baulked his good purposes, and to those who in any way ventured to thwart his views, he often became so irascible and vindictive as to deter them from approaching him. In his dark and stormy moods, Madame de Levasseur was the only one who possessed the power to drive away the evil spirit. She was never daunted by his wildest displays of passion; in her presence they lost at once their power. An atmosphere of peace and love, whose influence was felt by all, seemed ever to surround her; and over M. de Frontenac its power was magical. He loved to have her near him, for she was dear to him as a daughter, and amid the harassing cares of his arduous position he turned to her as the weary pilgrim in the desert turns to the sparkling fountain for rest and refreshment. In truth, like most persons in power, the stately old Comte loved to have favourites about him, and to none of them did he evince so decided a partiality as to young Léon St. Ours, who seemed to share his favour almost equally with Clarice. He held a post immediately about the person of his chief, and thus, occupying apartments in the château, and forming one of the household, he was constantly thrown into dangerous proximity with the fair Clarice. It was a perilous position for the enamoured Léon, and the more so as the Comte seemed in no way displeased by the intimacy which he saw growing up between them, and each day knitting them more closely together. It was late on that gala night before the birthday revels ended. The dancing, indeed, had long ago ceased, and the sound of music was heard only faintly and at intervals. Over the wine-cup some still sat discussing, and others gathered in knots in the almost deserted rooms, or lingered on the balcony. But all were engrossed by an exciting topic. Abroad, the whole city seemed astir; lights glanced in every direction, a ceaseless hum of voices filled the air, and blazing watch-fires on the heights brightened with their red glare the darkness of the night. It was long past midnight when St. Ours left the castle, charged with a private despatch from M. de Frontenac to the Intendant. And the first yellow streak of dawn was tinging the horizon when, his duty done, he found himself at last alone in the privacy of his chamber. Too much excited to feel the want of sleep, he opened his cabinet, intending to occupy the short time which would be his before the sound of the morning reveillé, in writing to Madame de Levasseur-his last words, they might be, his most eloquent they must be, coming as they did from the deepest fountain of true love and grief. Full, indeed, of manly tenderness was this touching letter, and of sad, heart-rending regret at the inexorable fate which forbade him to devote to her his life. All was told, all mystery dispelled-his heart laid bare to her gaze; its anguish and its deathless affection touchingly depicted; and its earnest prayer for her happiness uttered in words of pathos which only love and despair like his could dictate. The letter was sealed and addressed, and the half hour which remained to him before the active duties of the day commenced, he employed in looking over the drawers which held his private papers. Letter after letter was given to the flames, but one or two brief notes, sent on returning a book, or acknowledging some trifling act of courtesy, and bearing the delicate signature of "Clarice," were gazed upon till the letters became dim, and then placed a hoarded treasure-in the most secret drawer of the cabinet. Unclosing one of these, Léon started on seeing a miniature, which had been there quite forgotten through months and years, It was though the gold of its setting was undimmed by time, and the gems that mounted it remained as brilliant as when first placed there by the hand of the artificer. the picture of his child-wife, upon which he had never looked since the day of his fatal marriage, when he received it from the hand of her father. Involuntarily, and with a shudder of aversion, he closed the drawer, then a sudden impulse urged him to re-open it, and look upon the semblance of the girl, the memory of whose face had faded from his mind. As he did so, a pair of soft dark eyes looked full upon him-eyes that seemed to him strangely familiar, and which he might have thought beautiful had there been any other expression in them than the bashful innocence of childhood. He forgot that with the lapse of years the child had ripened to maturity, and that, doubtless, those eyes, so exquisite in form and colour, were now radiant with the tender light and aroused sensibilities of a woman's loving soul; and that the childish face might now be rounded into loveliness, and irradiated with sweetness and intelligence. But Léon could not imagine such a development, nor did he desire to do so. He regarded the picture as that of his evil genius, and, as in contrast to it rose before him the beaming smile and tender eyes of the beautiful and beloved Clarice, he cast the miniature from him with a feeling of aversion and disgust. As it fell, the spring opened, and revealed a ringlet of soft chesnut hair fastened within the case, but, compared with the dark and lustrous tresses of his heart's idol, this child's fair curl possessed for him no beauty, and, returning the despised picture to the silence and darkness of the secret drawer, he locked the cabinet, and went out to breathe the fresh morning air upon the terrace. The early dawn was struggling through a heavy mist that shrouded every object, but as the sun arose it rolled gradually upward, hanging in fleecy folds over the majestic St. Lawrence, and wrapping in soft aerial robes the summits of the grand Laurentian chain of mountains that stood, dark and still, pencilled against the hazy morning sky. As the fog lifted from the river, the first object which caught the eye of St. Ours was the enemy's fleet, lying quietly at its anchorage. Every stitch of canvas was furled, but from the tall mast of the Admiral's ship the Red Cross flag of England flaunted menace and defiance to the loyal lieges of the French king, while the threatening array of guns that bristled through the port-holes declared its temporary quiet to be only that of the couchant lion waiting for its prey. The Comte de Frontenac chafed at the audacity of the invader, but thanks to the perfect discipline of the garrison under his veteran command, every point was strongly guarded, and the most efficient preparations made to repel the enemy's attack. Thousands of Argus eyes had watched from the earliest dawn to catch the first movement of the squadron, but noon approached and all remained quiet; the meridian came, and then a boat, bearing the white flag of truce, was seen to leave the side of the Admiral's ship and row towards the city. Speedily it touched the pier at St. Rochs, when an officer sprang on shore, and, courteously saluting the detachment drawn up to receive him, announced himself as the bearer of a message from his Commander, Sir William Phipps, to His Excellency the Comte de Frontenac, to whose presence he requested safe and speedy conduct. Yielding to the customary precaution of being blindfolded, he was forthwith escorted up through the steep ascents of the Lower Town, past formidable batteries and threatening rows of chevaux-de-frise, to the lofty point crowned by the castle of St. Louis, the vice-regal residence of the Governor. Admitted within its portals, the English envoy was then conducted to the councilchamber, where the Comte de Frontenac, in presence of many officers of rank, civil and military, and surrounded by his brilliant suite, waited to give him audience! An imposing assemblage! thought the Englishman, when the bandage was removed, and with uncovered eyes he stood face to face with the silent and dignified persons who composed it. The stern countenance of the haughty old Comte was in itself sufficient to daunt the courage of any ordinary man, but Sir William Phipps had chosen well his messenger, who was not one to flinch before the proud glance of any mortal man. With a bearing not less bold and lofty than that of the aristocratic noble whom he confronted, the English officer advanced towards M. de Frontenac, and, saluting him with frigid courtesy, awaited his permission to unfold the purpose of his visit. Slightly acknowledging the greeting, the Governor said, in a brief and peremptory tone: "With whatsoever message you come charged from your presumptuous commander, let us hear it. Read on, Sir." At this permission the Englishman coolly drew forth his document, and read, in a tone as calm and unmoved as though the words he uttered were of the most agreeable import, the summons of his Admiral, demanding in the name of William, King of England, an immediate and unconditional surrender of the city and fortress of Quebec, and concluding in a tone slightly imperious : "Your answer, Comte de Frontenac, positive, in an hour, is required upon the peril that will ensue;" and imperturbably laying his watch upon the table, he added: It is now twelve, I await your Excellency's reply till the time named has expired." By a simultaneous impulse the whole assembly started to their feet, surprised out of their dignity by the audacity of the message and its bearer. Rage and astonishment were depicted on the livid countenance of M. de Frontenac, and a fire blazed in his keen, dark eyes, that seemed as if it would consume the object of his wrath. For a few moments excessive anger prevented his utterance, and when at last his white lips parted to speak, a torrent of scorn and defiance flowed fiercely from them. Shaking his clenched hand with a menacing gesture: "I do not recognize the supremacy of William of England," he said. "I know him only as the Prince of Orange-a usurper, who to gratify his selfish ambition has outraged the most sacred claims of blood and religion; striving to persuade the nation that he is its saviour and the defender of its faith, even while he has violated law and right, and overturned the Church itself. These offences the Divine Justice will not long delay to punish as they merit." Perfectly unmoved by this hurricane of wrath stood the messenger of Sir William Phipps, only that a haughtier light glanced in his clear blue eye, and a scarcely perceptible curl of the lip shewed his contempt for the accusations flung against his Sovereign. He merely asked: "May it please your Excellency then," resumed the English officer, in the most imperturbable tone, "to cause this your answer to be rendered in writing for the satisfaction of my commander, to whom I would not willingly bear back a false interpretation thereof." "I will answer your master, Sir, by the mouth of my cannon," thundered the enraged Governor, whose scarcely smothered wrath leaped into flame at the audacious coolness of the envoy. "Thus, and thus only will I hold parley with him," he continued, "and that too ere long, for it is time to teach him that the Comte de Frontenac, the vicegerent of the greatest Sovereign in Europe, is not to be dealt with in this summary manner, even though it were by his peers," and with a haughty wave of his hand the Governor arose, and, attended by his suite, quitted the hall. The council, of course, broke up, the bandage was replaced over the eyes of the officer, and, attended by the military escort, he was conducted to his boat. The hostilities which commenced immediately on the conclusion of this conference are a matter of history on which it is unnecessary to dwell. Exasperated by the menacing and contemptuous reply of M. de Frontenac, Sir William Phipps, in accordance with the advice of his officers, resolved to commence immediate hostilities. The assault was made at various points of the city simultaneously, and maintained bravely, even desperately, but yet without any prospect of success. For the assailed were not less brave and determined than the assailants, and had besides the advantage of a stronger force and a more commanding position; though at that period weak in artificial barriers. Nature had made the Canadian stronghold an almost impregnable fortress. Yet, hour after hour, the terrible cannonading continued unceasingly; but, directed as it chiefly was against the heights of the Upper Town, the balls fell harmless to the ground, while the numerous guns of the fort replied with a true and deadly aim that told fearfully upon the enemy's ships, and stilled the beating of many a gallant heart upon their decks. And so the strife continued till the weary day declined, and night spread her friendly curtain over the scene of strife, when for a while the desperate combat ceased. Léon St. Ours welcomed the transient respite from the fearful sound of battle. Through the whole day he had been among the foremost where danger was rifest, but had escaped all peril unhurt. Would another evening still find him among the living, still living, still despairing-as he must ever be― of the right to seek and win the one treasure that he coveted! To-morrow might end for him all hope and all despair for this |