timidity, truth-yet of mingling sadness and disquiet now, which still seemed but a lingering cloud, bright itself with the effulgence it concealed.

The companion of Miss Montaigne was a lady of about thirty years, possessing little claim even to the remembrance of beauty, yet dressed with an elaborate care which manifested a disposition to eke out her slender stock of charms by adventitious aid. Her countenance was by no means repulsively homely; its parts, indeed, were separately good, yet they seemed, so to speak, ill-assorted, and lacking that harmony of proportion which appeals so powerfully to the eye, and compels the meed of admiration. Yet Emily Roselle, favored by that compensating principle which everywhere prevails, was in part remunerated for the want of a pleasing face by a fine figure, and a natural ease and grace of manner; and but for a slight deficiency of good sense and good nature, would have been not a little attractive.

A third person who was seated in the cabin when Captain Sill entered, and who had apparently been reading to the young ladies from a volume which lay open before him, was the individual spoken of by Montaigne as Father Ledra. He was a man of about sixty years, with an aspect singularly benign and pleasing; there was, indeed, no mistaking the genuine goodness which shone in every lineament of his face, and gleamed, like the light of truth, from his large grey eyes. Father Ledra was a Christian in the strongest sense of that significant word. His saintly reputation was well known to Captain Sill, who, after saluting him with marked deference, addressed himself to the younger lady, and briefly informed her of the means that were being taken for her father's safety.

"A few hours," he continued, " and we shall at least be relieved from the perils of famine and shipwreck, and as to everything beyond, we must hope for the best."

"Say, rather, we must trust to that same guiding hand which has

thus far preserved us," interposed the priest; "three days since we little dreamed of even this relief from the dangers which threatened us."

The commander bowed and continued, still addressing Miss Montaigne :

"Your father, deeply impressed with a sense of the importance to his sovereign of his personal safety, is engrossed with preparations for escape he has, I believe, communicated to Father Ledra his plans in your behalf, or—or is about so to do."

It was an embarrassing position to stand as the apologist of a cold and selfish parent before a neglected child, and the mounting color on the cheek of Blanche told the mortification which she experienced at such a necessity.

"I do not know," she replied, hesitatingly; "everything, I believe, is left to the discretion of Father Ledra, and we are commended to his counsel and guidance."

“Uncle, in short, confides us to Providence and the priest,” said Miss Roselle," but seems to think something more is requisite for himself and the interests of France."

A look of reproach from Miss Montaigne interrupted her cousin, and if aught could be judged from the countenance of the latter, prevented a still severer invective. The commander hastened to take up the conversation, and having bestowed such advice and encouragement as seemed appropriate, withdrew to his more legitimate duties. The vessel, meanwhile, by the aid of such expedients as her dismantled state still afforded, was progressing on her sinuous route towards the city, which her thinned crew, wearied with unremitting labor, gazed gladly upon in the distance, heedless of its hostile character, and even of the prison homes which they had reason to expect.

CHAPTER II.

"The mighty monarch of the tribes that roam

A thousand forests, and on countless streams

Urge the swift bark, and dare the cataract's foam."—Mrs. Sigourney.

THE Baron Montaigne had long been a resident of French America. An impaired fortune had originally induced him to serve his sovereign in the New World, and long habit had rendered pleasing what his increased wealth no longer made necessary. About a year preceding his first arrival in Canada, and nearly sixteen years prior to the time now spoken of, he had been bereaved of his wife, an English lady of great merit, which, however, had failed of its appreciation at the hands of her haughty lord. His infant daughter, then scarcely three years of age, had been confided to the charge of a kind maternal aunt in England, with whom she had resided until the death of the latter, which occurred when Blanche had attained the age of eighteen. A peculiarity of disposition and a desire to shun society, which in his impoverished state imposed many mortifications upon his proud spirit, had tempted him into the very depths of the wilderness, where, by the liberality of his sovereign, he was enabled to erect a castle of no mean pretensions both to elegance and strength. The Indian warriors saw with surprise its turreted walls and frowning battlements arising amidst their forest solitudes, and marvelled deeply at the magnificence of their great father across the water, who could bestow such state and wealth even on his inferior nobles. The section of country thus selected for a residence by Montaigne was about a hundred and fifty miles southwest of Quebec, on the border of a stream which constitutes the outlet of Lake Champlain,

and in a vast and unsubdued wilderness, which rather divided the French and English territories than formed a distinct part of either. Boundary lines, indeed, were drawn with no accuracy in those early days, on a continent which was settled only on its edges, but at a later period they became the subject of much controversy. Wars, when waged, were rather for the sovereignty of the settlements and the nominal conquest of vast inland regions, of which little was known by either of the belligerent powers, excepting that they stretched over a given number of degrees of latitude and longitude. The Huron and Algonquin Indians had long been allies of the French, as the Five Nations were of the English; and so important did Louis consider their continued friendship to the welfare of his American dominions, that no pains were spared to cement the alliance. It was this purpose, and the additional hope of winning over the Iroquois to his allegiance, and thus paving the way for a complete conquest of New York, that had actuated the monarch in the endowment of Castle Montaigne, and the liberal support of its secluded lord. The baron, on his part, left no means untried to gain the full confidence and respect of the savages,-an object of no difficult attainment to a hardy soldier, who was capable of setting examples both of bravery and fortitude even to their veteran warriors.

The Hurons, who resided in the vicinity of Quebec, and on the banks of the Sorelle, were colonies of the principal nation of that name, whose home and hunting grounds were much further west; they had been transplanted early in the preceding century by the influence of their European allies, and had themselves grown into a considerable tribe, having one village near the French capital, and another in the immediate vicinity of Castle Montaigne, where their territorial possessions were extensive. The parent tribe were also in league with France, and paid willing fealty to King Louis, in the person of his valiant agent, who had spent many months among them, had given them many valued lessons in the art of war, and had led them to several victorious fields against their oppressive

neighbors of the west. So completely had he won the hearts of the bold savages, that they had formally elected him the principal chief of their nation, denominating him, in imitation of his own sovereign's title, a king, and enjoining upon their brethren nearer the seaboard also to recognise him as such,-a mandate which the junior tribe, equally impressed with his prowess, and proud of his alliance, zealously obeyed.

But it was not by martial prowess alone that the hearts of the Indians were always most effectually won: King Louis, at least, had reason to acknowledge the efficacy of a very different warfare in gaining their allegiance. The heralds of the Gospel were already scattered everywhere through the French settlements, and had penetrated in some instances to the most remote corners of the land. The cross had glistened at intervals along that whole vast circuit of waters which stretches from Quebec to the gulf of the Mississippi, and not one of its golden links of lake and river but had furnished the baptismal element for some dusky neophyte of the wilderness. Self-denying men, bound by holy vows, but more by untiring love and unfaltering faith, dared, aye, courted martyrdom in every shape, that they might gain souls to Christ. Of these, one or more were always stationed at the castle, where their time was devoted not only directly to their calling, but, accessary to the same general end, to the secular education of such of the Indian youth as could be induced to submit to the restraints of study. It was to join this spiritual cohort, as a resident missionary at the castle, that Father Ledra had crossed the ocean, patiently enduring privation, and softening by his unobtrusive piety the prejudices against his church, with which a Protestant education had imbued both Blanche and Emily.

Seventeen long years the baron had sojourned in his new home; long at least they seemed to the gentle girl, who had been taught her daily lesson of affection for an absent parent, and had spent a thousand hours of childish wonder and expectation, in view of that