"Bind the prisoners."



CHAPTER VIII.

THE STARS ARE KINDLY TO LE CHEF.

Ah! can it be that the swan sings, and soothes through the night the maiden with its song, when the lover is in the toils that jealousy and hate have set!

The party of braves, with the Metis at its head, turned and marched swiftly back over the path taken by Stephens, till they reached a point from which the bank was easily accessible. In a bluff upon the level the savages had tethered their ponies, which were speedily mounted. Then the party set out for "le corps de garde," as the Metis put it, of "le grand chef."

"Had le chef then a guard-house?" Stephens asked.

"Monsieur, the spy, and enemy of the half-breeds, will learn these things soon enough." He had scarcely ended, however, before he seemed to regret the tone that he had adopted, and hastened to mend the matter. "I have instructions to be guarded about making known the affairs of le grand chef, monsieur, or I should be pleased to answer your question. I hope that the thongs are not hurting you."

"I wonder what this rattlesnake would be at now?" Stephens asked himself, and then turning to the bois-brule—

"I do not much mind the binding, but you would do me a favour by relaxing those of my companion. He has been severely wounded, and inflammation has set in. If you were to remove his bonds altogether you would run no risk."

"I shall do as you suggest, monsieur," and in a minute Phillips was unbound.

"Now, if monsieur le capitaine will fall a little in rear with me, I should like some private conversation." Stephens was fast bound, but play enough was left to one hand to guide his horse.

"Of course," began the half-breed, you know something of those two Cree boys who go riding about the prairies and fighting with the Indians."

"Yes; to one of these I twice owe my deliverance."

"Ah, yes; to mademoiselle Annette. Now, monsieur, we know—I know— who the two are. The other is the demoiselle Julie, maid to demoiselle Annette."

"Well, what if you do happen to know these facts?"

"I will tell monsieur. I love Julie very much, and if le capitaine will procure me an interview with the maiden, at some place where I shall name, I may be useful to him in the hour of peril."

"I think," replied Stephens, "that I am now talking with the confidential friend, secretary and adviser of M. Riel. You are the Jean of whom I have heard mention?"

"Oui, monsieur. I am Jean."

"I fear, Jean, that I will be unable to procure this interview."

"Oh, do not say so. A note written by you to the maiden is all that I should need, setting forth the time and the place. A neutral brave could be procured to fetch it to the house of mademoiselle's aunt."

"Now, Jean, wherefore do you seek this interview with the girl?" Stephens asked, with a slight curl of contempt upon his lip.

"I want to tell her that I love her; and to arrange to have further meetings with la petite."

"Why, Jean, I had been under the impression that once before you told this girl that you loved her, and that she turned up her pretty nose in disdain. But whether this be true or not, there is another fact which forms an insuperable barrier to your object. Julie loves another." The eyes of the half-breed snapped and flamed with jealous rage.

"Some worthless vagabond, I suppose?" he said, fairly spitting the words out of him.

"O, no," Stephens replied, with exasperating composure; "but a brave and illustrious Indian chief. A nobler looking man I have never laid my eyes upon. You could walk under his legs."

"O, do you think so?" the little Metis replied, with a very ugly glance. "Now, monsieur, you have refused my offer, and listen to what you gain by doing so. By some means or other these two traitorous jades will be captured. Then le grand chef takes yours away up the dismal valley to Jubal's hut. I take your fine Indian chief's down to ma mere's ready cottage. As for you, if the maiden retain her reputed preferences she will be able, when the spring arrives, to come out upon the prairie and plant daisies, or any other blossom to her liking, above you."

Stephens had been prepared for malignity, but of such devilish brutality as this he had not deemed any man living capable. He was so overwhelmed with horror and disgust that he simply waved his bridle hand, imposing peace. Thereat Jean pushed forward and gave some instructions to a savage, who immediately put the bonds again upon Phillips, tying the thongs so tight that the wounded man groaned with pain. Then the cavalcade resumed a brisk trot, slacking not until the prisoners found themselves before the stronghold of the rebel chief.

It is necessary to pause a moment here and point out that M. Riel had actually formed a provisional government, and succeeded by his passionate eloquence in deluding the Metis and Indians into the belief that he was exercising a lawful authority, inasmuch as the territories had not, within the interpretation of the law, passed from the Hudson Bay Company under the jurisdiction of Canada. Subject to this doctrine he laid down the right to establish tribunals of law, to try, and punish offenders against his authority, and do all other things that made for the stability and peace of the new regime.

A prominent white settler named Toltbon, had raised a company of volunteers and gone against the forces of the Metis leader; but his men were captured like a flock of sheep, and he himself locked up in the strongest room in the guard house.

Now at the very time that Jean and his prisoners drew up before the rebel stronghold, the chief himself was striding up and down his room with dishevelled hair and gleaming eye.

"If Jean cannot bring me either the girl or Stephens within the coming forty-eight hours, I shall go abroad myself, and scour the plains. What if after all they should come together, marry, and escape me. Curses, eternal curses upon them. Maledictions eternal upon my own worthless followers. By the Holy Mary, if Jean cannot catch one or other I shall put him to death for treason." While these hot words were upon his lips the door opened and Jean entered.

"I bring mon chef good news."

"Ah, what is it? Any tidings of Stephens?"

"He is at this very moment in the fort. I caught him in Larch Swamp on his return after being set free by Mademoiselle. He was most insulting to myself, and used very abusive language respecting you. I think, Monsieur, you have cause sufficient against him."

"Bon! bon! He shall not escape me this time," and rising, he began to stride up and down the floor, his eyes flaming with joy and vengeance.

"Now, Jean, give me your attention. At once go and put Toltbon in irons. I shall attend presently and declare that he is to be shot to-morrow. Suppliants will come beseeching me to spare his life; but at first I shall refuse to do so, and say that I am determined to carry out my sentence. At the last I shall yield. So far, so good. I do not know, now, whether you understand my methods."

"I think I do, mon chef," and there was a knowing twinkle in the eye of the ugly scoundrel.

"Well, this Stephens has an unbridled tongue, and is pretty certain to use it. If he does not, a little judicious goading will set him on. If possible, it would be well for one of the guards to provoke him to commit an assault. Could you rely upon any one of your men for such a bit of business?"

"Oui, Monsieur; I have such a man."

"Bon! let him be so provoked, and after his violence has been thoroughly trumpeted through the fort, make a declaration of the same formally to me. I will then direct you to try him by court martial. You are aware of how I desire him to be disposed of. When the news gets abroad that he is to be shot, some will be incredulous, and others will come to sue for his life. I shall reply to them: 'This is a matter of discipline. The man has deserved death, or the court? martial would not have sentenced him. I spared Toltbon's life, and already I have as fruits of my leniency increased turbulence and disrespect. My government must be respected, and the only way to teach its enemies this fact, is to make an example of one of the greatest offenders.' Lose no time in completing the work. We know not, else, what chance may rob our hands of the fellow. You understand? I am least of all mixed up in the matter, being more concerned with weightier affairs."

"Oui, Monsieur," and making an obeisance the murderous tool departed. Exactly as planned, it all fell out. Captain Toltbon was put in irons, and Riel declared that for the sake of peace and order he must be shot. Many people came and implored him to spare the condemned man's life; but he was inexorable. "At the eleventh hour," however, as the newspapers put it, yielding to solicitation, Riel said:

"He is spared."

Jean presented himself before his leader.

"Monsieur, I think it will not be necessary to employ stratagem in working our man to violence. He has been showering reproaches upon the guards, and loading your name with ignominious reproach. The guards knew my feelings; so during the night they put chains upon him. As the foremost one advanced with the manacles, the prisoner raised his arm, and dealt him a blow on the head, which felled him to the ground."

"Bon! bon!" Riel cried, while he rubbed his hands. "Without applying the little goad, he fulfils our will."

"Well, not in the strictest sense, mon chef. Luc had certain private instructions from me, and he carried them out in a very skilful manner."

"N'importe, Jean, n'importe how the thing came about; we have the cause against him, and that suffices. What do you now propose to do, for you are aware, Jean—" there was now a tone of diabolical raillery in his words—"that this matter is one in which I cannot concern myself, you being the best judge of what is due rebellious military prisoners?"

"Merci, mon chef! I shall endeavour to merit your further regard. My intention is to proceed forthwith to try him. Already, I have summoned the witnesses of his guilt; and he and you shall know our decision before another hour has passed." Then the faithful Monsieur Jean was gone.

"No, ma chere Annette. You shall never deck your nuptial chamber with daisies for Edmund Stephens. You will find occupation for your sweet little fingers in putting fresh roses upon the mound that covers him. For a feu-de-joie and the peal of marriage bells, I will give you, ma petite chere, the sullen toll that calls him to his open coffin, and the rattle of musketry that stills the tongue which uttered to you the last love pledge."

For an hour did he pace up and down the floor gloating over his revenge. Meanwhile, I shall leave him and follow the "adjutant- general," as Jean was known under the new regime. He proceeded to the private room of the military quarters, and entering found his subordinates assembled there.

"Messieurs," he said, "We know what our business is. We must lose no time in despatching it. But before commencing, let me say a few words. Monsieur Riel is so overweighted with other affairs that the matter of dealing with the man Stephens rests entirely in our hands. I have just left him, after endeavouring in vain to induce him to be present at the trial: but he could not spare the time to come. By skilfully sounding him, however, I discovered that his sentiments regarding the prisoner are exactly the same as those entertained by myself. What these are I need hardly say. It is now a struggle between the authority of the Provisional Government and a horde of rebellious persons of which the defendant is the most dangerous. The eyes of our followers are upon us; and if we permit the authority of Government to be defied, its officers reviled, and insult heaped upon us, depend upon it we shall speedily lose the hold we have gained after so many bitter struggles; and become a prey to the conspiracy which our enemies are so actively engaged in promoting. The very fact that this man Stephens leagued himself with our enemies, is an offence worthy of death; but I shall ask these persons who are here as witnesses to show you that since his capture he has merited death ten times over at our hands. With your permission, gentlemen, I will proceed:

"Edmund Stephens, of Prince Albert, stands charged before this court- martial with treasonable revolt against the peace and welfare of the colony; with having leagued himself with an armed party, whose object was the overthrow of authority as vested in our Provisional Government. He is likewise charged with having attempted criminal violence upon lawfully delegated guards appointed over him, during his incarceration; and likewise with inciting his fellow-prisoners to insubordination and tumult contrary to the order and well-being of this community.

"Luc Lestang."

That person came forward:

"Relate all you know in the conduct of the prisoner Stephens that may be regarded as treasonable and criminal."

"I have seen him in armed revolt against the authority of Monsieur le chef."

"Will you please state what have been his demeanour and conduct as a prisoner."

"He has been insulting and disorderly in the last degree."

"Will you specify a few particular examples?"

"I have frequently heard him describe the Provisional Government and its supporters as a band of mongrel rough-scruffs; a greasy, insolent nest of traitors; and a lot of looting, riotous, unwashed savages. He has used language of this sort ever since his imprisonment. Likewise, I have heard him say that he would have the pleasure of assisting in hanging Monsieur Riel to a prairie poplar; and in putting tar and feathers upon his followers."

"Has he been guilty of any acts of violence?"

"He has been guilty of acts of violence. When he became unbearably insubordinate I found it my duty to put irons upon him. As I approached him with the handcuffs he smote me twice in the face, and I yet carry the mark that he gave me. [Here the precious witness pointed to his right eye, which was a dusky purple.] This black eye I received from one of his blows."

"That will do, Luc."

Another witness with the movements of a snake, and eyes as black as sloes, was called. He gave evidence which tallied exactly with that sworn to by Lestang. This, of course, was not an extraordinary coincidence, for he had been present while the first miscreant was giving his evidence. Yet poor Stephens, whose life was the issue of all the swearing, was not permitted to be present, but was kept in a distant room, chained there like a wild beast.

"The Court," said the Adjutant-General, "has heard the accusation against this man; and its duty is now to consider whether the safety and the peace of the district demand that the extreme penalty should be visited upon this enemy of both. The question is, whether he is worthy of death, or not. You will retire, gentlemen,—" there were four of them, exclusive of witnesses, and the clerk—"and find your verdict."

They were absent about two minutes. The foreman then advancing, said:

"Monsieur l'Adjutant, WE FIND THE PRISONER EDMUND STEPHENS, GUILTY."

Then drawing upon his head a black cap, the adjutant said:

"After due and deliberate trial by this Court, it has been found that the prisoner Edmund Stephens, is 'Guilty.' I do, therefore, declare the sentence of this court-martial to be, that the prisoner be taken forth this day, at one o'clock, and shot. And may God in His infinite bounty have mercy upon his soul."



CHAPTER IX.

THE STARS TAKE A NEW COURSE.

Monsieur Riel had been all this while pacing up and down his room. A tap came upon his door.

"Entrez. Ah, it is you, mon adjudant!"

"Oui, mon president."

"What tidings?"

"C'est accompli. The court-martial has found the prisoner guilty; and he is condemned to be shot at one o'clock this day."

"Monsieur is expeditious! Monsieur is zealous. C'est bon; c'est bon; merci, Monsieur." And the miscreant walked about delirious with his gratification. Then he came over to where his adjutant stood, and shook his hand; then he thrust his fingers through his hair, and half bellowed, his voice resembling that of some foul beast.

"La patrie has reason to be proud of her zealous son," and he again shook the hand of his infamous lieutenant. Then with a very low bow Jean left the room, saying, as he departed.

"I shall endeavour to merit to the fullest the kindly eulogy which Monsieur le President bestows upon me." The news of Stephens' sentence spread like fire. Some believed that the penalty would not be carried out, but others thought it would.

"If this prisoner is pardoned, people will treat the sentences of the provisional authorities as jokes. Riel must be aware of this; therefore Stephens is likely to suffer the full penalty." Several persons called upon the tyrant and besought him to extend mercy to the condemned man; but he merely shrugged his shoulders!

"This prisoner has been in chronic rebellion. He has set bad example among the prisoners, assaulted his keeper, and loaded the Government with opprobrium. I may say to you, Messieurs, however, that I have really nothing to do with the man's case. In this time of tumult, when the operation of all laws is suspended, the court-martial is the only tribunal to which serious offenders can be referred. This young man Stephens has had fair trial, as fair as a British court-martial would have given him, and he has been sentenced to death. I assume that he would not have received such a sentence if he had not deserved it. Therefore I shall not interfere. There is no use, Messieurs, in pressing me upon the matter. At heart, I shall grieve as much as you to see the young man cut off; but his death I believe necessary now as an example to the hundreds who are desirous of overthrowing the authority which we have established in this district." The petitioners left the monster with sorrowful faces.

"My God!" one of them exclaimed, "it is frightful to murder this young man, whose only offence is resistance to insult from his debased half-breed keeper. Is there nothing to be done?"

No, there was nothing to be done. The greasy, vindictive tyrant was lord and master of the situation. When Riel was alone, he began once more to walk his room, and thus mused aloud:

"I shall go down to his cell. Perhaps he may tell me where she is to be found."

"Yes," he was sure that he would succeed: "I shall get his secret by promising pardon; then I will spit upon his face and say, 'Die, dog; I'll not spare you.'" So forth he sallied, and made his way to the cell where the young man sat in chains.

"Well, malignant tyrant, what do you here? Whatever your business is, let it be dispatched quickly; for your presence stifles me. What dishonourable proposal have you now to make?"

"Monsieur Stephens, it seems to be a pleasure to you to revile me. Yet have I sought to serve you;—yea, I would have been, would now be, your friend."

"Peace; let me hear what it is that you now propose?"

"You are aware that it is ordered by court-martial, of which I was not a member, that you are to be shot at one o'clock this day? It is now just forty-five minutes of one. I can spare your life, and I will do it, upon one condition."

"Pray let me hear what dishonour it is that you propose? I ask the question out of a curiosity to learn, if possible, a little more of your infamy."

"And I reply to you that I shall take no notice of your revilings, but make my proposal. I simply ask you to state to me where this maiden Annette has betaken herself?"

"Where you will never find her. That's my answer, villain and tyrant; and now begone."

"Perhaps you imagine that the sentence will not be carried out. I ask you to choose between life and liberty, and an almost immediate ignominious death."

"I care not for your revenge, or your mercy. Once more I say, get you gone." Then the ruffian turned round, rushed at the chained prisoner, and dealt him a terrific kick in the side, after which he spat upon his face.

"She shall be mine!" he hissed, "when your corpse lies mouldering in a dishonoured, traitor's grave." The young man was chained to a heavy table, but with a sudden wrench, he freed himself, raised both arms, and was about bringing down his manacled hands upon the tyrant miscreant—and that blow would have ended the rebellion at Prince Albert,—when Luc burst into the room, seized the prisoner, and threw him. While his brute knee was on Stephens' breast, and his greasy hand held the victim's throat, Riel made his escape, and turned back to his own quarters.

As for poor Stephens, when the tyrant and the brutal guard had left the cell, he began to pace up and down, sorely disturbed. He had somehow cherished the hope that the miscreant would be induced to commute the sentence to lengthy imprisonment. But the diabolical vengeance which he had seen in the tyrant's eye undermined all hope. Some friends were admitted to his cell, and they informed him that they had pleaded for him, but in vain.

And now we go back to Annette and Julie. Their horses soon took them to the post, wherein Inspector Dicken had taken up his abode for the nonce. They soon learnt that Captain Stephens and his friend had been captured, and that both had been hurried off to the stronghold of the rebel chief.

"Have any steps been taken for his rescue, monsieur?" Annette asked.

"None, I regret, have so far been practicable. I am detained on duty here with twenty men; and expect an attack hourly. I would surrender the fort and hasten to the rescue of my friend, but that the lives of more than a hundred women and children here depend upon my remaining."

"And where, monsieur, are the nearest troops? Holy Mother of God!" she exclaimed, "surely they will not permit le chef to put him to death without making an effort to save him."

"Anything possible will be done, my brave lad. The nearest troops are those of Colonel Denison. Here I will write you a note to the Colonel. He is an officer whom I much admire. He is quick at conceiving, and prompt and firmhanded in achievement. His force is mounted and a few of his troopers thundering into the rebels' nest would scatter them like rats."

"Speed, speed, monsieur," she cried, as she perceived the Inspector pause to consider the terms in which he should address the Colonel. "Let it be simply an introduction; and a mere statement that I have rendered service to you and to your forces."

"So be it," he replied; and then rapidly pencilled the note, which he put into her hand. A quick "Merci, merci," and the two were gone, and speedily upon their horses' backs. They had not ridden far before they espied a mounted party, evidently reconnoitering. Instead of pursuing its course, the party, upon perceiving the two Indian boys, turned their horses and rode towards the pair.

"Oh, Julie, I hope that they will not detain us. They judge, I suppose, that we are enemies."

"But you can tell them that we are not, mademoiselle."

"Ah, Julie, the world is not as truthful and as free from guile as you. They might not believe us. But I can at any rate show them the Inspector's note."

"Who goes there?" shouted the officer of the approaching party.

"Friends, who want to see Colonel Denison immediately.

"Consider yourselves in my charge now," the officer said, fitting very high and straight upon his horse.

"But will monsieur l'officier take us straightway to Colonel Denison?"

"In good time we shall see that officer," the starchy commander replied.

"But, monsieur, I pray you to make haste. It is a matter of the gravest importance that I should see him as speedily as possible. We were riding at a mad pace before you joined us, as witness our horses' flanks. This note I bear from Inspector Dicken to Colonel Denison."

The officer took it, opened it slowly, and cast his eye over the writing.

"I do not know whether this has been written by Dicken or not," he said, "as I have never seen his writing." Then folding the note he put it into his pocket.

"But that is my note, monsieur, my passport to Colonel Denison's attention. Wherefore do you keep it?"

The officious military gentleman did not feel called upon to explain why he had retained it. Now, all the while the party was at a halt, and the agony that poor Annette was suffering may be imagined.

"Monsieur, I repeat," the girl said in a tone of agony, "it is of the utmost importance that I should reach Colonel Denison without delay. The life of one of your most valuable allies may depend upon your haste."

"Would you favour me with the name of this valuable ally?"

"Captain Stephens: he who has been made prisoner by the personal followers of the rebel chief."

"I have not heard anything about this capture," said Lieutenant Unworthy; "and it seems to me, if the thing occurred word must have reached us." This conceited block-head had not yet made a start.

"I implore you once again, monsieur, either to accompany us to the presence of the Colonel or to let us go alone. I do not see that you have any right to detain us. If harm comes to Captain Stephens you will remember that his blood must be upon your head. You are either stupid beyond words to describe, or bent upon showing your authority. Will you come, or let me go, to the Colonel?"

"I want neither lectures nor impertinent speeches," replied the numb- skull, putting on an air of severe dignity; nevertheless it was plain that Annette had frightened him.

"Forward, march—tro-o-o-t!" and the troop set out for Camp Denison. Whenever the word "W a-a-a-lk" came, the heart of the girl sank; but despite the anxiety and annoyance, the camps of Colonel Denison at last were in sight.

"Well, Unworthy," the Colonel said, "who are these boys you have brought in?" The Colonel was intently reading the faces of the little scouts, with his penetrating dark-grey eyes, as he asked the question.

"The largest of the two has a story about the capture of Captain Stephens, and declares a profuse interest in the affairs of that officer. I have taken the story with a pinch of salt; as I regard the two a pair of spies."

"May I speak, Colonel Denison?" the girl said, touching the brim of her broad hat respectfully.

"Most certainly, my lad. I shall be glad to hear anything that you have to say." Then turning to Unworthy,—"He looks no more like a spy than you do, man. Are you any judge of faces?"

"Well, monsieur," the girl began, her voice quivering, "l'officier," pointing to Unworthy, "says he believes that I am a spy. He has no ground for such a belief, but he has proof which must have taught him otherwise. Inspector Dicken gave me a note of introduction to you. This note l'officier has in his pocket, having rudely taken it away from me."

"Please, Mr. Unworthy, hand me this note." And as the officer did so, Colonel Denison, knitting his brows, said, "Pray, sir, why was this not handed to me at once?"

"Because I believe it is a forgery."

"Allow me, if you please, sir, to settle that point for myself." Then hastily reading the note, he said, "Yes, my spirited lad, I have already heard of your brave and noble deeds, and of yours, too," turning to Julie. "I am extremely sorry that any officer of the militia force should so lack discrimination as to have acted towards you as Mr. Unworthy has done."

Then the sweet girl, with a bounding heart, told him that she had come to him for a force of twenty men; that if he gave these, she could take them in a line as the bird flies to the stronghold of the rebel chief.

"Your suggestion is good," Colonel Denison replied; "and I will give you thirty men. Browninge," he shouted, calling to a clerical looking officer who was standing among a group of brother officers, "get thirty men in the saddle at once, and follow these scouts."

Browninge saluted, and went speedily to make preparations.

"Will you not dismount and take refreshments," the Colonel asked in a kindly tone, advancing a step nearer the two boys.

Annette could not eat anything. She felt excited till the troop got in motion. But Julie would not mind if she ate something. She was hungry now because she had not taken much breakfast; and the sweet gourmand was soon at work upon the choicest food in the Colonel's larder.

"If my experience of character during the years that I have spent upon the bench be of any value," the Colonel remarked in a low tone to some of his officers, "I could give you some interesting information about that scout," looking towards Annette, "and this other one as well," meaning Julie. "These boys, trust my word, are no more Crees than I am. Note the fineness of their features, and the well-bred air and the grace of the one on horseback." The remarks of the Colonel were brought to an end by the appearance of Browninge, who saluted, and announced that he was ready to go.

Julie jumped up, like a kitten, from her feasting, vaulting into the saddle; and while her mouth was yet half full of meat, thanked the Colonel for his hospitality. Annette simply said;

"Colonel Denison, my words fail me now to thank you. But I wish you knew my heart." He simply waved his hand, and wished the party bon voyage. Then striking spurs into her horse, Annette led away across the level prairie towards the stronghold of the hateful Metis chief.

"I shall now give you my opinion, gentleman," Colonel Denison said, as the horses disappeared over a knoll; "these two lads were not what they seemed. They were girls."

"Impossible!"

"Well, we shall some day know. What is more, I am satisfied that the larger one has more than an ordinary interest in Stephens. She has twice already saved his life; and I should not be surprised if she were now to lay him once more under the obligation. Ha, truant," he said, turning to one of his staff who had come from a nigh tree-clump, where he had been writing, "you should have been here to see the beautiful Metis maiden. She was in disguise, but her beauty was not less divine than that of your own Iena. Fancy the feelings of Stephens, when his own fortunes are bright, to have that beautiful girl straying about this wilderness. I can imagine him asking, in that passage which you gave me yesterday from your poem—

'My little flower amongst a weedy world, Where art thou now? In deepest forest shade? Or onward where the Sumach stands arrayed In autumn splendour, its alluring form Fruited, yet odious with the hidden worm? Or, farther, by some still sequestered lake, Loon-haunted, where the sinewy panthers slake Their noon-day thirst, and never voice is heard Joyous of singing waters, breeze or bird, Save their wild waitings.'"

[Footnote: This passage is from the pages of the recently-published Canadian drama, "Tecumseh."—E. C. ]

Further conference was cut short by the hasty approach of a coureur du bois. The colonel approached as the man dismounted.

"Captain Stephens has been tried by le chef's court martial, and is condemned to be shot. Le chef has only a few braves and bois-brules about him; and I could fetch you to the nest in an hour and a half by hard riding."

When the coureur learnt that the force had been dispatched he rode away again. And we shall likewise bid good-bye to the poet and the colonel, and join Browninge.

"Now, then, my good lad," the lieutenant said, "we have turned out a large force at your bidding to-day. Are you certain (a) that Captain Stephens is at Chapeau Rouge; (b), that Riel is there; (c), that there is such a stronghold at all?"

"Certainement, monsieur."

"It is well. Now, my men, keep in shelter of yonder bluff; for under cover of it only can we approach the den unperceived. We are now within three miles of the place." The men received the intelligence with enthusiasm, and put their horses at best speed.

When only fifteen minutes more remained to poor Stephens, the clergyman signed to the others to leave the room; and then, with his hands folded before him, asked the condemned man if he had any message to leave, or any peace to make with God.

No; he was not afraid to meet his God. He had wronged no man, and kept within the bounds of the laws set for his kind. But he had a message to leave—it was enclosed in a letter which he put into the hand of the minister.

"It is for Annette Marton. Oh, my God. We have been only two days betrothed. It is very hard to die."

"This doom was ordained for you, and you must try to meet it like a man."

"Oh, it is not death I fear. That is nothing. But, ah, to leave my love." After he had passed his hands across his temples, as if to clear his understanding, he said, in a voice grown low and calm—

"There is also upon the table a note to my sister, Aster. That is all I have to say."

"Will you not pray with me awhile?"

"No; my heart is right; the rest matters not."

There was now a rude bustling at the door; the rusty key was plied, and with a harsh scream the bolt flew back. Then the evil-looking Luc entered, followed by three others, all of whom seemed partially intoxicated.

"Your hour has come, young man," Lestang said, in a brutal voice. "Let us be jogging."

Stephens then bade good-bye to the visitors who had re-entered; to the clergyman, and to one or two prisoners detained for minor offences. His face was deathly pale, but his eye was steadfast and his step firm.

Beyond the entrance to the building, about an arrow's flight, was drawn up a firing party; and midway between these and one of the bastions of the fort was an open coffin. Thither Luc and his guard led the condemned man.

"Stop a moment till I bind you," Luc said, taking a hempen cord from about his waist. Then he fastened Stephens' hands behind his back, and with the most devilish cruelty tied the cord far tighter than might be needed for the most refractory culprit. Indeed, his arms were almost dislocated at the shoulders, and when the brutal jailer saw the corners of his mouth twitch under the torture, he said, with a bestial sneer—

"It'll not hurt long. Should be patient."

These words had barely escaped the fellow's lips when a terrified cry went up from a score of throats gathered about; and immediately a scene of the wildest confusion prevailed.

"Les soldats! Les soldats!" shouted one and all: and immediately the little Cree scout was seen upon the earthworks, the eyes of her horse gleaming, spray drifting from his open jaws. Close following Annette came Lieutenant Browninge waving his sword above his head, and shouting,

"Down with the rebels!" at the same time slashing the scurrying enemy in such a fashion with his sword as would gladden one's heart.

As for Annette, her quick eye at once showed her how the situation stood: her lover, his hands bound, a black cap over his eyes, a coffin beside him. Luc, the jailer, and chief of the executioners, remained at his post as long as possible; and at the first outburst of the din had called upon his party to fire. But these mahogany- complexioned executioners scurried like rats at the first cry. Most of them carried their arms with them, but Luc perceived a musket lying in a corner of the drill square. This he seized and levelled at Stephens, pulling the trigger, after careful aim. The rusty weapon missed fire, and the intrepid half-breed began hastily to chip the flint with the back of his sheath-knife; but while he was engaged in this laudable preparation, Annette came over the earthworks like a bird, smote him with the handle of her whip upon the crown, and sent him sprawling in the dust. With another bound she was at her lover's side; and slipping from her horse, she pulled off the hideous cap, cut his thongs,—and then the hero-darling waited to be taken to his heart.

The change in his fortunes was so sudden, and so amazing,—passing at one bound from the grave's edge back to freedom and love, that he was for some seconds unable to realize it, and his eyes and brain swam with a sense of happiness that reached delirium. But gradually it all began to grow clear: the scurrying figures of his captors and jailers; the shouting of mounted soldiers; the wistful eyes of his beloved looking at him.

"Ah, Annette; you again; my guardian angel!"

It took but a few minutes to restore order. It was ascertained that Riel and Jean had made their escape while Browninge's horse was yet half a mile away from the post; but they made their exit in secrecy.

"If we give the alarm," Kiel muttered, as he prepared to get into the saddle, "there will be an instant stampede, and the execution will be stayed."

"I agree with the decision of mon chef. Let Luc remain; he has courage enough to have the thing done with the soldiers at the very stockades." And the two rode away helter-skelter, till a dozen miles lay between them and their treason nest.

"The rebel chief is gone; he skurried away half an hour ago," was the tidings that one of the men brought to Browninge. That officer was not surprised; and ordered that the prisoners, which numbered about a dozen in all, be put in carts, and escorted by a guard of cavalry back to Camp Denison.

They were all tired, and it was resolved that the horses be permitted to rest for a couple of hours before returning.

"I can find the way back to your colonel's camp, monsieur Browninge, as easily by night as in the daylight." Riel and his greasy followers lived like so many swine in a sty; but several brace of quail and chicken, and quarters of elk were found, which the two Cree boys at once began to prepare. A few loaves of bread were found, and a tolerable side of bacon, from all of which, with the pure, cold water that gurgled out of the side of a nigh ridge, a sumptuous meal was promised.

Stephens objected to the Cree boys doing the drudgery, but Annette besought ham so sweetly with her eyes to let "the little scouts" do it, that he desisted. His glance, as he followed every movement of the maiden, had as much of mute adoration, reverent and tender, as ever has been seen in the eyes of a man. How little he had known the worth of this girl, when he toyed with her hair and put a straw into her dimples at her father's house! I suppose he regarded her as thoughtful men regard most girls before they become enslaved either to their fascination or their gifts. I do not care to write an ungallant speech, but I do say that I have so far in life looked upon men much as I do upon women; and I assume every man to be a fool till he has proven himself otherwise to me.

The sun was setting when the order to saddle was given; and with the two scouts leading, the party set out along nearly the same route by which they had come in the morning. A darkness that, without a flight of imagination, might be called "dense," pressed upon the prairie, and only a few small and feeble points of star-light were to be seen. But on a sudden a mellow, green-tinted light burst out of the northern sky with a brightness that showed the startled expression upon every face. The horses pricked up their ears, and looked for a moment at the radiant, quivering, northern sky.

I have not bothered my readers with much description so far, and I trust that they will forgive me if I pause for a moment to do so now. After this great, aerial conflagration had continued for the space of five minutes, the light went out from the whole sky as suddenly and as entirely as though it were a lamp which some one had extinguished. After a few seconds of darkness, here and there a long rib of yellow light appeared; then these disappeared, and once more the party was in the pitchy dusk. Suddenly, however, fully half the heavens burst into flame again.

In the south the light was soft, and seemed unconnected with that of the east and north. The whole would remain for a few seconds quiescent, save for some slight, erratic pulsations, but all would at once madly undulate and quiver from end to end. It seemed at such times like a mighty cloth woven of the finest and softest floss, being violently shaken at both ends by invisible hands. But the most curious part of the phenomena was the noise, like the cracking of innumerable whips, which accompanied the pulsations in the auroral flame. [Footnote: Captain Huysbe mentions having heard this peculiar noise during auroral displays in the North-West; and Mr. Charles Mair and other authorities add their testimony to the same fact.—E. C.] The corruscations were produced in the valleys, among the bluffs, and far out over the face of the prairie. To lend terror to the stupendous and awful beauty of the scene, a ball of fire came out of the southern sky, passed slowly across the belt of agitated flame, and disappeared over the crest of a distant hill.

Above, the heavy masses of auroral cloud now began to assume the shape of a mighty umbrella, the enormous ribs of weird light forming in an apex above the heads of the party, and radiating towards all points of the compass. Sometimes these ribs would all shake, and then blend; but they would speedily rearray themselves in perfect and majestic symmetry. It was a most weirdly-beautiful sight, riding along the still and boundless prairie, when the merry dancing ceased for a moment, to see this stupendous dome of fluffy, ghost-like light suspended over their heads. For an hour they continued looking upon it; upon the yellow of the level prairie, and the yellow and gloom of the knolls and hollows. Then there was a universal flash so sudden as to be terrible; then a darkness equally as sudden. Not the faintest glow was there anywhere in all the wide heavens. It seemed as if God had blown out the mysterious light.

Stephens rode beside his love; and when the light went out of the sky, if Lieutenant Browninge had been concerned with the doings of the leaders, he would have been amazed to see the rescued captain lean over and deliberately kiss the Cree scout upon the lips. When the white sides of the tents of Capt. Denison appeared in view, Annette halted, and said that she and her brother must now ride in another direction.

"My brave boy, if by that term I rightly address you," Browninge said, "I wish that you would accept the hospitalities of our camp;" but the scout refused, and after a few moments in conversation with Captain Stephens, rode away.

Meanwhile affairs had fallen out much as Little Poplar predicted. Captain Beaver, after thorough consideration of the matter, decided that it would never do to allow his men to return to Ontario without having a "brush with the Indians." He therefore opened correspondence with Major Tonweight, pointing out the expediency of making an attack upon Little Poplar. "He is upon his reserve, it is true," Beaver wrote, "but he has gathered his men together for the purpose of marching on Hatchet Creek, and there effecting a junction with the rebel Metis. If you permit me to run down and give them a good trouncing, it will make an end of the contemplated league."

"Our policy," replied Tonweight, "is not to antagonize but to conciliate; to treat all as friends till they prove themselves to be enemies."

"But you will pay dear for your generous theory if this man, Little Poplar, succeeds in joining the rebels. And I assure you that the savage is now making ready to march.".

"The matter is in your own hands, then," Tonweight replied. "If all be as you say, you must consult your own judgment, and shoulder the responsibilities."

"Hurrah!" Beaver shouted. "Hurrah! Now then, boys, you'll have a brush. Get ready for a march. You know I am only supposing a case against these Indians," he said turning to a brother officer.

"Good God! is this outrage to occur!" Col. Denison exclaimed, when a Coureur-des-bois brought him the tidings.

And so, the sanguinary Beaver made ready to start.

"How much provisions do we need, Sir?" the purveyor asked.

"You do not need any. Let each man eat a hearty meal, and put some bread into his pocket. It is only going to be a short job. I'll kill a hundred or so," he said aside to a subordinate officer, "and then come straight back." Then he put himself at the head of his column, and swooped towards his prey.

So when Little Poplar, on the morning after the rescue of Captain Stephens, met the two maidens, there was great sorrow in his face.

"I have to fight your friends," he said, "but there is nothing else left me for choice. Beaver and his men are at this moment marching towards my reserve, though all my braves went back to peaceful occupation upon the assurance from English officers that no harm would come to them; but, as I have already stated, Beaver and his young men want to kill a lot of Indians, and return home great heroes. But they will make a grievous mistake. I shall lead them into a defile of swamp and bush tangle, where every one of the number will be at my mercy. I believe that this foolhardy man regards my followers as a band of dogs, whom he can kill as they run. But my men know not what fear is." Then kissing Julie, and bowing sorrowfully to Annette, this chief went away.

That very day, when midway upon his march, Captain Beaver was joined by two Cree scouts, one of whom besought him for a moment's interview.

He had no time to waste; but if the scout had anything very important to communicate he would listen.

"Then, Monsieur," Annette began, "my advice is that you call a halt of your troops. Little Poplar is in strong position upon his reserve; the swamps approaching his ground are quagmires; the bush is a tangle through which the rabbit may scarcely pass. The chief's men are numerous, and war is their occupation. They will destroy Monsieur's force."

"Indeed, I am at a loss to know why I should be an object of such solicitude to an Indian scout, whose sympathy and interest must be with those savages, against whom I now march." And without further parley he dismissed the lad.

That afternoon mirrors flashed signals from bluff to bluff; our men were surrounded by the enemy; and at the set of sun their lives lay at the-mercy of the men whom they had come to trounce. Julie was at the side of her lover, and tears were in her eyes.

"I beseech my chief for the sake of his love for me to desist, and allow these rash soldiers to depart." Her chief stood with arms folded upon his breast. There was sorrow on his face; but there was scorn there, too, as he turned affectionally to the sweet pleader.

"These men came down to massacre my people, that they might henceforth be clad with glory. They have not destroyed any of my men; but their dead strew the plain. They are at my mercy; so utterly, too, that if I desire it, not a man of all the host shall return to give tidings to his friends. You ask me to stay my hand. Ah! It is hard. But you ask it; you, my little lover-playmate of the sunny Saskatchewan. I consent!" Then he strode down among his men, and ordered them to cease. Naught-but the ascendancy which the splendid chief had gained over his followers, through his wisdom and his prowess, could have prevailed upon them to stay their hand, now that the men who had broken solemn faith were at their mercy. But they unstrung their bows, shouldered their muskets, and permitted the invaders to depart. Then Julie knelt at her lover's feet, and kissed his hand with reverent gratitude; and he laid his hand upon her head, and bade her arise.

Before I leave this feature of my narrative I may state that Captain Beaver subsequently sought to justify this wanton breach of faith with the Indians, upon the ground of military policy; affirming that the "punishment" which he inflicted upon the chief prevented the latter joining forces with the rebel Metis. As to the punishment there was very little inflicted upon the Indians;—it was emphatically conferred in another direction. As to the statement that the attack prevented Poplar from joining the rebel forces at Hatchet Creek, the same is absurdly untrue. Little Poplar did actually set out, after the attack, to join the bois-brules, and he deliberately—I was going to say contemptuously—exposed himself to the flank attack by Beaver's men, of which movement, we are told, he had been so much in dread. In due time, as the chief was pursuing his march, tidings came to him that the Metis had been overwhelmed. Then he surrendered; —and thereafter for many a dreary month there was no happiness for Julie. I may as well anticipate events, and say that this dear girl brought it emphatically to the knowledge of the authorities that her beloved chief early in the war had served the white people in the hour of peril; and that the offence for which he stood committed now had been forced upon him by the bad faith of a Canadian militia officer. At last he was released; and holding his hand, apparelled in proper attire, she walked out by his side to a little cottage wherein a priest stood waiting to wed the two. Her happiness was very great, as may be guessed when I state that in each of her beautiful eyes a tear glimmered like you see a drop of rain glitter upon the thorn bush, when the storm has ended, and the sun shines. Her lover took her many miles up the Saskatchewan, where she said she would remain till Annette got "settled." A friend has lately been at her cottage, and he tells me that she has a "cherub of a baby," absurdly like herself in all save its skin, which is rather of a mahogany cast. The chief and his petite wife are very happy; and many a time under the blossoms of their own orchard, or when the wind howls like a belated wolf, they discuss the alternation of sorrow and joy which fell to their lot when the two maidens went disguised as scouts over the unbounded prairie. My great wish is that all the pretty and noble-harted girls of my acquaintance may be as happy as my sweet Julie.

As for Annette, when the battle of Saw-Knife Creek ended, she was waiting for Julie to join her. Her hand was upon her horse's neck, and she was leaning against the animal thinking of her lover.

"Ah, at last!" The terrible words and the voice were but too plain. Turning she saw the rebel chief, triumph, passion, and revenge in his eyes. By his side were several Metis with muskets presented, ready to fire at the girl if she uttered a cry, or made resistance. Then they bound her arms, and set her upon her horse, which one of the chief's followers led by the bridle. They rode as fast as the ponies could travel across the prairie; and Annette's heart sank, and all hope seemed to die out of her life, as she realized, that the miscreants were hurrying towards the valley of Dismal Swamp where abode Jubal, the hideous hag.

As the party hurried along the skirt of the ridge flanking the swamp and the inky stream, lo! there came to her ears the notes of a bird's song. It was the guardian swan; and joy and hope crept into the maiden's bosom.

"Hear you yonder singing, my pretty bird?" the hideous chief asked, with a foul sneer. "Its song is always intended to console and reconcile maidens to their lovers."

But she turned her head away with loathing, and answered him not. Then came a sudden trampling; swords gleamed; eyes flashed in the dusk; and before the helpless girl could gather her routed senses, the beastly chief was sent sprawling from his horse with a sabre-blow; his followers were routed; and she was free.

"My own beloved," were the words whispered in her ear, and warm lips were pressed upon her mouth. "We no more part, my darling—never, never more."

They rode along through the night, he telling of his love, and fashioning the future; she listening with bright eyes, and a happiness too great for words.

"You have asked me, darling, why I love you so? How it comes that of all the girls whom I have known, I should give my heart to you entire and for ever? Well, darling, I shall say naught of your heroism, which would alone make you illustrious and beloved in our historic annals for all time to come; but I shall regard you as a maiden who has never seen the brunt of battle, or done a deed of warlike valour. You have still enough of sterling worth to win my heart ten thousand times. You are beautiful, dear, and you are good as you are beautiful. You are true, because in you there is naught of affectation or of desire to act a part; and there is on your lips no speech that is not the true expression of your thought. This I conceive to be the highest tribute- gift that man can offer a woman."

After all the turmoil and the besetting dangers this was very sweet to her;—and it was sweet to him.

In a little the rebellion ended, and Stephens came to the house of Annette's aunt, and wedded his beloved there. Then he took her to wild, sweet places in the Territories; and after the lapse of a few weeks, went with her to the east, where both pleaded for the life of Colonel Marton. All men worshipped her when she came to our cities; and when she had obtained the boon for which she had come amongst us, she went away to the west again. She is happy now as woman can be, and my latest information is that Julie has prevailed upon her chief to change his place of abode and come with her to live, for the remainder of their days, close to the abode of her beloved mistress.

Annette is now the most popular woman in the North-West Territories. Her beauty seems to have attained a fuller development since we knew her as a maiden. Her mole is a deeper brown, I really believe, and her dimple deeper. But best of all her happiness is as well assured as her beauty.

THE END.



NOTES.

The preceding story lays no claim to value or accuracy in its descriptions of the North-West Territories. I have never seen that portion of our country; and to endeavour to describe faithfully a region of which I have only a hearsay knowledge would be foolish.

I have, therefore, arranged the geography of the Territories to suit my own conveniences. I speak of places that no one, will be able to find upon maps of the present or of the future. Wherever I want a valley or a swamp, I put the same; and I have taken the same liberty with respect to hills or waterfalls, The birds, and in some instances the plants and flowers of the prairies, I have also made to order.

I present some fiction in my story, and a large array of fact. I do not feel bound, however, to state which is the fact, and which the fiction.

I have not aimed at dramatic excellence in this book. Change of scene, incident and colour are the points which I had in view. There is not any sham sentiment in the book.

I have introduced a few passages, with little change from a small volume, entitled "The Story of Louis Riel." These passages in no way effect the current of my story; but as I thought that they had some merit, I had no compunction in diverting them to present uses. The most notable authors have done this sort of thing; and chief amongst them I may mention Thackeray.

I beg likewise to say a word with respect to the book known as "The Story of Louis Riel." That volume has been quoted as history; but it is largely fiction. There is no historic truth in the story therein written by me that Louis Riel conceived a passion for a beautiful girl named Marie; and that he put Thomas Scott to death, because the maiden gave her heart to that young white man. I have seen the story printed again and again as truth; but there is in it not one word of truth. This much I am glad to be able to say in justice to the memory of the miserable man, who has suffered a just penalty for his transgressions. I never intended that the work in question should be taken as history; and I should have made that point clear in an introduction, bearing my name, but that I was unwilling to take responsibility for the literary slovenliness, which was unavoidable through my haste in writing, and through Mr. D. A. Rose's hurry in publishing, the work. It occupied me only seventeen days; and I did not see my proofs.

Once more: one of the leading characters in that book, Mr. Charles Mair, is most unjustly treated. Him I held as one of the prime agents in the rebellion of 1869; but nothing could be further from the fact. His pen and his voice had always advocated justice and generosity towards the Indians and the Metis. As to his sentiments respecting the Indians, I need but refer to the drama of his "Tecumseh," which Canadians have received with such enthusiasm.



NANCY, THE LIGHT-KEEPER'S DAUGHTER.

BY EDMUND COLLINS.

"Yes, that is a picture of Grace Darling, but I can tell you a story of great bravery, too, which the world has never heard, about the daughter of a light-keeper who lived on the shore of one of our Canadian lakes." These words were spoken to me by an old Canadian fisherman in whose house I was spending a few nights while out for my autumn shooting.

"The girl's name was Nancy and her father was keeper of a small wooden light-house which stood chained to a ledge lying close to the harbour's mouth. The girl and her father lived alone upon the rock, but when the water was smooth they went every day to the mainland in their little boat. One day in the late autumn the keeper was obliged to make a journey to a distant town, and as he could not reach home again till some hours after dark, he left the lighting of the light to Nancy. The girl and a number of others went among the hills in the afternoon to pick bake-apples, and they remained till the sun was only "a hand high" in the west. Then the party turned their steps toward the coast.

"There will be a heavy gale to-night," the girl said, looking at the sky; for a mass of dark cloud resembling a ragged mountain had appeared up the coast and begun to roll rapidly toward the harbour. It is only those who live near the lakes, that know how suddenly sometimes a terrible hurricane will come out of a sky which was the most peaceful of azure only a few moments before. The tempest first moved along the level shore, casting an awful shadow upon the landscape for miles before it; then it smote the sea in its full fury.

To describe the tumult of sound as the gale drove onward would be impossible. A sad cry would swell out like the voice of a mother wailing for her child; then, pitched in a low, loud key, would come a noise like the howling of a soul condemned; while above the confusing din could be heard shrill whistles and cross pipings as if a host of mad spirits were signalling one another through the storm.

Nancy hurried to the shore where lay her little boat, and several fishermen were gathered about the dock.

"Girl," said one, a hardy sailor who had been on the lakes in the roughest weather, "no boat would live now to reach the reef. Better wait till your father returns."

"But if some ship, unable to clear the land with this ingale, should be obliged to run for the harbour, she could never enter without the light."

"I was on the look-out a few moments ago, and there was nothing in sight. But, even if there was, it would be madness to launch a boat now. Look at these seas!"

The whole face of the gulf between the reef and the shore was a wilderness of raging water. The fisherman had hardly ceased speaking, when another of the coast people was seen hurrying down from the look- out.

"There is a ship about eight miles to the sou'west, with canvas close hauled; but I don't think that she will be able to weather the point."

"If she cannot, then she must run for the harbour, and there will be no light," Nancy exclaimed; and the colour faded out of her brown cheek. Then borrowing a telescope from one of the fishermen, she set out for the top of the look-out. While she held the glass in her trembling hands she saw the ship wear and turn her head toward the harbour. Gathering her plaid shawl hastily about her shoulders, she ran down the steep and returned to the dock.

"The ship is running for the harbour, and there must be a light. Here, help me to launch my boat."

"Is the girl mad!" two or three voices exclaimed at once.

"Girl," said the old man who had spoken before, "no small boat that ever swam can reach yonder ledge now. Why do you want to throw away your life? It cannot save the ship."

"The boat is light," Nancy replied, "and the canvas covering will keep it from filling, if I can only manage always to meet the sea head on. If I had a pair of after oars as well as my own there would not be much difficulty." As she spoke these words, she looked at the group, as if calling for a volunteer: but nobody took her hint. They all cowered in the face of the gale, and some of them began to move away from the dock.

"Then I must go alone," the girl said, as she threw off her shawl, and hastily tied up her mane of soft, black hair. "You will surely help me to launch the boat." But no hand would help her. They saw the impetuous girl going to doom, and they would not be a party to her madness. Getting three or four round pieces of driftwood, which were slippery with water-slime, she laid them along the dock; two other billets she placed under the boat's keel. Then gathering her strength for one pull, she sent the boat into the churning surf. One of the fishermen advanced to detain her, but she waved him back with a gesture so determined and imperious that he hesitated. He then held consultation with his friends. Two or three now hurried down to the water's edge, but the boat had shot out beyond their reach, and was already rising like some great sea-bird over the mad waves. The girl had seized her oars and was rowing at a brisk rate toward the ledge. Sometimes a huge, green, glittering wave would arise and roll towards the shell, and the fishermen would close their eyes; but in response to the rower's quick wrist, the little skiff would turn and climb over the roaring crest of the terrible billow. Sometimes the boat was nowhere to be seen, and one of the spectators would say to another,

"It is all over!"

Presently, however, the cockle would rise out of the trough and appear upon the summit of a breaking sea, looking like a large, crouching, sea-gull. On, steadily, the mite of a craft held its way, sometimes heading directly for the reef, again swerving to the right to mount a rampant billow. Smaller, and smaller grew the little figure, till it became a mere white speck away in the driving mist. The fishermen still remained huddled together in the dock; and as one, with the telescope in his hand, announced that the girl was now within a cable's length of the reef, a great look of shame came into their faces, that not one had shown courage enough to go with her. As for Nancy, in the midst of the ravening turmoil, she was cool of head and steady of arm, pulling with a sturdy stroke, and constantly turning her face to note the waves to be met with the full front of the skiff. Sometimes the cross wash from a sea would smite the boat upon the quarter, and for a moment expose it to destruction; but in response to the girl's quick judgment and steady wrist, the bold little prow would be instantly brought again in the face of the tempest. In one continuous storm the spray drove over her, and the skiff was more than half full of water. It was growing dark, and she could barely distinguish the opposite shore. But the danger of the passage was at last over, and her tiny craft was in the shelter of the gloomy reef.

There was a windlass bolted to the rock, with which she drew the skiff beyond the reach of the waves. Nimbly then she climbed the reef till she reached the door of the tower. A few seconds later all the fishermen saw the warm, yellow glare of the light streaming over the turbulent water.

Nancy was happy now, and her large eyes strained through the lantern of the tower to catch sight of the ship. She had not long to wait. Between the reef and the long stretch of eastern shore, a red light pulsed upon a wave, moving towards the harbour.

"Good!" the girl cried out, "she is midway in the channel and safe." Then she descended to the basement, where she brewed a cup of tea, and sat down to a supper of cold sea-fowl, and juicy, white bread of her own baking.

The sleeping rooms were upon the middle story, but the girl began to grow uneasy at the increasing violence of the hurricane, and would not go to bed. Taking a book, she went to the lantern and sat upon a box to read. The whistling of the wind around the glass and the dome of zinc, the booming of the sea against the rock, and the brawling of the waters around her produced such a tumultuous din that persons speaking in the tower would be unable to hear each other.

Then dawned a new terror; and she looked upon the floor with wide- opened eyes and blanched lips. Twice since its establishment, during winter gales, had the tower been swept off the rock. It is true the present structure was substantially built, and was firmly secured to long iron "stringers" bolted to the solid rock; yet the sea was already surging against the base of the tower, and at every blow the edifice quivered till the machinery of steel and brass rang like a number of little bells. Upon the grated, iron pathway running around the lantern inside, she took her stand, and, thence, looked out. The light streamed far beyond the ledge and revealed the full fury of the sea. The agitated waters would recede from the reef upon the windward side like a jumper who runs backward, that he may be able to leap with greater force; then gathered up to the stature of a hill and crowned with roaring foam, it would return with soft tread, but terrible might, scaling the rock, and flinging its white arms around the waist of the tower. Throughout the tumult, flocks of sea-birds, driven from the surface, and bewildered in the dense darkness of the storm, would fly for the light and smite the lantern; and then they would fall backward into the surf, as if struck with a thunderbolt. Other creatures flew with more care; and Nancy shuddered as she saw the gleaming eyes of huge fish hawks outside, and beheld their dusky wings waving at the panes.

Many an hour of terror passed with no employment for the trembling watcher, save when the lamps grew dim and she moved from her standing place to snuff the wick and turn more flame. Stepping nervously down to the basement she found that it lacked only a quarter of four o'clock. In half an hour it would be dawn, and she was cheered by the thought as she re-ascended.

But how could a frail, wooden tower withstand these terrible shocks! As she trod the spiral stairs, the whole edifice trembled and creaked. Once, under a tremendous surge, she felt it reel. She hurried again to the iron pathway and looked out. Billow after billow came sweeping up the ledge, and did not pause till it smote the very lantern with its soft foam.

"Oh! merciful God deliver me!" the girl cried, as she espied far out a wave far more terrible and gigantic than any other which her frightened eyes had seen. Before it reached the reef, she believed that its storming crest was on a level with the lantern. Then it seemed as if the whole ocean, aroused to strike one overwhelming blow, fell in thunder upon the tower. Nancy was conscious of being hurled rapidly through space; then followed a crashing sound, an overturning and a confusion that no pen could describe. The tower was in the sea.

She could never explain how it came about, but when she recovered from the shock she was floating close by one of the tower floors. The dawn had broken in glaring gray, and she was enabled to perceive her situation. The lower part of the tower was uppermost, and the lantern with its weight of machinery was beneath. Yes, God had heard her supplication; and, comparatively safe from the billows, she clung to a piece of timber, projecting above the floor. She was certain that the storm was abating; yet the wreck was drifting rapidly toward the inexorable rocks. Wave after wave passed over the uppermost part of the tower, and sometimes the water smote her so that her head reeled, and her senses became dimmed for some moments. A coil of rope hung from a spike in the wall, and fastening an end of it around her slim waist, she bound herself to a stout piece of timber.

A young man, passenger in the ship which the girl had saved, heard of the heroism of the light-keeper's daughter. As soon as light came, through promise of a liberal reward, he induced one of the sailors to come with him in the launch. Near the shore they met the floating tower, and saw lying upon the top, and bound there with a rope, the girl who had risked her life to save the vessel. They believed that she was dead, so pale was her beautiful face; and the coils of her soft hair were trailing in the surging water. But she was not dead, and, placed in the warm cabin of the delivered ship, soon opened her great, timorous eyes.

Now, that my story may seem like a novel, I may add that the brave young fellow who rescued Nancy was often seen afterwards about the girl's home. Indeed I doubt if the two were ever parted.

THE END