purely pale; the delicately-cut features, lit up by that undisturbed equanimity which is the inheritance of vigorous minds, were piquant rather than regular. The cheeks were beautified by playful dimples, the short upper lip was fresh as a rose, while the softly-rounded and mutinous chin indicated reserve forces of strength as yet scarcely suspected. Madame de Monesthrol sometimes lamented that according to the canons of taste her niece’s eyes ought to have been brown, yet in defiance of all rule they were intensely blue, and shaded by black heavy curling lashes. Her hair, lightly powdered, was partly crimped and partly curled. Her gown of dark cloth opened at the throat, which was veiled by a lace kerchief; a long waisted corsage fitted tightly over the bust, and flounces of lace finished off the under-skirt and fell from the sleeves. The regard which Diane turned on the world was the frank, friendly and confiding look of a child; mischievous often it might be, scornful sometimes at the sight of anything mean or paltry, yet always the simple gaze of a soul as yet undisturbed by passion or distrust.

“And it has been pleasant to have me with you?” the girl asked, taking her guardian’s arm, and looking up smilingly into his face.

The wrinkles under Le Ber’s deep-set eyes and the tense lines about his mouth relaxed in an indulgent smile.

“That goes without saying, my little one; your presence carries sunshine. We must remember, however, the nerves of Madame la Marquise, who will doubtless await your return with anxiety. If we would reach Ville Marie by daylight it is time to start; and not to succeed in doing so would expose us to many dangers. Nanon has at last completed her preparations. St. Helène is anxious to be gone; experience has taught him the perils of delay. Nor shall I feel at rest until I see you within the walls of the town.”

A FORTIFIED RESIDENCE.

“I SHOULD like the Indians to know that we understand the use of the paddle! I don’t absolutely deny that these savages possess some skill in constructing a canoe; but, I ask you, have they the address to give it the daintiness of form which renders ours so coquettish as they dance upon the water? This is not a canoe—it is a feather—a bird that skims the air—a cloud chased by the wind—it should fly! You may see what marvels of swiftness that of M. du Chesne will perform directly.” So spoke a tall Canadian, whose skill as a boatman had gained him the title of “le Canotier.”

Madame de St. Helène stood cloaked and hooded in black lace, an elegant, dignified figure whose appearance savored too much of the refinement of urban life to be in harmony with this rustic scene. Her two little children, attended by servants, were beside her.

“I would we were safe within the shelter of Ville Marie,” she said wistfully. “Once we quit the stone walls of the fort who can say what trouble may assail us.”

“Oh! for that, trouble comes soon enough; it is not worth our while to search for it, Jeanne,” her husband returned lightly. “The question now to be considered is our immediate start. Why, I wonder, do we linger?”

The canoes were ready. Soldiers and workmen gathered around them looking expectantly toward the fort. Among these a woman pushed her way, scolding, laughing, gesticulating. Nanon was a comely woman of her class, strong and thick-set, with a face full of piquancy and vivacity. Brown as a berry was this daughter of southern France, with red cheeks and eyes black as sloes. She wore a brown petticoat, a crimson apron with a bib, and a coquettish lace cap with hanging lappets. At every vehement movement her long gold earrings quivered and jingled.

“Behold! Madame, Mademoiselle and these gentlemen all are accommodated, and I but attend the good pleasure of the Sieur du Chesne,” she protested in high, shrill tones.

“Eh, corbleu! but no, this good Nanon awaits no convenience of mine,” remonstrated a laughing boyish voice; “there is place in the craft of Sans Quartier for thee, my girl. Diane has promised to share my canoe, father,” turning to Le Ber, who stood by an amused listener, “and I have no hesitation in wagering that it is we who shall reach Lachine first.”

“Hein, no!” Nanon reduced her forehead to an inch of tight cords, crossed her arms, and shook herself from side to side in the most approved style of obstinacy. “I have morals, me, even in the wilderness. It is necessary to remember les convenances. In our country ladies are guarded under the care of their mothers, as the hen gathers her chickens under her wings. My demoiselle has been confided to my care by Madame la Marquise; not a step, not a shadow of a step, moves my young lady without my attendance. Madame counts upon my faith.”

“It is I who am responsible to Madame la Marquise for Mademoiselle de Monesthrol; nor is it likely that surrounded by friends any harm will befall her. Your faithful attachment to your mistress, my girl, alone excuses the presumption of your interference. Du Chesne, you will take charge of Diane; Jean and Nanon will follow closely in the larger canoe; we shall all remain in sight of one another.” Thus Le Ber decisively settled the question; then, holding his hat under his arm, with a profound bow he offered his hand to conduct Madame de St. Helène to the boat.

“Now, are you satisfied?” the young man laughed gaily. “Diane, is it not a joke? You and I surely might be allowed to take care of ourselves.”

Nanon was still disposed to be nettled; she resented Le Ber’s rebuke, but no one could ever resist the gay confidence of the trader’s youngest son.

Jean Le Ber du Chesne might fitly serve as an example of the best type of the colonial youth of the period. Born and nurtured in Canada, thoroughly versed in woodcraft, seasoned to toil, fatigue and trying extremes of climate, trained amidst dangers and alarms, while yet in his teens he had acquired a reputation for tact and courage. As the sea is the sailor’s native element, his cherished career, his passion, so was the forest that of Le Ber du Chesne. From childhood he had accompanied his cousins, the Le Moynes, a family of heroes, upon the most difficult and arduous expeditions. In the elastic buoyancy of early youth, hardship and perils had but developed an uncommon vitality and afforded opportunities for the display of resource and valor. The austerity of the most sombre acetic relaxed at the sight of his debonair face; the craftiest of Indian diplomats, the most lawless of coureurs de bois were alike moulded to the purposes of the young Canadian.

“We shall keep Bibelot with us. Diane and I have no desire to furnish bouillon à l’Iroquois; we should neither of us relish being thrown into the kettle.” Du Chesne’s gay inadvertent laugh rang out as he jested with one of the grimmest terrors of colonial life.

Three soldiers rowed the larger craft, occupied by Le Ber and St. Helène with the wife and children of the latter. Several other boats followed, carrying servants, soldiers, workpeople and baggage.

“Hasten, then, my son; follow us closely.” Le Ber looked around anxiously. “It is but three years, remember, since Senneville was last attacked by the Iroquois. What has been may happen again. It is the policy of the savages to attack stragglers. Above all things it is necessary to keep together.”

The oars were raised high in the air, and as they moved a shower of crystal drops