flashed in the sunlight. At the same time the voices of the boatmen broke out into a lusty chorus which rang cheerily across the water:

Du Chesne was holding the canoe into which Diane was about to step when there arose an outcry from the fort.

“Monsieur! Monsieur! Sieur du Chesne!” It was Nanon, her plump figure quivering with excitement, who called in hot haste. “It is that snake of a Gouillon who disputes with the soldiers. Hasten, then, ere there is murder done.”

“But an instant, Diane. That lazy varlet lives but to do mischief—just when we are in haste, too. But he shall pay for his pleasure this time.”

Diane remained alone upon the shore, watching the rapidly disappearing party, gaily waving a bright-hued silken scarf as long as they were in sight. Gentle fancies, floating vaguely through her mind without ever assuming definite form, were reflected on her face in lines of exquisite sweetness; her delicately fanciful maiden dreams inspired no yearning for future bliss, but only perfect satisfaction with the present. The voyage down the river would be one continuous pleasure. She and the young man were close comrades and firm friends. Being very young when his mother died, the affectionate lad had grieved deeply. In his loneliness it was his young playmate who had come nearest to his heart; she had taken the place of the sister whom religious enthusiasm had estranged from all human interests. Diane had become his warmest sympathizer, the confidante of countless escapades. The girl, on her part, was conscious that the serenity of the blue sky, the tender greenness and stillness of the landscape, all seemed to borrow a new charm when viewed in his company.

The Seigniory had once been called Boisbriant, after the first grantee, Sidrac de Gui, Sieur de Briant, but when it passed into Le Ber’s possession, it was renamed Senneville. It was a post of considerable strategic value. The fort, built at the end of the Island of Montreal, where the St. Lawrence and Ottawa Rivers joined, offered effectual protection against the attacks of the Iroquois, and was of great service to the colony.

In front the Ottawa flowed, through its picturesque and fertile islands, while on the other side the St. Lawrence rolled like a river of gold. A little to the north-west the water expanded into the Lake of Two Mountains, the twin peaks which gave it their name appearing in the hazy distance. On Ile St. Paul Le Ber had erected large storehouses. On Ile Perrot stood a cluster of buildings constructed by Le Ber’s rival and antagonist, Perrot, the ex-Governor of Ville Marie, in order to intercept the Indian tribes from the upper lakes on their way to the annual fair at Montreal. Ile Perrot was the rendezvous of soldiers who had escaped from the restraints of a harsh discipline to the freedom of the woods, and of rovers of every description outlawed by the royal edict.

The fort at Senneville was remarkably well built; the material of rough boulder stones, with stone jambs, lintel sills and fire-places. The buildings formed a parallelogram of which the residence was one end, the sides being simply defensive walls, nowhere more than twelve feet high, pierced with loopholes and having a gateway. At the angles stood flanking towers, the first two being connected with a wall which did not come much above the first floor window. The courtyard was nearly square, measuring about eighty feet each way, and looking north-west across the Lake of Two Mountains.

The residential part had a frontage of about eighty feet and a depth of thirty-five. In front it was two stories in height, but, as the ground was higher inside the courtyard, at the back it was only a story and a half. It had a high pitched roof, tall chimneys and wide fire-places. The walls of the towers were strengthened by an outward spread at the base. The towers measured only about twelve feet square inside; they were two and a half stories in height and had large windows in their outer walls, and on the sides, commanding the main walls, small embrasures were mounted with light artillery.

In addition to the castle proper there were out-buildings which served more than one purpose. A few hundred yards back from the river the ground swelled to a gently wooded height, crowned by a fortified windmill. These picturesque structures were a distinctive feature in the landscape throughout all New France and did good service in protecting the settlers. The mill at Senneville possessed rather an unusual adjunct, a hooded door which served the same purpose as the machicolations of a mediæval castle. The tower was three stories in height, and measured fifteen feet inside, the floor being supported by strong oak beams. The chimney was simply a flue in the thickness of the wall opening to the outer air just below the second story ceiling; the hood opened before the floor of the same chamber. The roof was of conical form, covered with shingles, the latter always a point of weakness in time of attack.

Nature here on every side unfolded panoramic views of loveliness. Flickers of light were reflected in the water; trailing vines festooned the trees. There were quiet marshes golden with swaying grasses, and, farther away, sombre masses of pine through which opened mysterious shadowy vistas.

AN IROQUOIS ATTACK.

DESPITE the beauty of the scene just described, Bibelot, the dog, was plainly dissatisfied with the existing order of things. She was a direct descendant of Pilot, one of a number of dogs sent from France to Ville Marie shortly after its foundation in order to assist the brave colonists in their warfare against the Indians. Detesting the savages by instinct, these trusty animals were invaluable in detecting ambuscades. Bibelot now ran here and there, her bushy tail raised high and curled like a feather over her back, her slender, alert head and bright eyes full of keen interest, sniffing among the grass and branches as though solicitous of some trail of fox or rabbit. Game abounded in the woods; from where she stood Diane could see a great herd of elk defile quietly between the water and the forest.

The dog’s persistent uneasiness attracted Diane’s attention. Suddenly the long-drawn, melancholy cry of a water-fowl fell upon her ear. The sound might have passed unheeded by faculties less keen and highly strung; but as she started at the cry, Bibelot, throwing back her head and quivering all over with rage, uttered a low, deep growl. The call was repeated several times. Could it be a signal? The dog’s excitement seemed to warrant the supposition. As she gazed apprehensively about her, the trunk of a fallen tree, lying on the ground close at hand, seemed to Diane to stir. Was imagination playing her false? The girl had grown up amidst the constant dangers of the adventurous colonial life. She knew well that the Iroquois roamed through the deserted settlements and prowled continually around the forts. No one could account for the mysterious movements of these agile warriors, nor for the subtlety and malice of their stratagems. She now stood perfectly still as if she were a figure painted on the pale green background. The heart beat high in her breast, the color came and went in her cheek. A gray