The predictions of the witch of the manor were accomplished. After the surrender of Quebec, the rich D'Habervilles had been but too glad to accept the hospitality of M. d'Egmont's cabin, whose remoteness had saved it from the flames. "The good gentleman" and Uncle Raoul, with the faithful AndrÉ, had gone at once to work and raised the narrow attic, so as to leave the ground floor to the use of the ladies. To cheer the latter, the men affected a gayety which they were far from feeling; and their songs were often heard, mingled with the rapid strokes of the axe, the grating of the saw, the sharp whistling of the plane. By dint of toil and perseverance, they succeeded in sheltering themselves tolerably from the severity of the season; and had it not been for the anxiety which they suffered in regard to Captain D'Haberville and Jules, the winter would have passed pleasantly enough in their solitude.

Their most difficult problem was that of provisions, for a veritable famine held sway in all the country-side. The little grain which the habitants had harvested was for the most part eaten boiled, in default of mill to grind it. The sole remaining resource lay in fishing and hunting, but M. d'Egmont and his servant were rather old to indulge in such exercises during the severe weather. Uncle Raoul, lame as he was, took charge of the commissariat. He set snares to catch rabbits and partridges, and his fair niece helped him. Blanche made herself a sort of hunting costume; and simply ravishing she looked in her half-savage garb, her petticoat of blue cloth falling half-way below the knee, her scarlet gaiters, her deer-hide moccasins worked with beads and porcupine quills in vivid colors. Lovely, indeed, she looked as she returned to the house on her little snow-shoes, her face delicately flushed, her hands laden with her spoils. During the famine the habitants frequented Trois Saumons Lake in great numbers; they had beaten a hard road over the snow, which enabled Uncle Raoul to visit the lake on a sledge drawn by a huge dog. He always returned with an ample provision of trout and partridge. On such fare they got through the long winter. In the spring a veritable manna of wild pigeons came to the salvation of the colony; they were so innumerable that they could be knocked down with a stick.

When Captain D'Haberville returned to his seigneurie he was utterly ruined, having saved nothing but the family plate. He did not care to come down on his impoverished tenants for their arrearages of rent, but rather hastened to their aid by rebuilding his mill on the Trois Saumons River. In this mill he lived several years with his family, till able to build a new manor house.

A poor lodging, truly—three narrow chambers in a mill—for a family once so wealthy as the D'Habervilles! But they bore their misfortunes cheerfully. Only Captain D'Haberville, toiling with tireless energy, seemed unable to reconcile himself to his losses. His grief gnawed at his heart, and for six years there was never a smile upon his lips. It was not till the manor was rebuilt and the household restored to a certain degree of comfort and prosperity that he regained his native cheerfulness.

It was the 22d of February, 1762, and about nine o'clock in the evening, when an ill-clad stranger entered the mill and begged shelter for the night. As was his custom when not occupied in work, Captain D'Haberville was seated in a corner of the room, his head hanging dejectedly on his breast. The voice of the stranger made him tremble without knowing why. It was some moments before he could answer, but at last he said:

"You are welcome, my friend; you shall have supper and breakfast here, and my miller will give you a bed for the night."

"Thank you," said the stranger, "but I am very tired; give me a glass of brandy."

M. D'Haberville was not disposed to bestow upon a vagabond stranger even one drink of the meager supply of brandy, which he was keeping in case of absolute necessity. He answered that he had none.

"If thou didst know me, D'Haberville," replied the stranger, "thou wouldst certainly not refuse me a drink of brandy, though it were the last drop in thy house."

The first feeling of the captain was one of wrath on hearing himself addressed so familiarly by one who appeared to be a tramp; but there was something in the hoarse voice of the unknown which made him tremble anew, and he checked himself. At this moment Blanche appeared with a light, and every one was stupefied at the appearance of this man, a veritable living specter, who stood with folded arms and gazed upon them sadly. So deathlike was his pallor that one would have thought a vampire had sucked all the blood from his veins. His bones threatened to pierce his skin, which was yellow like that of a mummy; and his dim and sunken eyes were vacant—without speculation, like those of the ghost of Banquo. Everybody was astonished that such a corpse could walk.

After one moment of hesitation, Captain D'Haberville threw himself into the stranger's arms, crying:

"You here, my dear Saint-Luc! The sight of my bitterest enemy could not cause me such dismay. Speak; and tell us that all our relations and friends who took passage in the Auguste are buried in the sea, and that you, the one survivor, are come to bring us the sad tidings!"

The silence of M. Saint-Luc de Lacorne, the grief stamped upon his countenance, confirmed Captain D'Haberville's worst fears.

"Accursed be the tyrant," cried the captain, "who in the bitterness of his hate against the French sent so many good men to their death in an old ship utterly unseaworthy!"

"Instead of cursing your enemies," said M. de Saint-Luc in a hoarse voice, "thank God that you and your family got leave to remain in the colony two years longer. And now, a glass of brandy and a little soup. I have been so nearly starved that my stomach refuses solid food. Let me also take a little rest before telling you a story which will call forth many tears."

In the neighborhood of half an hour, for this man of iron needed but little rest to recover his strength, M. de Saint-Luc began as follows:

"In spite of the English governor's impatience to banish from New France those who had so valiantly defended her, the authorities had placed at our disposal only two ships, which were found utterly insufficient for the great number of French and Canadians who were waiting to sail. I pointed this out to General Murray, and proposed to buy one at my own expense. This he would not hear, but two days later he placed at our disposal the ship Auguste, hastily commissioned for the purpose. By a payment of five hundred Spanish piasters, I obtained from the English captain the exclusive use of his cabin for myself and family.

"I then pointed out to General Murray the danger to which we should be exposed at this stormy season with a captain not familiar with the St. Lawrence. I offered to hire and pay for a pilot myself. His answer was, that we would have the same chance as the rest; but he ended by sending a little vessel to pilot us clear of the river.

"We were all in deep dejection, a prey to the gloomiest forebodings, when we raised anchor on the 15th of October last. Many of us, forced to sell our properties at a ruinous sacrifice, had but a future of poverty to look forward to in the mother country. Speeding at first before a favorable wind, with swelling hearts we saw the cherished and familiar scenes fade out behind us and fall below the horizon.

"I will not detail the many perils we underwent before the great calamity out of which but myself and six others escaped alive. On the 16th we came within an ace of shipwreck on the Isle aux Coudres, after the loss of our main anchor.

"On the 4th of November we were struck by a terrific gale, which lasted two days, and which we weathered with difficulty. On the 7th a fire broke out three times in the cook's galley, and was extinguished only after a desperate struggle. I shall not endeavor to paint the scenes on shipboard while it seemed likely we should be burned in the open sea.

"On the 11th we escaped as by a miracle from being dashed to pieces on a rock off Isle Royale.

"From the 13th to the 15th we were driven blindly before a hurricane, not knowing where we were. As many of us as could do so were obliged to fill the places of the crew, who were so exhausted with their incessant labors that they had taken refuge in their hammocks, from which neither bribes, threats, nor blows could drive them. Our foremast was gone, our tattered sails could no longer be either hoisted or furled, and, as a last resort, the mate proposed that we should run the ship ashore. It was a desperate expedient. The fatal moment arrived. The captain and mate looked at me despairingly, clasping their hands. I understood but too well the silent speech of these men inured to peril. We made for land to starboard, where we saw the mouth of a little river which might perhaps prove navigable. I explained our situation to all the passengers, concealing nothing. Then what entreaties and what vows to the Almighty! But, alas! in vain the vows, and of no avail the prayers!

"Who can paint the madness of the waves? Our masts seemed to touch the sky and then vanish in the deep. A frightful shock announced that the ship had grounded. We cut away the masts and cordage to lighten her, but the waves rolled her on her side. We were stranded about five hundred feet from shore, in a little sandy bay at the mouth of the river in which we had hoped to find refuge. As the ship was now leaking at every joint, the passengers rushed upon deck; and some even, thinking themselves within reach of safety, threw themselves into the sea and perished miserably.

"At this moment Madame de Tillac appeared on deck, holding her little one in her arms, her long hair and her garments streaming about her in confusion. She was the picture of hopeless anguish. She fell on her knees. Then, perceiving me, she cried in a piercing voice: 'My dear friend, must we die like this?'

"I was running to her aid, when a giant wave thundered down upon the deck and swept her into the sea."

"My poor friend," sobbed Madame D'Haberville; "companion of my childhood, my foster-sister, nourished at the same breast with me? They tried to persuade me that it was merely my overwrought imagination that made me see you in my sleep, that 17th of November! I saw you weeping on the deck of the Auguste, your baby in your arms; and I saw you swept into the waves. I was not deceived, my sister! You came to bid me farewell before vanishing to heaven with the angel that nestled in your bosom!"

After a pause, M. de Lacorne went on:

"Crew and passengers were lashed to the shrouds, to escape the waves which dashed ceaselessly over the doomed ship, every moment carrying away new victims. The ship carried but two small boats, one of which was already crushed into splinters. The remaining one, a mere cockle-shell, was launched, and a servant named Étienne threw himself into it, followed by the captain and two or three others. I did not perceive this till one of my children, whom I held in my arms, while the other was tied to my belt, cried eagerly: 'Save us now, father; the boat is going away!' I seized the rope fiercely. At this moment a terrific wave struck us, and hurled me headlong into the boat. The same wave which saved my life swept away my children."

At this point the narrator's voice failed him, and his listeners sobbed aloud. Regaining his self-control, he continued:

"Although under the lee of the ship, the boat was almost swamped by another wave; and the next hurled us landward. In what seemed but a few seconds, in that awful and stupefying tumult, we found ourselves dashed upon the sand. Above the uproar we heard the heart-rending shrieks of those who remained upon the ship.

"Of the seven men thus miraculously thrown upon the unknown shore, I was the only one capable of action. I had just seen my brother and my little ones snatched away, and I strove to keep down my agony of soul by striving for the safety of my fellow-sufferers. I succeeded, after a time, in bringing the captain back to consciousness. The others were numbed with cold, for an icy rain was falling in torrents. Not wishing to lose sight of the ship, I handed them my flint and steel and powder-horn, telling them to light a fire at the edge of the wood. In this they failed signally; scarcely had they strength enough to come and tell me of their failure, so weak were they and numbed with cold. After many attempts, I succeeded in making a fire just in time to save their lives. Then I returned to the beach, hoping to save some poor creatures who might be washed ashore. I remained there from three in the afternoon till six o'clock in the evening, when the ship went to pieces. Never, never shall I forget the sight of the dead bodies stretched upon the sand, more than a hundred in number, many of them with legs or arms broken, their faces battered out of all recognition.

"Half stupefied by the calamity, we passed a sleepless and silent night, and on the morning of the 16th we betook ourselves again to the fatal shore. We passed the day in bestowing upon the dead such sad last rites as were possible to such poor wretches as we.

"On the morrow we left this desert and inhospitable coast, and directed our course into the interior. The winter had set in in all its severity. We marched through snow up to our knees. Sometimes we came to deep and rapid rivers, which forced us to make long dÉtours. My companions were so enfeebled by fatigue and famine that sometimes I had to retrace my steps more than once to get their bundles, which they had been compelled to drop. Their courage was utterly broken; and sometimes I had to stop and make them rude moccasins to cover their bleeding feet.

"Thus we dragged ourselves on, or rather I dragged them in tow, for neither courage nor strength once failed me till at length, on the 4th of December, we met two Indians. Imagine if you can the delirious joy of my companions, who for the last few days had been looking forward to death itself as a welcome release from their sufferings! These Indians did not recognize me at first, so much was I changed by what I had gone through, and by the long beard which had covered my face. Once I did their tribe a great service; and you know that these natives never forget a benefit. They welcomed me with delight. We were saved. Then I learned that we were on the island of Cape Breton, about thirty leagues from Louisbourg.

"I made haste to leave my companions at the first Acadian settlement, where I knew they would be nursed back to health. I was eager to return to Quebec, that I might be the first to inform General Murray of our shipwreck. I need not detail to you the incidents of the journey. Suffice to say that with the greatest peril I crossed from Cape Breton to the main-land in a birch canoe, through the sweeping ice cakes; and that I have covered now about five hundred leagues on my snow-shoes. I have had to change my guides very frequently, for after eight days' marching with me, Indian and Acadian alike find themselves utterly used up."

After this story, the family passed the greater part of the night in bewailing the fate of their friends and kinsfolk, the victims of a barbarous decree.

M. de Saint-Luc allowed himself but a few hours rest, so eager was he to present himself before Murray at Quebec as a living protest against the vindictive cruelty which had sent to their death so many brave soldiers, so many unoffending women and little ones. It had been thought that Murray's unreasoning bitterness was due to the fact that he could not forget his defeat of the previous year.

"Do you know, D'Haberville," said M. de Saint-Luc at breakfast, "who was the friend so strong with Murray as to obtain you your two years' respite? Do you know to whom you owe to-day the life which you would probably have lost in our shipwreck?"

"No," said Captain D'Haberville. "I have no idea what friend we can have so powerful. But whoever he is, never shall I forget the debt of gratitude I owe him."

"Well, my friend, it is the young Scotchman Archibald de Lochiel to whom you owe this eternal gratitude."

"I have commanded," almost shouted Captain D'Haberville, "that the name of this viper, whom I warmed in my bosom, should never be pronounced in my presence." And the captain's great black eyes shot fire.

"I dare flatter myself," said M. de Saint-Luc, "that this command hardly extends to me. I am your friend from childhood, your brother in arms, and I know all the obligations which bind us mutually. I know that you will not say to me, as you said to your sister, the superior, when she sought to plead the cause of this innocent young man: 'Enough, my sister. You are a holy woman, bound to forgive your enemies, even those who have been guilty of the blackest ingratitude against you. But as for me, you know that I never forgive an injury. That is my nature. If it be a sin, God has not given me strength to conquer it. Enough, my sister; and never again pronounce his name in my presence, or all intercourse between us shall cease.' No, my dear friend," continued Saint-Luc, "you will not make me this answer; and you will hear what I have to say."

M. D'Haberville knew too well the requirements of hospitality to impose silence upon his friend under his own roof. His thick eyebrows gathered in a heavy frown, he half closed his eyes as if to veil his thoughts, and resigned himself to listen with the air of a criminal to whose satisfaction the judge is endeavoring to prove that he deserves his sentence.

M. de Saint-Luc detailed Archie's conduct from the beginning, and his struggle with his implacable foe Montgomery. He spoke energetically of the soldier's obligation to obey the commands of his superior, however unjust. He drew a touching picture of the young man's despair, and added:

"As soon as Lochiel learned that you and yours were ordered to embark at once for Europe, he requested an audience with the general, which was granted.

"'Captain de Lochiel,' said Murray, handing him the brevet of his new rank, 'I was going to look for you. Having witnessed your exploits on the glorious field of 1759, I hastened to ask for your promotion; and I may add that your subsequent conduct has proved you worthy of the favor of His Majesty's Government, and of my utmost efforts on your behalf.'

"'I am most glad, sir,' answered Lochiel, 'that your recommendation has obtained me a reward far beyond anything my poor services could entitle me to expect; and I beg you will accept my grateful thanks for the favor, which emboldens me to ask yet one more. General, it is a great, an inestimable favor which I would ask of you.'

"'Speak, captain,' said Murray, 'for I would do much to gratify you.'

"'If it were myself that was concerned,' said Archie, 'I should have nothing further to desire. It is for others I would speak. The D'Haberville family, ruined, like so many others, by our conquest, has been ordered by Your Excellency to depart at once for France. They have found it impossible to sell, even at the greatest sacrifice, the small remnants of their once considerable fortune. Grant them, I implore you, two years in which to set their affairs in order. Your Excellency is aware how much I owe to this family, which loaded me with kindness during my ten years' sojourn in the colony. It was I who, obeying the orders of my superior officer, completed their ruin by burning their manor and mill at St. Jean-Port-Joli. For the love of Heaven, general, grant them two years, and you will lift a terrible burden from my soul!'

"'Captain de Lochiel,' said Murray severely, 'I am surprised to hear you interceding for the D'Habervilles, who have shown themselves our most implacable enemies.'

"'It is but just to them, general,' answered Archie, 'to recognize that they have fought bravely to defend their country, even as we have done to conquer it. It is with some confidence I address myself to a brave soldier, on behalf of truly valiant enemies.'

"Lochiel had touched the wrong cord, for Murray was brooding over his defeat of the preceding year, and, further, he was hardly susceptible to anything like chivalry of sentiment. He answered icily:

"'Impossible, sir! I can not recall my order. The D'Habervilles must go.'

"'In that case, will Your Excellency be so kind as to accept my resignation?' said Archie.

"'What, sir!' exclaimed the general, paling with anger.

"'Will Your Excellency,' repeated Archie coldly, 'be so good as to accept my resignation, and permit me to serve as a common soldier? They who will seek to point the finger at me as the monster of ingratitude, who, after being loaded with benefits by a family to whom he came a stranger, achieved the final ruin of that family without working any alleviation of their lot—they who would hold me up to scorn for this will find it harder to discover me when buried in the ranks than when I am at the head of men who have no such stain upon them.' Once more he offered his commission to the general.

"The latter became first red and then pale, turned upon his heel, bit his lips, passed his hand across his forehead, muttered something like a 'G—d d—n!' between his teeth, and remained for a moment plunged in thought. Then he calmed himself suddenly, put out his hand, and said:

"'I appreciate your sentiments, Captain de Lochiel. Our sovereign must not be deprived of the services which you can render him as one of his officers, you who are ready to sacrifice your future for a debt of gratitude. Your friends shall remain.'

"'A thousand thanks!' cried Archie. 'You may count on my devotion henceforth, though I be required to march alone to the cannon's mouth to prove it. A mountain of remorse lay on my heart. Now I feel as light as one of our mountain roebucks!'"

Of all the passions that sway men's wills, jealousy and revenge are perhaps the hardest to control. Captain D'Haberville, after having listened with a frown, said merely:

"I perceive that the services of M. de Lochiel have met with due appreciation. As for me, I was unaware that I was so indebted to him." And he turned the conversation into another channel.

M. de Saint-Luc glanced at the other members of the family, who had listened with eyes cast down, not daring to discuss the subject. Rising from the table, he added:

"This respite, D'Haberville, is a most fortunate thing; for you may rest assured that within two years you will find yourself free to go or come as you will. The English governor incurred too heavy a responsibility when he doomed to death so many persons of prominence—persons allied to the most illustrious families, not only on the Continent, but in England as well. He will seek to conciliate the Canadians in order to ward off the consequences of this dreadful catastrophe. Now, farewell, my friends; and remember they are weak souls who let themselves be beaten down by misfortune. One great consolation we have in considering that we did all that could be expected of the bravest, and that, if our country could have been preserved, our arms and our courage would have preserved it."

The night was far advanced when M. de Saint-Luc reached Quebec and presented himself at the ChÂteau St.-Louis, where he was at first refused admission. But he was so determined, declaring that his tidings were of the most immediate importance, that at length an aide consented to awaken the governor, who had been some hours in bed. Murray at first failed to recognize M. de Saint-Luc, and asked him angrily how he dared disturb him at such an hour, or what tidings he could bring of such pressing importance.

"An affair which you will assuredly consider worthy of some attention, sir, for I am Captain de Saint-Luc, and my presence here will tell you the rest."

General Murray turned as pale as death. Presently he called for refreshments, and, treating Saint-Luc with the most profound consideration, he inquired of him the fullest particulars of the wreck. He was no longer the same man who had carelessly consigned so many brave officers to their doom just because the sight of their uniforms displeased him.

What M. de Saint-Luc had foreseen presently came to pass. Thenceforward Governor Murray, conscience-stricken by the loss of the Auguste, became very lenient toward the Canadians, and those who wished to remain in the colony were given liberty to do so. M. de Saint-Luc, in particular, whose possible revelations he may have dreaded, became the special object of his favor, and found nothing to complain of in the governor's attitude. He set his tremendous energies to the work of repairing his fortunes, and his efforts were crowned with well-merited success.