  A lump rose in Maud's throat, and a spasm crossed her features as she closed the door. Then she stopped to put a tray in order, making a noise in getting it even. It took her more than a minute to arrange it properly, but when she entered the parlor again her face was as though nothing had happened. For a moment Beaumont looked at her keenly, but her features told no tale. The human heart is inscrutable, and a true woman never tells everything, even to her dearest. So, hidden in Maud's bosom was a little story of man's devotion, which ever after remained unspoken, and unforgotten, too. Beaumont bowed over her hand and led her to a seat again. "For months and months I have longed for this hour," he said. "Even after I started, three weeks of a journey seemed almost like years; but now that I see you, I know that I have not come in vain." "Please don't talk in that way," said Maud, with a half-frightened look in her face. "Speak of anything, but not of that to-night." "Mon Dieu! Surely I am not wrong?" "Oh, something else, just for to-night," she pleaded. "You came so unexpectedly, without a moment's warning," and then she added archly, "You expect too much, sir, you must remember that I am the same Maud Maxwell that I was a year ago." "Mon ami, forgive me!" he exclaimed, penitently. "I will do whatever you say." And they talked of many things, but chiefly of Penetang, of the journey to York by trail, then by schooner to the St. Lawrence, down the rapids in a rowboat, guided by Indians, to Montreal; schooner again to Quebec, and then on the North King with Sir George. "The dear old Colonel! I quite learned to love him through Mrs. Manning's letters," said Maud. "He's a brave commander, as well as gallant gentleman," returned the Doctor, "and we missed him terribly after he left. Still, our Fort was established, and taking fifty men away from the new quarters gave the rest more room." "The winter would be the hardest upon you," said Maud. "On the whole, we did well though. The frost was keen but we learned how to meet it, and another winter we'll be better prepared." "How did you secure supplies?" she asked. "You are so far away from the east." "They were brought chiefly by trail from Little York, except fish and game, which our own men always secured." "It must be the hunter's paradise," said Maud, enthusiastically. "The whole northern country is like a preserve," replied Beaumont, keenly watching her animated face. "When you come to Penetang you, too, must learn to follow the chase." "Oh, what became of Corporal Bond?" she suddenly asked. "Did he ever return?" "Yes, he came back at last. Latimer's craft was captured by an American gunboat when entering the St. Clair River, and everything was overhauled. Corporal Bond was retained a prisoner until the war was over, while Latimer, who declared himself to be an American, was allowed with his wife to go free and keep the boat." "Under what plea did they retain the Corporal?" Maud asked. "On the ground that they knew he was an English soldier, notwithstanding his plain clothes. Still, they treated him well, and after the treaty was declared, gave him a pass to Little York." "There would be great rejoicing when his wife met him again." "Yes; and there was throughout the garrison, for Bond is a genuine soldier." "One other thing I want to ask. It is about the pretty little Indian maiden you wrote of so charmingly." "Oh, Little Moon is now a soldier's wife—growing contented and civilized in a little cottage which the two have to themselves." "How romantic!" They chatted for a while longer. Then they parted—but her last words were like her first: "Not to-night—not to-night—you must wait until to-morrow." Three days later the white wings of the North King unfurled as they swept out to sea. Good old Sir George had come and gone. On the bridge beside him stood the Major, whose brave face, kindly eyes and compressed lips told of nothing but the brave and gallant officer. Silently they watched the receding shore. "Another chapter of life closed," said Sir George at last; "though full of story, it will never be opened to me again." "Yours was a chapter worth living," said Morris. "You have founded a fort and established a colony, which will go on growing, and may last forever." The Colonel shook his head. "Simply my duty," was his answer. "And what will become of the place in the end, God only knows. So far as military fame is concerned, you beat my record. That fight at Lundy's Lane was the turning point in the war, and your valor there is too well known to be forgotten." "Pshaw, Colonel! I was only one of the many. Every man did his duty, and with all that, the bloody horror of it takes away the glory." "We'll turn the leaf down, anyway," said the Colonel, wheeling around and looking out to sea. "Now, blow ye winds for Old England, where wife and children await with eagerness the old man's return." "Oh, yes," assented Morris, "and I don't think my dear old mother has forgotten her soldier boy." By night the shore was out of sight, for the wind was from the west and they were far out at sea. The good town of Halifax was not by any means dull during those closing days of May, in the year of our Lord one thousand, eight hundred and fifteen, for the double wedding was in everybody's mouth. Judge Maxwell's daughters were both to be married on the same day. The bell of the little English church rang merrily out on that bridal morning, and for hours before the ceremony fair maids were decorating with spring flowers and evergreens the aisles and chancel; for never before had the marriage of two sisters been celebrated within its walls at the one time. Major Morris, though now far out at sea, had not forgotten the brides, for that very morning was delivered to each a little package bearing his name. Eugenia's gift was a resplendent ornament of sapphire and gold, which enriched the beauty of her golden hair. But Maud's, though less brilliant in its setting, was more unique. She was alone when she unpacked the parcel and read the enclosed note. It ran thus: "Miss Maud. I do not expect to see you again; but as I leave, there is something you can do for me. I desire you to accept with my sincerest wishes this little necklace as a token of my love. It was made of jewels of India in the days of Clive. It bears a noble and honorable history, and I know by your acceptance, its record will go on untarnished. God bless you! Farewell." Without looking at the costly trinket, Maud with glistening eyes read and re-read the words. Then she kissed them passionately over and over again. Another moment was spent in thought—but only a moment, for time was precious—then with decisive hand she tore the little letter into a thousand fragments and dropped them into the open grate. Beneath the letter was a card containing the congratulations of the donor. Then she picked up the dainty little gift. It was a beautiful circlet of jewels and golden beads, with carved clasps of wonderful formation. In the centre was a large translucent opal, and as Maud looked into its silent depths, she fancied she could read its hidden history through the long generations of the past. For a few minutes before leaving for church Beaumont was with her. "See," she said, as she handed him the card and necklet, "I have something else to show you. It is a pretty little thing that came this morning. May I wear it?" "Certainly, my darling. How unique it is! Mon Dieu! Where could it come from? Possibly from the banks of the Nile. Mayhap from India. How very handsome it is! Morris was always a good fellow. Pity he couldn't have stayed for our wedding." "Pity, indeed," said Maud, contemplatively, as the bridegroom fastened the jewels about her neck. Six weeks later there was rejoicing at Penetang. The Doctor had overstepped his time, but as he brought his winsome bride with him, the locum tenens, as well as the garrison, were willing to forgive. They had come out with tourists from York, and Maud, for the first time in her life, had the satisfaction of camping for a couple of summer nights in the woods. The experience of this western trip was full of joy for her, and with the eagerness which was part of her nature, she looked for new pleasure in each day's journey. Beaumont had told her the wolf story in which Helen and Harold were the heroes of the hour, and during the second night from York, while the wolves were howling in the distance, she lay awake for awhile actually longing for a similar experience. Of all the denizens of that little northern garrison none yearned for Maud's arrival as did Helen Manning, and when the two women met they stood for minutes in a long and close embrace, while tears ran down their faces. "This is foolishness," said Helen. "Is it?" said Maud. "But how good of you to come." "Of Henri to bring me." "Yes, you both deserve credit," said Helen, laughing—laughter and tears are very near akin—"but how could he help it, when Harold set him so good an example?" "I once told you I would go to the ends of the world with a man if I loved him—just like yourself." "So that is your reason. A very good one, too." "Yes, I came first for my husband, second for you, dear, and third," her eyes flashed as she looked around, "well, for the people of Penetang." Then they all clapped hands and laughed, settling her place forever in the hearts of the little community. The afternoon's sun was nearing the horizon, and the little bay lay before them surrounded by trees of wondrous tints—a thing of beauty. "Oh, how delightful!" exclaimed Maud; "and this is to be my home—a veritable fairyland." "We will make it one for you if we can," returned Helen, with a bright smile. Maud's eyes wandered quickly over the quaint buildings which already stood here and there upon upland and shore, until finally they rested upon the island. "And what is that little white house standing among the trees?" she asked. "That is our magazine," said Harold, who stood hand in hand with his wife. "The little citadel that guards our bay." "And that scaffolding down at the water's edge. It looks as if they were putting up the masts of a ship." "So we are," said Captain Payne. "The war is over, and we may never have to fight again, but in memory of a great chief and brave warrior, we are building the Tecumseh." "And you see that pretty cottage," said Beaumont, gently taking his wife's arm and pointing towards it. "That is our own little home. La bonne madame has made it ready for us. Won't you come to it, darling; you need a rest." "Yes, Henri, I shall be glad to; I am very happy, but very tired."
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