s, and behind it was
tied in the queue so universally worn.

He was quite young still, barely thirty years old; yet he had seen
years of active service in the army, and had achieved no small
distinction for intrepidity and cool daring. He had won the notice
already of the man now at the helm of state, whose eyes were
anxiously fixed upon any rising soldier of promise, ready to avail
himself of the services of such to sustain England's honour and
prestige both on land and sea.

James Wolfe was the son of a soldier, and had been brought up to
the profession of arms almost as a matter of course. Yet he seemed
a man little cut out for the life of the camp; for he suffered from
almost chronic ill-health, and was often in sore pain of body even
though the indomitable spirit was never quenched within him. His
face bore the look of resolution and self mastery which is often to
be seen in those who have been through keen physical suffering.
There were lines there which told of weary days and nights of pain;
but there was an unquenchable light in the eyes that invariably
struck those who came into contact with the young officer. He had
already learned the secret of imparting to his men the enthusiasm
which was kindled in his own breast; and there was not a man in his
company but would gladly have laid down his life in his service, if
he had been called upon to do so.

Today, however, there was nothing of the soldier and leader of
forlorn hope in his aspect. He lay back upon his couch with a
dreamy abstraction in his gaze. The gambols of his canine
favourites passed unnoticed by him. He had been reading news that
stirred him deeply, and he had fallen into a meditation.

The news sheet contained a brief and hasty account of the loss of
Fort William Henry, with a hint respecting the massacre which had
followed. No particulars were as yet forthcoming. This was but the
voice of rumour. But the paragraph, vague as it was, had been
sufficient to arouse strange feelings within the young officer. He
had let the paper fall now, and was turning things over in his own
mind.

One of the articles had said how needful it was becoming for
England to awake from her lethargy, and send substantial aid to her
colonies, unless she desired to see them annihilated by the
aggressions of France. National feeling against that proud foe was
beginning to rise high. The Continental war had quickened it, and
Wolfe, who had served against the armies of