few hundred soldiers
have been slain upon the Plains of Abraham? We have still a great
army to fight with."

"We have; but where is the General to lead us? Nevertheless, we may
still show ourselves men.

"Colin, my boy, is that thou? What, dost thou want to come with me?
So be it, then. Thou shalt do so, and take back word to thy aunt
here as to what the council decides.

"I may find work over yonder with the sick and wounded. I may not
return tonight. But Colin shall come back with news, and you will
know that all is well with me."

They went together, and Madame Drucour returned to her watch beside
the sick and dying man. The surgeon stole in and out as his other
duties permitted him, and Corinne shared the watch beside the couch
where Montcalm lay.

The Bishop, who in spite of his feebleness had been abroad in the
city, seeking to console the dying and to cheer up the garrison,
depressed by rumours of the flight of the army, came in at dusk,
exhausted and depressed himself, to find another dying soldier in
need of the last rites of the Church.

It was a solemn scene which that dim room witnessed as the night
waned and the approach of dawn came on. Without all was confusion,
hurry, anxiety, and distress, none seeking sleep in their beds, all
eagerly awaiting tidings from the army--the news which should tell
them whether they were to be gallantly supported or left to their
fate. Within there was the deep hush which the approach of death
seems ever to bring. The short, gasping confession had been made;
the Bishop stood over the dying man, making the sign and speaking
the words of absolution. A young priest from the Seminary and an
acolyte had been found to assist at the solemn rite; and Madame
Drucour, with Corinne and the faithful old servant, knelt at the
farther end of the room, striving to keep back their tears.

It was over at last. The words of commendation had been spoken; the
last labouring breath had been drawn. Corinne, half choking with
her emotion, and feeling as though she would be stifled if she were
to remain longer in that chamber of death, silently glided away out
of the room into the open air; and once there, she broke into wild
weeping, the result of the long tension of her pent-up emotion.

"Mademoiselle, mademoiselle! Corinne!" cried a familiar voice in a
subdued tone from some place not far distant. "Is it indeed you?
Nay, do not weep; there is not need. We shall not harm you; you and
y