d you, I loved you, and I love you still, my
husband, my adored!'

"He stooped--he was so big, and she but of middle height--kissed her,
and said: 'See, my Falise, I am of the same mind. We have been happy in
life, and we could well be happy in death together.' So they sat long,
long into the night and talked to each other--of the days they had
passed together, of cheerful things, she trying to comfort herself, and
he trying to bring smiles to her lips. At last they said good-night,
and he lay down in his clothes; and after a few moments she was sleeping
like a child. But he could not sleep, for he lay thinking of her and
of her life--how she had come from humble things and fitted in with the
highest. At last, at break of day, he arose and went outside. He looked
up at the hill where Bigot's two guns were. Men were already stirring
there. One man was standing beside the gun, and another not far behind.
Of course the Baron could not know that the man behind the gunner said:
'Yes, you may open the dance with an early salute;' and he smiled up
boldly at the hill and went into the house, and stole to the bed of his
wife to kiss her before he began the day's fighting. He looked at her a
moment, standing over her, and then stooped and softly put his lips to
hers.

"At that moment the gunner up on the hill used the match, and an awful
thing happened. With the loud roar the whole hillside of rock and
gravel and sand split down, not ten feet in front of the gun, moved with
horrible swiftness upon the river, filled its bed, turned it from its
course, and, sweeping on, swallowed the Manor House of Beaugard. There
had been a crack in the hill, the water of the river had sapped its
foundations, and it needed only this shock to send it down.

"And so, as the woman wished: the same hour for herself and the man! And
when at last their prison was opened by the hands of Bigot's men, they
were found cheek by cheek, bound in the sacred marriage of Death.

"But another had gone the same road, for, at the awful moment, beside
the bursted gun, the dying gunner, Garoche, lifted up his head, saw the
loose travelling hill, and said with his last breath: 'The waters drown
them, and the hills bury them, and--'

"He had his way with them, and after that perhaps the great God had His
way with him perhaps."

THE TUNE McGILVERAY PLAYED

McGilveray has been dead for over a hundred years, but there is a parish
in Quebec where his tawny-hai