s

XVI.--Epistolary

XVII.--"She Took Up the Burden of Life Again."

XVIII.--"It's an Ill Wind Blows Nobody Good"

XIX.--Via Crucis

XX.--Bearing the Cross

XXI.--Dr. Danton's Good Works

XXII.--After the Cross, the Crown

XXIII.--"Long have I been True to You, now I'm True no Longer"

XXIV.--Coals of Fire

XXV.--At Home

KATE DANTON.

CHAPTER I.

GRACE DANTON.

A low room, oblong in shape, three high narrow windows admitting the
light through small, old-fashioned panes. Just at present there was not
much to admit, for it was raining hard, and the afternoon was wearing on
to dusk; but even the wet half-light showed you solid mahogany
furniture, old-fashioned as the windows themselves, black and shining
with age and polish; a carpet soft and thick, but its once rich hues dim
and faded; oil paintings of taste and merit, some of them portraits, on
the papered walls, the red glow of a large coal fire glinting pleasantly
on their broad gilded frames.

At one of the windows, looking out at the ceaseless rain, a young lady
sat--a young lady, tall, rather stout than slender, and not pretty. Her
complexion was too sallow; her features too irregular; her dark hair too
scant, and dry and thin at the parting; but her eyes were fine, large,
brown and clear; her manner, self-possessed and lady-like. She was very
simply but very tastefully dressed, and looked every day of her
age--twenty six.

The rainy afternoon was deepening into dismal twilight; and with her
cheek resting on her hand, the young lady sat with a thoughtful face.

A long avenue, shaded by towering tamaracks, led down to stately
entrance-gates; beyond, a winding road, leading to a village, not to be
seen from the window. Swelling meadows, bare and bleak now, spread away
to the right and left of the thickly-wooded grounds; and beyond all,
through the trees, there were glimpses of the great St. Lawrence, turbid
and swollen, rushing down to the stormy Gulf.

For nearly half an hour the young lady sat by the window, her solitude
undisturbed; no sign of life within or without the silent house. Then
came the gallop of horse's hoofs, and a lad rode up the avenue and
disappeared round the angle of the building.

Ten minutes after there was a tap at the door, followed by the entrance
of a servant, with a dark Canadian face.

"A letter, Miss Grace," said the girl, in French.

"Bring in some mo