y company had entirely dispersed, the lights
in the Castle were extinguished one by one, and silence reigned where,
only half an hour before, light feet beat time to the soft music of viol
and bassoon, and the echoes of merry voices resounded through the halls.

One of the guests, who had tarried longer than all the others, issued
alone and proceeded in the direction of Cathedral Square. Three o'clock
pealed from the turret as he passed. The night was dark and of that
dull, lustreless aspect which not even the white snow on roof and
footpath could relieve. Not another soul was in the streets. The long
square houses were wrapped in sleep. The solitary walker was of middle
size and apparently in the prime of life. A fur coat was loosely thrown
over his evening dress. His step was free and elastic, and he swung an
ivory-headed cane in his right hand. He was evidently in the best of
spirits, as a man should be who has dined well, danced to his heart's
content, and spent an agreeable evening in the society of his superiors,
and the company of handsome women.

When he reached the large stockade erected where Prescott Gate was
afterwards built, he paused a moment in front of the guard, who seemed
to recognize him and opened the wicket without the exchange of a pass
word. He then began the descent of the steep and tortuous Mountain Hill,
walking briskly indeed, but with hardly a perceptible acceleration of
the pace which he had held previously. It was not long before he
attained the foot of the Hill, and he was about turning the very dark
corner which led into Peter street, where he resided, when his step was
suddenly arrested by a shrill whistle on his left. He looked around, and
listened, tightening his great coat over his breast, and grasping his
cane with a firmer hand. He stood thus for several seconds, but hearing
nothing more except the flow of the St. Lawrence, a few yards ahead of
him, he attributed the sound to some sailor's craft in the harbour, and
confidently resumed his march. He had not proceeded more than a few
feet, however, when five men, muffled and masked, issued from a lane in
the rear, threw themselves upon him and dragged him to the ground.
Resistance was vain. The kidnappers gagged him, wrenched his cane from
his hand, and covered his face with a cloak. They were about to drag
him away, when a sixth figure bounded upon the scene.

"Halt!" was his single cry in French.

The men stopped.

"Release you