their
ice-bound appearance is that of a white lace veil thrown over the brow
of the cliff, and hanging there immoveably. Before the freezing process
is completed, however, another singular phenomenon is produced. At the
foot of the Falls, where the water seethes and mounts, both in the form
of vapor and liquid globules, an eminence is gradually formed, rising
constantly in tapering shape, until it reaches a considerable altitude,
sometimes one-fourth or one-third the height of the Fall itself. This is
known as the Cone. The French people call it more poetically _Le Pain de
Sucre_, or sugar-loaf. On a bright day in January, when the white light
of the sun plays caressingly on this pyramid of crystal, illuminating
its veins of emerald and sending a refracted ray into its circular
air-holes, the prismatic effect is enchanting. Thousands of persons
visit Montmorenci every winter for no other object than that of
enjoying this sight. It is needless to add that the youthful generation
visit the Cone for the more prosaic purpose of toboganning or sledding
from its summit away down to the middle of the St. Lawrence.

IX.

THE WOLF'S CRY.

It was an hour after sunset, and the evening was already very dark.
Batoche had stirred the fire and prepared the little table, setting two
pewter plates upon it, with knife and fork. He produced a huge
jack-knife from his pocket, opened it, and laid that too on the table.
He then went to the cup-board and brought from it a loaf of brown bread
which he laid beside one of the plates. Having seemingly completed his
preparations for supper, he stood still in the middle of the floor, as
if listening:

"'Tis strange," he muttered, "she never is so late."

He walked to the door, which was flung open into his face by the force
of the wind, and looked long and intently to the right and to the left.

"The snow is deep," he said, "the path to the high road is blocked up.
Perhaps she has lost her way. But, no. She has never lost her way yet."

He closed the door, walked absently over the room, and after gazing up
and around for a second or two, threw himself into a low,
leather-strapped chair before the fire. As he sits there, let us take
the opportunity of sketching the singular being. His face was an
impressive one. The chin was long and pointed, the jaw firm. The lips
were set as those of a taciturn man, but not grimly, and their corners
bore two lines as of old smiles that had buried