mit for his good will. A lull
then ensued in the conversation, when suddenly a low howl was heard in
the forest beyond the high road. By a simultaneous impulse, both men
sprang to their feet and glared at each other. Little Blanche's head had
fallen on her shoulder and she was sweetly sleeping unconscious of all
harm, while Velours, though, she stirred once or twice, would not
abandon her warm bed on her mistress' knees.

"Wolf!" muttered Batoche.

"Wolf!" replied M. Belmont

And the two men fell into each other's embrace.

"We are brothers once more," said M. Belmont, pressing the hand of the
old man, while the tears flowed down his cheeks.

"Yes, and in the holiest of causes," responded Batoche.

"There is no more mystery between us now," resumed M. Belmont. "That
call was for me. I must be away at once. I have delayed too long
already. What I came to you particularly for, Batoche, was this."

And he produced, from the interior of his huge wild-cat overcoat, a
small casket bound with clasps of silver.

"In this small casket, Batoche, are all my family relics and treasures.
For my money I care nothing; for this I care so much that I would give
my life rather than that it should perish. You are the man to hide it
for me. You know of secret places which no mortal can penetrate. I
confide it to you. This has been a dark day for me; what to-morrow has
in store I almost fear to guess. The times will probably go hard with
all of us, including you, Batoche. For ourselves the loss will be
nothing. We are old and useless. But Pauline and little Blanche! They
must survive the ruin. Should I perish, this casket is to go to my
daughter, and should you too come to grief, entrust the secret of its
hiding place to Blanche that she may deliver it. Take it, and good
night. I must go."

Without waiting for a word of reply, M. Belmont embraced the old man on
the cheek, stooped to imprint a kiss on the forehead of the sleeping
child, rushed out of the cabin, threw himself into his cariole and drove
away.

As he disappeared, the same low cry of the wolf was borne plaintively
from the forest.

XI.

THE SPIRIT OF THE WATERFALL.

Batoche gave a single moment to deliberation. He stood silently holding
the latch of the closed door. Then he walked slowly across the room and
entered behind the chintz curtains of the little alcove. What he did
there is unknown, but when he issued forth his face was hard set, every
lineame