und. The leaning figure grew heavier, the breathing was slow
and tranquil. Wanamee came in.

"Help me put her down," Rose said, for she was weary with the strained
position.

They laid her down tenderly, without waking her.

"Stay with me," pleaded Rose. "You know when I went away M. Destournier
used to come in. I do not like to leave her alone."

"It is curious," exclaimed Wanamee. "This morning she seemed so well,
and walked about. Then she sinks down. How long she has been ill, this
way."

Rose wanted to ask a solemn question, but she did not dare. Presently
Wanamee dozed off, but Rose watched until the eastern sky began to show
long levels of light. There seemed an awesome stillness in the room.

"Wanamee," she said faintly.

The woman rose and looked at the figure on the bed, standing some
seconds in silence.

"Go out quietly, _ma fille_, and find Mawha. Send her in." Then she
turned Rose quite around, and the girl uttered no question.

"What is the matter?" asked Pani. "Mam'selle, you are white as a
snowdrift."

"I think miladi is dead," and she drew a long, strangling breath, her
figure trembling with unknown dread.

Pani bowed and crossed himself several times.

Wanamee came in presently. "The poor lady is gone," she said reverently.
"She was so afraid of dying, and it was just like a sleep. Pani, you
must row up to the convent at once, and ask some of the fathers to come
down. Stop first at the fort and tell the Governor."

That Madame Destournier should die surprised no one, but it was
unexpected, for all that. It appeared to accentuate the other sorrows
and anxieties. And that M. Destournier should be away seemed doubly sad.
Two of the priests came down with Pani, and held some services over the
body. Her ill health was the excuse of her not having paid more
attention to the offices of the Church, that so far had not flourished
at all well. The convent was really too far, and the chapel service had
waned since the departure of Madame de Champlain.

When Rose gained courage to go into the room where a few tapers were
dimly burning, she lost her fear in an instant. It was a thin and
wrinkled face, but it had a certain placid sweetness that often hallows
it, when pain and fear are ended. Rose pressed her lips to the cold
forehead, and breathed a brief prayer that miladi had found entrance to
a happier land. A new thought took possession of her. Miladi belonged
wholly to Laurent Giffard now. The