he mouth of the river, probably to intercept the return of La Tour. The
day passed away, and he did not arrive, nor were any tidings received
from him. Mad. la Tour's page remarked the unusual dejection of his
lady, and, emulous perhaps of her braver spirit, resolved, if possible,
to obtain some information, which might relieve her anxiety. With this
intention he left the fort soon after sunset, attended only by a large
Newfoundland dog, which was his constant companion, whenever he ventured
beyond the gates. For some time, he walked slowly along the bank of the
river, hoping to meet with some fishermen, who usually returned from
their labors at the close of day, and were most likely to have gathered
the tidings which he wished to learn. The gloom of evening, which had
deepened around him, was gradually dispersed by the light of the rising
moon; and as he stood alone in that solitary place, the recollection of
his interview with the strange priest on the preceding evening,
recurred to his imagination with a pertinacity, which he vainly
endeavored to resist. He looked carefully round, almost expecting to see
the tall, ghost-like figure of the holy father again beside him; but
there was no sound abroad, except the sighing of the wind and waves; and
the shadows of the trees lay unbroken on the velvet turf. From this
disquiet musing, so foreign to his light and careless disposition, the
page was at length agreeably roused by the quick dash of oars, and in a
moment he perceived a small bark canoe, guided by a single individual,
bounding swiftly over the waves. As it approached near the place where
he stood, Hector retreated to conceal himself in a tuft of ever-greens,
from whence he could, unseen, observe the person who drew near. He had
reason to congratulate himself on this precaution, as the boat shortly
neared the spot which he had just quitted, and in the occupant he
discovered the dark features of a young Indian, who had apparently been
engaged in the labor or amusement of fishing. Not caring to disclose
himself to the savage, the page shrunk behind the trunk of a large pine
tree, while the dog crouched quietly at his feet, equally intent on the
stranger's motions,--his shaggy ears bent to the ground, and his
intelligent eyes turned often inquiringly to his master's face, as if to
consult his wishes and inclination.

The Indian leaped from his canoe, the instant it touched the strand,
and began hastily to secure it by a