ouses were extremely
neat and orderly.

We preferred, however, as it was a fine night, and all things were so
comfortably arranged in the boat, to remain on board, keeping Edwin and
Josette with us.

The boat was tightly moored, for the little Chute was just below, and if
our craft should break loose in the rapid current, and drift down over
the falls, it would be a very serious matter. As an additional
precaution, one man was left on board to keep all things safe and in
order, and, these arrangements having been made, the others ascended the
bank, and took up their night's lodgings in the Waubanakee cabins.

It was a beautiful, calm, moonlight night, the air just sufficiently
warm to be agreeable, while the gentle murmur of the rapids and of the
fall, at no great distance, soon lulled our party to repose. How long we
had slumbered we knew not, when we were aroused by a rushing wind. It
bent the poles supporting the awning, snapped them, and, another gust
succeeding, tent and blanket were carried away on the blast down the
stream. The moonlight was gone, but a flash of lightning showed them
sailing away like a spectre in the distance.

The storm increased in violence. The rain began to pour in torrents, and
the thunder and lightning to succeed each other in fearful rapidity. My
sister sprang to waken the Frenchman. "Get up, Vitelle, quick," cried
she, in French, "run up the bank for Mata and Mr. Arthur--tell them to
come and get us instantly."

The man made her no reply, but fell upon his knees, invoking the Virgin
most vociferously.

"Do not wait for the Virgin, but go as quickly as possible. Do you not
see we shall all be killed?"

"Oh! not for the world, madame, not for the world," said Vitelle,
burying his head in a pack of furs, "would I go up that bank in this
storm." And here he began crying most lustily to all the saints in the
calendar.

It Was indeed awful. The roaring of the thunder and the flashing of the
lightning around us were like the continued discharge of a park of
artillery. I with some difficulty drew forth my cloak, and enveloped
myself and Josette--sister Margaret did the same with Edwin.

"Oh I madame," said the poor little girl, her teeth chattering with cold
and fright, "won't we be drowned?"

"Very well," said my sister to the Frenchman, "you see that Madame John
is at the last agony--if you will not go for help I must, and Monsieur
John must know that you left his wife to perish."