written
either to me or to her for some time, so she has gone to the adjutant's
office to----"

Here she paused; she would probably not have thought it necessary to
offer all this explanation, but that her visitor seemed awkward and
embarrassed, and she had continued speaking out of politeness. She
stopped suddenly on perceiving, with a woman's quickness, that Isidore
was evidently agitated or unwell.

"I beg your pardon, mademoiselle," said he, at last, but not without
difficulty, "I have just come from Oswego."

"Indeed! Then you have passed through Montreal. Perhaps you have seen
my father? He is very intimate with Monsieur de Valricour, who, I
believe, is your uncle."

"Yes, yes, that is true, but--I had hoped that you might have already
heard--that is, I did not suppose----" here Isidore stopped; and then,
as he looked up and saw the half bewildered, half alarmed look that
came over her face, he added, scarce audibly, "Now may God be merciful
to you, my dear young lady, for the news that I bring will----"

"My father! my father!" was all that poor Marguerite could utter, as,
with hands clasped together, she bent forward in an agony of suspense.

"He is at rest, my dear young lady," said Isidore, with as much
calmness as he could command. "He fell in the moment of victory, as a
brave soldier like him would wish to do."

Marguerite uttered a cry that went to Isidore's heart. He stepped
forward just in time, for, had he not caught her in his arms, she would
have fallen to the ground insensible. At this moment they were joined
by Madame de Rocheval, who had returned in haste, having heard in the
town the news of Captain Lacroix's death; the fainting girl was carried
to her room, and Isidore, after hurriedly explaining to Madame de
Rocheval the circumstances that had brought him there, quitted the
house, promising to call on the following day.

On the morrow letters arrived from the Baron de Valricour, who had come
down from Oswego to Montreal, but was compelled to remain there. They
contained the news of his friend's death, and also an assurance of his
intention to fulfil the promise which he had given to Marguerite's
father. It remained for Isidore, however, to give to the poor orphan
girl that which in this direst of all trials we all so earnestly yearn
after, the personal account of one who has himself seen the dear one
laid to his last rest, and to present to her the little relic he had
himself m