himself between two fires. His companions
drew close to him, prepared to sell their lives dearly, but Perrot
called to them to surrender. Gering saw the fruitlessness of resistance
and, to save his companions' lives, yielded.

The siege of Quebec was over. The British contented themselves with
holding their position till Walley returned bearing the admiral's orders
to embark again for the fleet. And so in due time they did--in rain,
cold, and gloom.

In a few days Sir William Phips, having patched up his shattered ships,
sailed away, with the knowledge that the capture of Quebec was not so
easy as finding a lost treasure. He had tried in vain to effect Gering's
release.

When Gering surrendered, Perrot took his sword with a grim coolness and
said: "Come, monsieur, and see what you think your stay with us may be
like."

In a moment he was stopped beside the dead body of Sainte-Helene. "Your
musket did this," said Perrot, pointing down. "Do you know him?"

Gering stooped over and looked. "My God-Sainte-Helene!" he cried.

Perrot crossed himself and mumbled a prayer. Then he took from his
bosom a scarf and drew it over the face of the dead man. He turned to
Longueil.

"And here, monsieur, is another brother of Monsieur Iberville," he said.

Longueil was insensible but not dangerously wounded. Perrot gave a
signal and the two brothers were lifted and carried down towards the
ford, followed by Perrot and Gering. On their way they met Iberville.

All the brother, the comrade, in Iberville spoke first. He felt
Longueil's hand and touched his pulse, then turned, as though he had not
seen Gering, to the dead body of Sainte-Helene. Motioning to the men to
put it down, he stooped and took Perrot's scarf from the dead face. It
was yet warm, and the handsome features wore a smile. Iberville looked
for a moment with a strange, cold quietness. He laid his hand upon the
brow, touched the cheek, gave a great sigh, and made the sacred gesture
over the body; then taking his own handkerchief he spread it over the
face. Presently he motioned for the bodies to be carried on.

Perrot whispered to him, and now he turned and look at Gering with a
malignant steadiness.

"You have had the great honour, sir," he said, "to kill one of the
bravest gentlemen of France. More than once to-day myself and my friend
here"--pointing to Perrot "could have killed you. Why did we not? Think
you, that you might kill my brother, whose shoe-latchet