ghtenment, that came like a thunderbolt driven through her soul, she
understood the whole significance of their tidings.

Her hapless brother, maddened with disappointment, drink, and
desperation, had killed the father of Pierre, the father of her
betrothed husband, his own friend and hers; why or how, was a mystery of
amazement.

She saw at a glance all the ruin of it. Her brother a murderer,
the Bourgeois a bleeding corpse. Pierre, her lover and her pride,
lost,--lost to her forever! The blood of his father rising up between
them calling for vengeance upon Le Gardeur and invoking a curse upon the
whole house of Repentigny.

The heart of Amelie, but a few moments ago expanding with joy and
overflowing with the tenderest emotions of a loving bride, suddenly
collapsed and shrivelled like a leaf in the fire of this unlooked-for
catastrophe.

She stared wildly and imploringly in the countenances of her trembling
companions as if for help, but no human help could avail her. She spake
not, but uttering one long, agonizing scream, fell senseless upon the
bosom of Heloise de Lotbiniere, who, herself nigh fainting, bore Amelie
with the assistance of her friends to a couch, where she lay unconscious
of the tears and wailing that surrounded her.

Marguerite de Repentigny with her weeping companions remained in
the chamber of Amelie, watching eagerly for some sign of returning
consciousness, and assiduously administering such restoratives as were
at hand.

Their patience and tenderness were at last rewarded,--Amelie gave a
flutter of reviving life. Her dark eyes opened and stared wildly for a
moment at her companions with a blank look, until they rested upon the
veil and orange blossoms on the head of Agathe, who had put them on in
such a merry mood and forgotten in the sudden catastrophe to take them
off again.

The sight of the bridal veil and wreath seemed to rouse Amelie to
consciousness. The terrible news of the murder of the Bourgeois by Le
Gardeur flashed upon her mind, and she pressed her burning eyelids hard
shut with her hands, as if not to see the hideous thought.

Her companions wept, but Amelie found no relief in tears as she murmured
the name of the Bourgeois, Le Gardeur, and Pierre.

They spoke softly to her in tones of tenderest sympathy, but she
scarcely heeded them, absorbed as she was in deepest despair, and still
pressing her eyes shut as if she had done with day and cared no more
to see the bright