gure of a nun was seen morn and eve, for years and years
after, kneeling upon the stone slab that covered her grave, laying upon
it her daily offering of flowers, and if the name of Le Gardeur mingled
with her prayers, it was but a proof of the unalterable affection of
Heloise de Lotbiniere, known in religion as Mere St. Croix.

The lamp of Repentigny shed its beams henceforth over the grave of
the last representative of that noble house, where it still shines
to commemorate their virtues, and perpetuate the memory of their
misfortunes; but God has long since compensated them for all.

Lady de Tilly was inconsolable over the ruin of her fondest hopes. She
had regarded Pierre as her son, and intended to make him and Amelie
joint inheritors with Le Gardeur of her immense wealth. She desired
still to bequeath it to Pierre, not only because of her great kindness
for him, but as a sort of self-imposed amercement upon her house for the
death of his father.

Pierre refused. "I have more of the world's riches already than I can
use," said he; "and I value not what I have, since she is gone for whose
sake alone I prized them. I shall go abroad to resume my profession
of arms, not seeking, yet not avoiding an honorable death, which may
reunite me to Amelie, and the sooner the more welcome."

Lady de Tilly sought, by assiduous devotion to the duties of her life
and station, distraction from the gnawing cares that ever preyed upon
her. She but partially succeeded. She lived through the short peace
of Aix-la-Chapelle, and shared in the terrible sufferings of the seven
years' war that followed in its wake. When the final conquest of New
France overwhelmed the Colony, to all appearances in utter ruin, she
endowed the Ursulines with a large portion of her remaining wealth, and
retired with her nearest kinsmen to France. The name of Tilly became
extinct among the noblesse of the Colony, but it still flourishes in a
vigorous branch upon its native soil of Normandy.

Pierre Philibert passed a sad winter in arranging and settling the vast
affairs of his father before leaving New France. In the spring following
the death of Amelie, he passed over to the old world, bidding a long and
last adieu to his native land.

Pierre endeavored manfully to bear up under the load of recollections
and sorrows which crushed his heart, and made him a grave and melancholy
man before his time. He rejoined the army of his sovereign, and sought
danger--hi