appealed in vain for union and help from Canadians.
Washington's proclamations were trodden under foot, and his troops
driven back or captured. If Canada was lost to France partly through the
death of Jumonville, it may also be said that his blood helped to save
it to England. The ways of Providence are so mysterious in working out
the problems of national existence that the life or death of a single
individual may turn the scales of destiny over half a continent.

But all these events lay as yet darkly in the womb of the future. The
gallant Jumonville who fell, and his brother Coulon who took his "noble
revenge" upon Washington by sparing his life, were to-day the gayest of
the gay throng who had assembled to do honor to Pierre Philibert.

While this group of merry guests, half in jest, half in earnest, were
trying to discover in the stars the "far-reaching concords" that moulded
the life of each, Amelie led her brother away from the busy grounds near
the mansion, and took a quiet path that led into the great park which
they entered.

A cool salt-water breeze, following the flood tide that was coming up
the broad St. Lawrence, swept their faces as Amelie walked by the side
of Le Gardeur, talking in her quiet way of things familiar, and of home
interests until she saw the fever of his blood abate and his thoughts
return into calmer channels. Her gentle craft subdued his impetuous
mood--if craft it might be called--for more wisely cunning than all
craft is the prompting of true affection, where reason responds like
instinct to the wants of the heart.

They sat down upon a garden seat overlooking the great valley. None of
the guests had sauntered out so far, but Amelie's heart was full; she
had much to say, and wished no interruption.

"I am glad to sit in this pretty spot, Amelie," said he, at last, for
he had listened in silence to the sweet, low voice of his sister as she
kept up her half sad, half glad monologue, because she saw it pleased
him. It brought him into a mood in which she might venture to talk of
the matter that pressed sorely upon her heart.

"A little while ago, I feared I might offend you, Le Gardeur," said she,
taking his hand tenderly in hers, "if I spoke all I wished. I never did
offend you that I remember, brother, did I?"

"Never, my incomparable sister; you never did, and never could. Say
what you will, ask me what you like; but I fear I am unworthy of your
affection, sister."

"You are