Captain Geraldine.
But tell me of my mother, madame. Can I not see her now?"

I told him as discreetly as I could of poor Lucy's condition, and
he bore up astonishingly well. What seemed to trouble him greatly
was the thought that he had never dreamed of the possibility of
her being ill. "Even though she was a prisoner I never feared she
would be hardly treated; no one could so cruel to my mother, she
is so gentle!" the poor lad continued. "I knew you were with her,
and I never thought of the other danger at all. I was so happy
when I fell into English hands and was allowed to enlist in Boston,
and in Fraser's Highlanders, too, not in a Colony regiment; and
when we found there was no danger of peace being proclaimed, and
that we were for Quebec, we were all mad with joy to have another
crack at the French. Oh, pardon me, madame; I forgot you were on
their side," he cried, with a sudden confusion; "and I never doubted
for a moment I should find her here."

The next day the surgeon pronounced him out of all possible danger,
and added, significantly, "If his mother is to see him, it is best
it should be at once." Thereupon I obtained the necessary permission,
and never have I seen greater joy in a face than in Lucy's, when
I ushered Christopher into her room.

That same evening, as I sate beside her, though she lay quiet and
composed, I noticed a grave change had come over her, and calling
one of the sisters who had had much experience, she at once said
the end was near.

With the permission of the Superior I went for Christopher, and
led him, white and awe--struck, to the bedside of his mother. She
asked that I would not leave--"if it be not a trouble to you,
madame," the poor thing pleaded, pitifully--and I remained beside
them.

"Christopher," she said, with an effort, "I made a promise years
ago that when this hour came I would tell you the truth about
yourself. Our name is not Routh, but Maxwell; you are the son of
the Captain Maxwell who saved you--and brought you back to me. You
remember him as the 'Captain Geraldine' who lodged with us in
London? He had married me six years before, when we were but little
more than boy and girl, and when you were born he was wandering a
shipwrecked man in Russia, seeking eagerly some means of return to
us, though I was persuaded he had deserted me. When he returned,
and was willing to acknowledge me as his wife, I was hardened into
a heartless woman, believing myself separ