ding aloof from this strong affection that had held fast in
simple, unwavering loyalty to the love of childhood. To him I had
always remained the Peggy of the old home; in his generous heart
the thought of any necessity for reconciliation had no place, for
he held himself as the head of the family, from whom protection
for the weaker must necessarily flow.

"By-the-way, Peggy," he said, suddenly, "it was you, no doubt, who
spake to one of my men in Gaelic this morning. That was Neil, son
of Angus Dubh, the tacksman on the old place, one of my best
sergeants. You did as much for him as the surgeon, and when I tell
him who you are he will think you an angel from heaven. Come when
you can and say a word to our poor fellows; they are wearying for
home like children, now they are past fighting for a bit."

Days of unceasing work now followed for all who would assist in
nursing and the innumerable little duties necessitated by the
presence of so large a body of invalids, and, to their honour, even
the most frivolous of the women took their share uncomplainingly,
making no distinction between friend and foe. The most conflicting
rumours reached us as to the movements of our army, and of the
intentions of M. de Ramesay, governor of the city, but we fortunately
had little leisure for speculation, and our doubts were ended by
the formal capitulation, on the eighteenth of the month.

After the troops had taken possession and quiet was restored,
permission was given to us to enter the town, should we so desire.
It must have been a welcome relief to la mere de Ste. Claude when
her numerous guests took their departure. The nuns of the Hotel-Dieu
and the Ursulines returned to their respective convents, and in
that of the latter Mme. de Sarennes secured rooms for the winter.

It was pitiful to see the condition of the town, for the destruction
by the bombardment had been almost complete. The Lower Town no
longer existed, and scarce a building remained along the front of
the Upper. Angelique and I wandered towards the familiar rue du
Parloir, to find but a line of crumbling walls, blackened and
roofless; before it our little isle of houses, as well as the
Bishop's Palace, lay a mass of ruin, and behind it stood the wrecked
Cathedral. Every building that could serve as a mark had suffered
in some measure, and the chapel of our convent was the only sacred
place left in this city of churches where worship could be celebrated.
Here mas