[Illustration: "The span o' Life's nae lang eneugh."]

EPILOGUE

The desolate point known as Tadoussac, at the mouth of the river
Saguenay, in Canada, is the place of exile of a few officials who
guard the interests of the fur trade.

Their quarters, a few storehouses, and the little church with its
modest presbytere, form an outpost to the civilised world. During
the summer season the wandering Indians flock down in their canoes,
build their temporary huts, and a constant bustle of trade and
barter sets in. Furs are examined, valued, and exchanged for guns,
ammunition, clothing, and other luxuries of savage existence. The
arrival of the few ships necessary to this primitive commerce makes
the only other break in the monotonous existence of the little
colony. At the approach of winter the Indiana scatter, and the
officials and the solitary priest are prisoners until the spring
once more opens for them the doors of the outside world.

Here it was, on the evening of the 11th of April, 1782, that the
priest sate with his companions in the house of the principal
official.

At nine o'clock he rose and said good-night to his hosts in his
usual manner, but suddenly his whole appearance changed. Drawing
back, he raised his hand, and said, in tones of deepest earnestness:

"My friends, it is not only 'good-night,' it is 'good-bye.' Good-bye
for all time, for you will never see me again alive. To-night at
twelve I shall be called hence."

The little company were shocked beyond expression. The priest
stood before them tall, commanding, his figure full of life and
vigour, his eye bright and unfaltering, but his face lighted with
a mysterious solemnity that forbade questioning.

"At midnight the bell of the chapel will sound. You may come then,
but do not touch my body. To-morrow you will seek M. Compain, the
cure of the Isle aux Coudres, and he will prepare my body for
burial."

He withdrew, leaving the company in affrighted silence; ten, eleven
struck, and at midnight the bell of the chapel began to toll. They
arose, awe-stricken, and took their way to the little church.

By the dim light before the sanctuary they caught sight of the robe
of the priest. He was lying on the ground motionless, his face
covered by his hands as if in prayer on the first steps of the
altar.

That same night the bells of all the churches along the river, at
la Mal Baie, at Les Eboulements, at the Isle aux Coudres, at la
Baie St.