began at once asking him if he had not sheltered an Acadian maid three years before.

"Verily, I did, my friend, and the poor dear lass was in sad distress, I assure you.'

In his eagerness, Jean was about to interpose, when Noah laid his hand on his arm to keep him quiet and asked:

แ

How long was she here?"

For well-nigh two months, was it not, wife?" asked the farmer, appealing to his good-wife, who had entered the room. Being confirmed by the opinion of his wife, he went on. "And she was

a lovely maid, so sweet, so gentle and kind.”

"Did she tell you her name?"

"Was it Adrianne Blanc?" cried Jean, unable longer to restrain his feelings.

"Where is she?" he cried, wild with excite

ment.

The Dutchman, methodically. slow and seemingly dull, shook his head, as he answered:

"I don't know."

Noah, seeing that his relative was making a bad start to get correct information, again laid his hand on his arm to check his impulsiveness, and asked: "Where did she go, when she left you?"

The Dutchman, dull as he seemed, had keen perceptions; knowing that the maid was very dear to the anxious Jean, he was averse to answering. He smoked a few moments in silence and then said: "I don't like to tell you all at once, as you might hear bad news.”

"Yes.

A Huguenot family, whom she knew, came along, and she wanted to go with them, and went."

"Where?"

"Far up the river."

"Where is that family now?"

แ

"All dead. The Mohawks came and killed

them all."

"The maid too?"

The Dutchman shook his head and answered: "I could not find the body."

Noah Stevens turned to his agonized relative and whispered:

"Courage, Jean; there is yet a hope. Adrianne may live."

The next move was to the exact spot where the assault had been made on the Huguenot family.

There Noah found some settlers, who knew all about the fate of the French Huguenot Albert Le Coeur, with whom Adrianne had taken shelter. Le Coeur had been slain with his wife and three children. The body of the maiden Adrianne could. not be found, and the prevailing opinion was that she was carried away captive.

Jean was almost beside himself with joy, hope, grief and despair, each conflicting emotion in turn taking possession of his anxious soul. While they yet tarried in the ruined settlement, a young Mohawk came down the river on a trading expedition, and of him they learned that a beautiful French girl, the captive of an old chief, who treated her tenderly as a daughter, was then in the Scarron (Schroon) Valley. Noah and his cousin were immediately impressed with the belief that she was the lost Adrianne. They engaged the young Mohawk to take them to the borders of the Scarron lake, where the chief with the fair captive dwelt.*

"God surely sent me to you," said Jean Baptiste to his cousin as they were on their way. "But for your systematic method of searching, I should never have found my dear Adrianne."

Then Noah, with gentle remonstrance, reminded

* A story similar to the sad narrative of Jean Baptiste Stevens is narrated in Mr. Lossing's “Our Country,” vol. iii., page 538.

him that they had not yet achieved their task, and there was possibility of failure. He feared for the unfortunate Jean to build his hopes too high, as they might yet be crushed by a bitter disappoint

ment.

As they approached the Indian village, the cousins espied a young and beautiful maiden sit

ting on a mat with her

back toward them,

row of those deadly missiles, which she had already feathered, were stuck in the ground at her side, and as she turned to stick in another Jean caught a partial view of her face. He staggered, and, had not his cousin caught

him in his arms, he would have fallen. Jean was, for a moment speechless, but when he recovered he whispered:

"It is she! I know her now; but, alas, my cousin, I fear to announce my presence too abruptly."

"Is there not some way by which you can recall her mind to the past, before we approach? She

has not seen us yet, and is wholly unaware of our presence."

Jean puzzled his brain to think of some means by which he might in a gentle manner break to her his presence. At last he said:

แ

My mother taught me the song of the French voyageur, which I used to sing to her."

"Sing it now, and we will watch the effect, suggested Noah.

Jean had a rich baritone voice, very musical, and he began to sing in low tones, gradually swelling to louder and sweeter cadence, until he thrilled the very woods about him.

He sang:

"Tout les amants

Changent de maitresses

Qu'ils changent qui voudrou..
Pour moi je garde la mienne.
Le bon vin ni endort

L'amour me réveille."

As the rich, clear tones reached her ears, the maiden dropped her arrow and listened. Her soul seemed to drink in the glorious symphonies of a forgotten past. Ere the last sweet refrain was borne to her ears, she sprang to her feet and, wheeling quickly about, saw the singer:

"Jean! Jean!" she cried.

In a moment, he was at her side and had clasped the fainting girl in his arms.