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stuck into the dark wall of a log hut, gave forth some light, and a great deal of smoke. Overhead could be heard the roar of the storm, the crash of thunders and the falling rain; but who was that man bending over her? Surely she was dreaming still, and on the wings of the tempest she seemed to hear the soft refrain:

L'amour me réveille.

It was no dream, for a voice, which was of more substantial stuff than dreams, asked:

“Mademoiselle, are you better?”

“What has happened, Monsieur?” she asked, starting up, to find herself on a pile of skins and furs.

“Nothing, save that you were caught in a storm."

She recalled all in a moment and, gazing about her, discovered her servants standing in a group near a broad fireplace in which blazed a few pine sticks.

"Do not be alarmed, Mademoiselle,” said the young man. “You are out of danger; the storm will soon be over, and then you can resume your journey home.”

“ Do you live here, Monsieur?”

“I am only a temporary sojourner at this hut, Mademoiselle.”

“ Are you a hunter?”

“Not by profession.” She was now able to sit up on the bed of skins. “Is Mademoiselle better?” he asked. “ Thank you, yes,” she answered.

When she sat up, the light from the tori h fell on the face of her preserver, and she started back, clasping her hand over her heart and murmuring:

“ It is he!”
“ Is Mademoiselle ill?”
“No, Monsieur.”

She could say no more for several minutes, and then she asked in a feeble voice:

“ Have you been here long?" “ Only since yesterday.” “Whence came you?” “From along the borders of the St. Lawrence.”

She was silent; but her eyes drooped for a few moments, and then, fixing them on his face, she noted how pale and care-worn it was.

“ Have you been ill?” “I have, Mademoiselle.” “ Where were you?" “In the forest.” “And your nurse?” “I had no physician, or nurse, save the Indians.” “ You have suffered ?” “I am a man, Mademoiselle, and I do not murThen they sat in silence, while the storm began to abate. When the rain almost ceased to fail, she gazed on the face of the pale man at her side, and asked:

mur."

“What is your name, Monsieur?”

“Pierre De Barre,” he answered in low, solemn tone.

“ Where were you going ?”.
“ To Grand Pre.”
“Why?”

“ To fulfill a promise given one to whom I am indebted for life and liberty.”

Adele silently gazed into the fire which flamed and sparkled from the pine logs. The fury of the storm was over, and the clouds were flying over the ocean, from whence they originally came, while the moon, like a bashful girl, was peeping out from a rift in the sable cloak of the storm. De Bray came timidly forward and, bowing, said:

“ Mademoiselle, the storm is gone. Will you resume your journey home?”.

“ Is it safe?” she asked, glancing up at her rescuer.

The Coureur des Bois, supposing that she was addressing him, quickly answered:

“Mademoiselle can go in safety.”

“ But the forest is dripping wet,” suggested Monsieur De Barre.

“It will dry soon."

Adele longed to be one moment alone with her rescuer, and sent the guide and slaves to look after the horses. Then she ordered the negress and her maid from the room on some pretext. When they were alone, she turned to him and said:

“Monsieur-No. 39—don't you know me?”
“My deliverer!”
“ Had you forgotten me?"

“Not an hour, since the day you gave me the means of procuring my liberty,” he answered.

“ And are you coming to Grand Pre?” “If I live.”

“It is but a short distance, and I want to introduce you to father. He will not allow one who rescued his daughter from a terrible death to go unrewarded.”

“Mademoiselle, if I could die for you a thousand times, I could not repay you for rescuing me from a living death.”

“Hush, Monsieur; no one must ever know of that.”

“If you wish it, I will never mention it.”

“I wish it, Monsieur De Barre. When you come to Grand Pre, let this night be our first meeting.”

“ As the Mademoiselle wishes, so it shall be." "Such is my wish, Monsieur.”

“One thing the Mademoiselle must know."
“What is it, Monsieur?”
“My name is not Pierre De Barre.”

“I suspected as much; but that name will do. Don't think of any other. The servants are coming, and we must talk no more. Remember, 39 is never to be mentioned again by either of us.”

“I will remember, Mademoiselle.”

The Coureur des Bois at this moment appeared and stated that everything was in readiness. The maid came and put the cloak upon Adele's fair shoulders. Monsieur De Barre found some dry furs to line her saddle, and in a few moments she was on her way to Grand Pre, happier than she had been at any time since she began the journey. The object of her mission was accomplished.

Her father was wild with grief and anxiety, and they met a party of people he had sent for them. When his beloved child was restored to him, safe and unharmed, he laughed and wept for joy. Then the artful Adele told him of her adventure in the forest, and how a brave gentleman, Monsieur De Barre, had saved her life.

“I must see the fellow,” cried the happy father. "By the mass! I must see him and reward him for his gallantry.”

“He is no common Coureur des Bois or voyageur,

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