his usually unapproachable nature, to assume an air of
unfeigned concern, and it might be dejection, contrasting
strongly with his habitual haughtiness. Hitherto he had
been walking to and fro, a little apart from the group,
and with a hurriedness and indecision of movement that
betrayed to all the extreme agitation of his mind. For
once, however, he appeared to be insensible to observation,
or, if not insensible, indifferent to whatever comments
might be formed or expressed by those who witnessed his
undissembled emotion. He was at length interrupted by
the adjutant, who communicated something in a low voice.

"Let him be brought up, Mr. Lawson," was the reply. Then
advancing into the heart of the group, and addressing
the two adventurers, he enquired, in a tone that startled
from its singular mildness, "if they were provided with
every thing they required."

An affirmative reply was given, when the governor, taking
the taller of the young men aside, conversed with him
earnestly, and in a tone of affection strangely blended
with despondency. The interview, however, was short, for
Mr. Lawson now made his appearance, conducting an individual
who has already been introduced to our readers. It was
the Canadian of the Fleur de lis. The adjutant placed a
small wooden crucifix in the hands of the governor.

"Francois," said the latter, impressively, "you know the
terms on which I have consented to spare your life. Swear,
then, by this cross; that you will be faithful to your