blue and glittering. The Mermaid, a small steamer, lay in the wharf,
gaily decorated with flags; and throngs of people began to gather at the
landing and on the deck. Among a group of the most important guests,
stood the acknowledged leader of the expedition, the 'Queen of Cacouna,'
Mrs. Bellairs. She was talking fast and merrily to everybody in turn,
giving an occasional glance to the provision baskets as they were
carried on board, and meantime keeping an anxious look-out along the
bank of the river, for the appearance of her own little carriage, which
ought to have been at the rendezvous long ago.

A very handsome man stood beside her. He was of a type the more striking
because specimens of it so rarely found their way in to the fresh,
vigorous, hard-working Colonial society. Remarkably tall, yet perfectly
proportioned, the roughest backwoodsman might have envied his apparent
physical strength; polished in manner to a degree which just, and only
just, escaped effeminacy, the most spoiled beauty might have been proud
of his homage. At present, however, he stood lazily enough, smiling a
little at his hostess' vivacity, exchanging a word or two with her
husband, or following the direction of her eyes along the road. At last
a cloud of dust appeared. "Here they are, I believe," cried Mrs.
Bellairs. "Ah! Maurice, I ought to have sent you, two girls never are to
be trusted." Mr. Percy turned round. He was conscious of a little amused
curiosity about this Backwoods beauty, and, at hearing this second
appeal to Maurice where she was concerned, it occurred to him to look
more attentively than he had done before at the person appealed to. They
were standing opposite to each other, and they had three attributes in
common. Both were tall, both young, and both handsome. Percy was
twenty-eight, and looked more than his age. Maurice was twenty-four, and
looked less. Percy was fair--his features were admirable--his expression
and manner had actually no other fault than that of being too still and