Behind the glories and follies of Louis XIV was also a woman. Behind
some of the most striking incidents in the history of New France, New
England, and New York, was a woman.

We saw her when she was but a child--the centre of singular events.
Years had passed. Not one of those events had gone for nothing;
each was bearing fruit after its kind.

She is sitting alone in a room of a large unhandsome house, facing on
Boston harbour. It is evening. The room itself is of dark wood, and
evening has thrown it into gloom. Yet somehow the girl's face has a
light of its own. She is turned fair towards the window, and is looking
out to sea. A mist is rising from the water, and the shore is growing
grey and heavy as the light in the west recedes and night creeps in from
the ocean. She watches the waves and the mist till all is mist without;
a scene which she had watched, how often she could not count. The night
closes in entirely upon her, but she does not move. At last the door of
the room opens and some one enters and closes it again. "My daughter!"
says an anxious voice. "Are you here, Jessica?"

"I am here, father," is the reply. "Shall we have lights?"

"As you will."

Even as they speak a servant enters, and lighted candles are put upon the
table. They are alone again. Both are pale. The girl stands very
still, and so quiet is her face, one could never guess that she is
passing, through the tragic moment of her life.

"What is your answer, Jessica?" he asks. "I will marry him when he