Your affectionate sister,
Grace.

CHAPTER XVII.

"SHE TOOK UP THE BURDEN OF LIFE AGAIN."

The second train from Montreal passing through St. Croix on its way
to--somewhere else, was late in the afternoon of the fifth of June.
Instead of shrieking into the village depot at four P.M., it
was six when it arrived, and halted about a minute and a half to let the
passengers out and take passengers in. Few got in and fewer got out--a
sunburnt old Frenchman, a wizen little Frenchwoman, and their pretty,
dark-skinned, black-eyed daughter; and a young man, who was tall and
fair, and good-looking and gentlemanly, and not a Frenchman, judging by
his looks. But, although he did not look like one, he could talk like
one, and had kept up an animated discussion with pretty dark eyes in
capital Canadian French for the last hour. He lifted his hat politely
now, with "_Bon jour, Mademoiselle_," and walked away through the main
street of the village.

It was a glorious summer evening. "The western sky was all aflame" with
the gorgeous hues of the sunset; the air was like amber mist, and the
shrill-voiced Canadian birds, with their gaudy plumage, sang their
vesper laudates high in the green gloom of the feathery tamaracks.

A lovely evening with the soft hum of village life, the distant tinkling
cow-bells, the songs of boys and girls driving them home, far and faint,
and now and then the rumbling of cart-wheels on the dusty road. The
fields on either hand stretching as far as the eye could reach, green as
velvet; the giant trees rustling softly in the faint, sweet breeze; the
flowers bright all along the hedges, and over all the golden glory of
the summer sunset.

The young man walked very leisurely along, swinging his light rattan.
Wild roses and sweetbrier sent up their evening incense to the radiant
sky. The young man lit a cigar, and sent up its incense too.

He left the village behind him presently, and turned off by the pleasant
road leading to Danton Hall. Ten minutes brought him to it, changed
since he had seen it last. The pines, the cedars, the tamaracks were all
out in their summer-dress of living green; the flower-gardens were
aflame with flowers, the orchard was white with blossoms, and the red
light of the sunset was reflected with mimic glory in the still, broad
fish-pond. Climbing roses and honeysuckles trailed their fragrant
branches round the grim stone pillars of the portico. Windows and doors