ess
when the relief-guard, consisting of a corporal and two privates, came
to the spot and the usual formality of changing sentries was gone
through.

II.

BEYOND THE RIVER.

With a throbbing heart, Roderick Hardinge walked rapidly over the brow
of the citadel into Upper Town. He glanced up at the Chateau as he
passed, but the lights which were visible there two hours before, were
now extinguished, and the Governor was sleeping without a dream of the
mischief that was riding out upon the city that night. He passed through
the Square and overhead the wassail of the officers over their wine and
cards. He answered the challenge of the sentinel at the gate which
guarded the heights of Mountain Hill, and doubled his pace down that
winding declivity. The old hill has been the scene of many an historic
incident, but surely of none more momentous than this midnight walk of
Roderick Hardinge. Along the dark, narrow streets of Lower Town,
stumbling over stones and sinking into cavities. Not a soul on the way.
Not a sign of life in the square, black warehouses, with their
barricades of sheet-iron doors and windows.

In twenty minutes, the young officer had reached the river at the point
where now stands the Grand Trunk wharf. A boat with two oars lay at his
feet. Without a moment's hesitation he stepped into it, unfastened the
chain that held it to the bank, threw the oars into their locks, and,
with a vigorous stroke, turned the boat's nose to the south shore. As he
did this, his eye glanced upward at the city. There it stood above him,
silent and unconscious. The gigantic rock of Cape Diamond towered over
him as if exultant in its own strength, and in mockery of his
forebodings. He rowed under the stern of the war-sloop. A solitary
lantern hung from her bows, but no watchman hailed him from her
quarter.

"The Horse Jockey is evidently a myth for them all," he murmured. "But
he will soon be found a terrible reality, and it's Roddy Hardinge will
tell them so."

The St. Lawrence is not so wide above Quebec as it is at other places
along its course, and in a quarter of an hour, the oarsman had reached
his destination. As the keel of his boat grated on the sands, a man
stepped forward to meet him. The officer sprang out and slapped him on
the shoulder.

"Good old boy, Donald."

"Thanks to you, maister."

"Punctual to a minute, as usual, Donald."

"Aye, sir, but 'twas a close scratch. The horse, I fear, feels it