d on unregarding.

But Menehwehna did not fire. He cast down his gun with a cry and ran
to clasp his friend's feet. What was he saying? Something about
"two years."

"Two years?" Had they passed so quickly? God! how long the minutes
were now! He must win across before the drums ceased . . .

He halted and began to talk to Menehwehna very patiently, this being
the easiest way to get rid of him. "Yes, yes," he heard himself
saying, "I go to them as an Indian and they will not know me.
I shall be safe. Return now back to my brothers and tell them that,
if need be, they will find me there and I will speak for them."

And his words must have prevailed, for he stood by the river's edge
alone, and Menehwehna was striding back towards the wood. A boat lay
chained by the farther shore and two soldiers came down from the fort
and pushed across to him.

They wore the uniform of the Forty-sixth, and one had been a private
in his company; but they did not recognise him. And he spoke to them
in the Ojibway speech, which they could not understand.

From the edge of the woods Menehwehna watched the three as they
landed. They climbed the slope and passed into the fort.

CHAPTER XXI.

FORT AMITIE LEARNS ITS FATE.

That Spring, three British generals sat at the three gates of Canada,
waiting for the signal to enter and end the last agony of New France.
But the snows melted, the days lengthened, and still the signal did
not come; for the general by the sea gate was himself besieged.

Through the winter he and his small army sat patiently in the city
they had ruined. Conquerors in lands more southerly may bury their
dead with speed, rebuild captured walls, set up a pillar and statue
of Victory, and in a month or two, the green grass helping them,
forget all but the glory of the battle. But here in the north the
same hand arrests them and for six months petrifies the memorials of
their rage. Until the Spring dissolves it, the image of war lives
face to face with them, white, with frozen eyes, sparing them only
the colour of its wounds.

General Murray, like many a soldier in his army, had dreams of
emulating Wolfe's glory. But Wolfe had snatched victory out of the
shadow of coming winter; and, almost before Murray's army could cut
wood for fuel, the cold was upon them. For two months Quebec had
been pounded with shot and shell. Her churches and hospitals stood
roofless; hundreds of houses had been fired,