o
uncomely linen swathings could disguise from him--into eyes which
death only would teach him to forget.

The fatigue-party lifted the corpse. So Richard Montgomery entered
Quebec as he had promised--a General of Brigade.

The drums had ceased to call the alarm from the Citadel; musketry
no longer crackled in the riverside quarter of Sault-au-Matelot.
The assault had been beaten off, and close on four hundred prisoners
were being marched up the hill followed by crowds of excited
Quebecers. But John a Cleeve roamed the streets at random, alone,
unconscious that all the while he gripped the hilt of his cousin's
naked sword.

He was due to carry his report to the Governor. By and by he
remembered this, and ploughed his way up the snowy incline to the
Citadel. The sentry told him that the Governor was at the Seminary;
had gone down half an hour ago, to number and take the names of the
prisoners. John turned back.

Some two hundred prisoners were drawn up in the great hall of the
Seminary, and from the doorway John spied the Governor at the far
end, interrogating them.

"Eh?" Carleton turned, caught sight of him and smiled gaily.
"I fancy, Mr. a Cleeve, your post is going to be a sinecure after
to-night's work. Chabot reports that you were at Pres-de-Ville and
discovered General Montgomery's body."

He turned at the sound of a murmur among the prisoners behind him.
One or two had turned to the wall and were weeping audibly.
Others stared at John and one or two pointed.

John, following their eyes, looked down at the sword in his hand and
stammered an apology.

"Excuse me--I did not know that I carried it. . . . Sirs, believe me,
I intended no offence! Richard Montgomery was my cousin."

From the Seminary he walked back to his quarters, meaning to snatch a
few hours' sleep before daybreak. But having lit his candle, he
found that he could not undress. The narrow room stifled him.
He flung the sword on his bed, and went down to the streets again.

Dawn found him pacing the narrow sidewalk opposite a small log house
in St. Louis Street. Lights shone from the upper storey. In the
room to the right they had laid Montgomery's body, and were arraying
it for burial.

The house door opened, and a lamp in the passage behind it cast a
broadening ray across the snow. A woman stepped out, and, in the act
of closing the door, caught sight of him. He made no doubt that she
would pass up the street; but, aft