with you, if I may. I
see that you are in the service of the Hudson Bay Company."

"Yes," I assented.

"And do you know the Canadas?"

"As well as you know London," I replied.

His face brightened at that.

"I came over a month ago on important business," he went on, "and I have
been lately in Montreal and Ottawa. Did you ever, in the course of your
wanderings, hear of a certain Osmund Maiden? He landed in Quebec from
England in the year 1787."

"I never heard the name, sir," I answered, after a moment's thought.

As I spoke I looked toward the door, and encountered the gaze of
Captain Rudstone, who was standing in a listening attitude with his
hand on the latch. I scarcely knew him. His cheeks were colorless, his
lips were half-parted, and a sort of frozen horror was stamped on his
features. Had he been seized by another spasm of pain, I wondered, or
was there a deeper cause for his agitation?

"So you can give me no information?" said Christopher Burley, in a tone
of disappointment.

"I know nothing of the man you seek," I answered.

Just then the door was flung open, and Jules Ragoul burst excitedly into
the room.

"_Bonne nouvelles!_" he cried. "News, Monsieur Carew! Good news! The
Good Hope is in the river, and she will land her passengers early
to-morrow!"

All else was forgotten, and I eagerly questioned the little Frenchman.
When I was done with him I looked about for Captain Rudstone and the law
clerk. Both had vanished, and I saw them no more that night.

CHAPTER III.

FLORA HATHERTON.

The next morning, at the hour of seven, I might have been found on the
landing-quay by the river. The Good Hope, I was informed, still lay a
short distance below the town, where for some reason she had anchored
during the night. It was unlikely that I should be kept waiting long,
yet I was in no haste to play the unaccustomed role of gallant. To
conceal my nervousness I tried to affect an air of jaunty composure. I
repeated over and over the words of greeting that I had chosen for the
occasion.

It was as fine a day as ever dawned on Quebec. A crisp, cool air blew
from the St. Lawrence, ruffling the water into little tips of foam. From
a blue and cloudless sky the rising sun shone on the scattered shipping,
on the green hills and islands, on the rugged and historical heights of
the town. Many others besides myself were on the quay, doubtless