and eventful in his life, but
that under-glow was for ever afterwards in his eyes. It was in singular
contrast to the snapping fire which had been theirs all the days of his
life till now--the snapping fire of action, will and design. It still
was there when they said to him suddenly that the wind had changed, and
that the flame and sparks were now blowing toward the saw-mill. Even
when he gave orders, and set to work to defend the saw-mill, arranging
a line of men with buckets on its roof, and so saving it, this look
remained. It was something spiritual and unmaterial, something, maybe,
which had to do with the philosophy he had preached, thought and
practised over long years. It did not disappear when at last, after
midnight, everyone had gone, and the smouldering ruins of his greatest
asset lay mournful in the wan light of the moon.

Kind and good friends like the Clerk of the Court and the New Cure had
seen him to his bedroom at midnight, leaving him there with a promise
that they would come on the morrow; and he had said goodnight evenly,
and had shut the door upon them with a sort of smile. But long after
they had gone, when Sebastian Dolores and Seraphe Corniche were asleep,
he had got up again and left the house, to gaze at the spot where the
big white mill with the red roof had been-the mill which had been there
in the days of the Baron of Beaugard, and to which time had only added
size and adornment. The gold-cock weathervane of the mill, so long the
admiration of people living and dead, and indeed the symbol of himself,
as he had been told, being so full of life and pride, courage and
vigour-it lay among the ruins, a blackened relic of the Barbilles.

He had said in M. Fille's office not many hours before, "I will fight
it all out alone," and here in the tragic quiet of the night he made his
resolve a reality. In appearance he was not now like the "Seigneur" who
sang to the sailors on the Antoine when she was fighting for the shore
of Gaspe; nevertheless there was that in him which would keep him much
the same man to the end.

Indeed, as he got into bed that fateful night he said aloud: "They shall
see that I am not beaten. If they give me time up there in Montreal I'll
keep the place till Zoe comes back--till Zoe comes home."

As he lay and tried to sleep, he kept saying over to himself, "Till Zoe
comes home."

He thought that if he could but have Zoe back, it all would not matter
so much. She would kee