gesture of
despair.

"It is even as I say. We will both come back," was the quiet reply.
"Something as truthful as God Himself tells me so. Take care of my dear
father--I know you will; keep from him the bad news, and comfort him."

Then with an affectionate farewell she went to her room, knelt down and
prayed. When she rose she said to herself: "I am thankful now that I
have no child."

In ten minutes a little company of people, led by Aaron Hulm, started
away from Boston, making for a block-house fifteen miles distant, where
they were to sleep.

The journey was perilous, and more than once it seemed as if they could
not reach Quebec alive, but no member of the party was more cheerful
than Jessica. Her bravery and spirit never faltered before the others,
though sometimes at night, when lying awake, she had a wild wish to cry
out or to end her troubles in the fast-flowing Richelieu. But this was
only at night. In the daytime action eased the strain, and at last she
was rewarded by seeing from the point of Levis, the citadel of Quebec.

They were questioned and kept in check for a time, but at length Aaron
and herself were let cross the river. It was her first sight of Quebec,
and its massive, impregnable form struck a chill to her heart: it
suggested great sternness behind it. They were passed on unmolested
towards the Chateau St. Louis. The anxious wife wished to see Count
Frontenac himself and then to find Iberville. Enemy of her country
though he was, she would appeal to him. As she climbed the steep steps
of Mountain Street, worn with hard travel, she turned faint. But the
eyes of curious folk were on her, and she drew herself up bravely.

She was admitted almost at once to the governor. He was at dinner when
she came. When her message was brought to him, his brows twitched with
surprise and perplexity. He called Maurice Joval, and ordered that she
be shown to his study and tendered every courtesy. A few moments later
he entered the room. Wonder and admiration crossed his face. He had not
thought to see so beautiful a woman. Himself an old courtier, he knew
women, and he could understand how Iberville had been fascinated. She
had arranged her toilette at Levis, and there were few traces of the
long, hard journey, save that her hands and face were tanned. The
eloquence of her eyes, the sorrowful, distant smile which now was
natural to her, worked upon the old soldier before she spoke a word. And
after she had