our's doing from first to last, and I believe it."

"Well," remarked La Corne, "Bigot has plenty of sins of his own to
answer for to the Sieur Philibert, on the day of account, without
reckoning this among them."

The loud report of a cannon shook the windows of the room, and died away
in long-repeated echoes among the distant hills.

"That is the signal for the Council of War, my Lady," said La Corne. "A
soldier's luck! just as we were going to have music and heaven, we are
summoned to field, camp, or council."

The gentlemen rose and accompanied the ladies to the drawing-room, and
prepared to depart. Colonel Philibert took a courteous leave of the
ladies of Tilly, looking in the eyes of Amelie for something which, had
she not turned them quickly upon a vase of flowers, he might have found
there. She plucked a few sprays from the bouquet, and handed them to him
as a token of pleasure at meeting him again in his own land.

"Recollect, Pierre Philibert!" said the Lady de Tilly, holding him
cordially by the hand, "the Manor House of Tilly is your second home,
where you are ever welcome."

Philibert was deeply touched by the genuine and stately courtesy of the
lady. He kissed her hand with grateful reverence, and bowing to both the
ladies, accompanied La Corne St. Luc and Le Gardeur to the castle of St.
Louis.

Amelie sat in the recess of the window, resting her cheek upon her
tremulous hand as she watched the gentlemen proceed on their way to
the castle. Her mind was overflowing with thoughts and fancies, new,
enigmatical, yet delightful. Her nervous manner did not escape the
loving eye of her aunt; but she spoke not--she was silent under the
burden of a secret joy that found not vent in words.

Suddenly Amelie rose from the window, and seated herself, in her
impulsive way, at the organ. Her fingers touched the keys timidly at
first as she began a trembling prelude of her own fantasy. In music her
pent-up feelings found congenial expression. The fire kindled, and she
presently burst out with the voice of a seraph in that glorious psalm,
the 116th:

"'Toto pectore diligam
Unice et Dominum colam,
Qui lenis mihi supplici
Non duram appulit aurem.

Aurem qui mihi supplici,
Non duram dedit; hunc ego
Donec pectora spiritus
Pulset semper, amabo.'"

The Lady de Tilly, half guessing the truth, would not wound the
susceptibilities of her niece by appearing to