ently; she hardly
dared lift her eyes from the ground lest some one, even a stranger, she
thought, might see her confusion and read its cause. "Sancta Maria,"
she murmured, pressing her bosom with both hands, "calm my soul with thy
divine peace, for I know not what to do!"

So she sat alone in the embrasure, living a life of emotion in a few
minutes; nor did she find any calm for her agitated spirits until the
thought flashed upon her that she was distressing herself needlessly. It
was most improbable that Colonel Philibert, after years of absence and
active life in the world's great affairs, could retain any recollection
of the schoolgirl of the Manor House of Tilly. She might meet him, nay,
was certain to do so in the society in which both moved; but it would
surely be as a stranger on his part, and she must make it so on her own.

With this empty piece of casuistry, Amelie, like others of her sex,
placed a hand of steel, encased in a silken glove, upon her heart,
and tyrannically suppressed its yearnings. She was a victim, with the
outward show of conquest over her feelings. In the consciousness of
Philibert's imagined indifference and utter forgetfulness, she could
meet him now, she thought, with equanimity--nay, rather wished to do so,
to make sure that she had not been guilty of weakness in regard to
him. She looked up, but was glad to see her aunt still engaged in
conversation with the Bishop on a topic which Amelie knew was dear to
them both,--the care of the souls and bodies of the poor, in particular
those for whom the Lady de Tilly felt herself responsible to God and the
King.

While Amelie sat thinking over the strange chances of the morning, a
sudden whirl of wheels drew her attention.

A gay caleche, drawn by two spirited horses en fleche, dashed through
the gateway of St. John, and wheeling swiftly towards Amelie, suddenly
halted. A young lady attired in the gayest fashion of the period,
throwing the reins to the groom, sprang out of the caleche with the ease
and elasticity of an antelope. She ran up the rampart to Amelie with a
glad cry of recognition, repeating her name in a clear, musical voice,
which Amelie at once knew belonged to no other than the gay, beautiful
Angelique des Meloises. The newcomer embraced Amelie and kissed her,
with warmest expressions of joy at meeting her thus unexpectedly in the
city. She had learned that Lady de Tilly had returned to Quebec, she
said, and she had, therefor