y preparation on all sides for departure. The camp-fires
were trampled out lest they should kindle a conflagration in the forest.
The baskets were tossed into one of the large canoes. Philibert and
Amelie embarked in that of Le Gardeur, not without many arch smiles and
pretended regrets on the part of some of the young ladies for having
left them on their last round of the lake.

The clouds kept gathering in the south, and there was no time for
parley. The canoes were headed down the stream, the paddles were plied
vigorously: it was a race to keep ahead of the coming storm, and they
did not quite win it.

The black clouds came rolling over the horizon in still blacker masses,
lower and lower, lashing the very earth with their angry skirts, which
were rent and split with vivid flashes of lightning. The rising wind
almost overpowered with its roaring the thunder that pealed momentarily
nearer and nearer. The rain came down in broad, heavy splashes, followed
by a fierce, pitiless hail, as if Heaven's anger was pursuing them.

Amelie clung to Philibert. She thought of Francesca da Rimini clinging
to Paolo amidst the tempest of wind and the moving darkness, and uttered
tremblingly the words, "Oh, Pierre! what an omen. Shall it be said of us
as of them, 'Amor condusse noi ad una morte'?" ("Love has conducted us
into one death.")

"God grant we may one day say so," replied he, pressing her to his
bosom, "when we have earned it by a long life of mutual love and
devotion. But now cheer up, darling; we are home."

The canoes pushed madly to the bank. The startled holiday party sprang
out; servants were there to help them. All ran across the lawn under
the wildly-tossing trees, and in a few moments, before the storm could
overtake them with its greatest fury, they reached the Manor House, and
were safe under the protection of its strong and hospitable roof.

CHAPTER XXX. "NO SPEECH OF SILK WILL SERVE YOUR TURN."

Angelique des Meloises was duly informed, through the sharp espionage of
Lizette, as to what had become of Le Gardeur after that memorable night
of conflict between love and ambition, when she rejected the offer of
his hand and gave herself up to the illusions of her imagination.

She was sorry, yet flattered, at Lizette's account of his conduct at the
Taverne de Menut; for, although pleased to think that Le Gardeur loved
her to the point of self-destruction, she honestly pitied him, and felt,
or thought she