d
pictures of her hung up in his mind and secretly worshipped he loved
that which presented her likeness on that day when he saved her
brother's life and she kissed him in a passion of joy and gratitude,
vowing she would pray for him to the end of her life.

The imagination of Pierre Philibert had revelled in the romantic visions
that haunt every boy destined to prominence, visions kindled by the eye
of woman and the hope of love.

The world is ruled by such dreams, dreams of impassioned hearts, and
improvisations of warm lips, not by cold words linked in chains of iron
sequence,--by love, not by logic. The heart with its passions, not the
understanding with its reasoning, sways, in the long run, the actions of
mankind.

Pierre Philibert possessed that rich gift of nature, a creative
imagination, in addition to the solid judgment of a man of
sense, schooled by experience and used to the considerations and
responsibilities of weighty affairs.

His love for Amelie de Repentigny had grown in secret. Its roots
reached down to the very depths of his being. It mingled, consciously or
unconsciously, with all his motives and plans of life, and yet his hopes
were not sanguine. Years of absence, he remembered, work forgetfulness.
New ties and associations might have wiped out the memory of him in the
mind of a young girl fresh to society and its delights. He experienced a
disappointment in not finding her in the city upon his return a few days
ago, and the state of the Colony and the stress of military duty had
so far prevented his renewing his acquaintance with the Manor House of
Tilly.

The old-fashioned hostelry of the Couronne de France, with its
high-pitched roof, pointed gables, and broad gallery, stood directly
opposite the rustic church and tall belfry of Charlebourg, not as a
rival, but as a sort of adjunct to the sacred edifice. The sign of the
crown, bright with gilding, swung from the low, projecting arm of a
maple-tree, thick with shade and rustling with the beautiful leaves
of the emblem of Canada. A few rustic seats under the cool maple were
usually occupied, toward the close of the day, or about the ringing of
the Angelus, by a little gathering of parishioners from the village,
talking over the news of the day, the progress of the war, the
ordinances of the Intendant, or the exactions of the Friponne.

On Sundays, after Mass and Vespers, the habitans of all parts of
the extended parish naturally met and ta