nable temper when he was crossed, and to a
certain extent, fearlessness.

Nevertheless I believed him to have also an elemental cunning which
would dissuade him from violent measures so long as we were in Quebec.
I resolved, therefore, not to avoid him, but to await his lead.

After dinner I had some conversation with one of the hotel clerks. I
discovered that the Riviere d'Or flowed into the Gulf of St. Lawrence
from the north, in the neighbourhood of Anticosti.

It was a small stream, and except for a postal station at its mouth
named St. Boniface, was little known, the only occupants of those parts
being trappers and Indians.

When I told the clerk that I had business at St. Boniface I think he
concluded that I represented an amalgamation of fishing interests, for
he became exceedingly communicative.

"You could hire dogs and a sleigh at St. Boniface for wherever your
final destination is," he said, "because the dog mail has been
suspended owing to the new government mail-boats, and the sleighs are
idle. I think Captain Dubois would take you on his boat as far as that
point, and I believe he makes his next trip in a couple of days."

He gave me the captain's address, and I resolved to call on him early
the following day and make arrangements.

I was just turning away when I saw the inquisitive stranger leave the
smoking-room. He crossed the hall and went out, not without bestowing
a long look on me.

"Who is that man?" I asked.

"Why, isn't he a friend of yours?" inquired the clerk.

"Only by the way he stares at me," I said.

"Well, he said he thought he knew you and asked me your name," the
clerk answered. "He didn't give me his, and I don't think he has been
in here before."

I took Jacqueline for a stroll on the Terrace, and while we walked I
pondered over the problem.

The night was too beautiful for my depression of mind to last. The
stars blazed brilliantly overhead; upon our left the faint outlines of
the Laurentians rose, in front of us the lights of Levis twinkled above
the frozen gulf. There was a flicker of Northern Lights in the sky.

We paced the Terrace, arm in arm, from the statue of Champlain that
overlooks the Place d'Armes to the base of the mighty citadel, and
back, till the cold drove us in.

Jacqueline was very quiet, and I wondered what she remembered. I
dreaded always awakening her memory lest, with that of her home, came
that other of the dead man.

Our rooms were