A Sister to Evangeline

ith night moths and honey beetles, I hastened toward the front door. Before I reached it there arose an angry barking from t

ire that the brute should tear my clothes. I cursed my folly in not carrying a stick wherewith to beat off such commonplace assailants. But there was no

olution to attack one who spoke with such an assurance of privilege. Yet what could justify my highly irregular approach? He would await developments. In a casual, friendly manner, as

slight figure, with something black about the head and shoulders

in an eager voice, hastening to meet

ether passionately in my grasp, and would have dropped on my knees to kiss them but for two hindrances: Firstly, her father appeared at the moment close behind her-and 25things which are but natural in privacy are like to seem theatrical when critically observed. Further, finding perh

his voice that warmed my spirit strangely, the more that I had never suspected it; and he kissed me on both chee

we see you here at Grand Pré, at a time when the s

hat would not be denied." I sought furtively to catch Yvonne's eyes; but she was picking an app

half of them true. But we had thought down here that Quebec"-"or Trois Pistoles," murmured Yvonne over the

een. What gossip had come this way? What magnifying and distortion

r work, or I should not be free for even this breathing-spell. As for Quebec,"-for I would not seem to have heard mademoiselle's interruption,-"

d he, dropping his tone of banter, "y

spoke no word in support of her father's invitation. While I hesitated we had entered the house, and I found myself bending 27over the wizened little hand of Mada

ith you, my dear Paul, that you are welcome," said Madame, with that fine air of

in. We had always bee

for the first time a tall, broad-shouldered, ruddy man, who stood a little to one side of the fireplace, I bowed to hi

then in cordial mood, and eager to

quiet, grave voice, "if

eur Anderson, we must officially be enemies.

ed, "yes, indeed, in all love, my dear Paul. Monsieur Anderson is English-a

mine for the least fraction of a second. I see all this now, and her slim form unspeakably graceful against the dark wainscoting of the chimney side. Then it all seemed to swim, and I knew that it was with great effort of will I steadied myself; and at last I perceived that Yvonne was holding both Anderson and her father in rapt attention by a sort of radiance of light speech and dainty gesture. I dimly came to understand th

le's diversion had been upon the theme of one's duty to one's enemies. What she had said I knew not, nor know I to t

tones, "will surely grant that it is always virt

e Lamourie, whose bitter experienc

desired upon this subject," exclaimed Yvonne, in a tone of challenge, at the same time flashing

sober mockery. "Our enemies are our opportuniti

and faithful to church and king we are 30made great

lips with their crafty smile-the dogged and indomitable jaw. It was La Garne, the Black Abbé, master of the Micmac tribes, and terror of the English in Acadie. He was a devoted servant to the flag I served, the lilied banner of France; but I dreaded and detested him, for I held that he brought dishonour