eagerness to recognize his nephew, and that several among them would say to him, "Good day, Mr. Huron;" and that he would certainly be talked of at the king's supper.
The letter was signed, "Your affectionate brother Jesuit, Vadbled."
The prior having read the letter aloud, his furious nephew for an instant suppressed his rage, and said nothing to the bearer, but turning toward the companion of his misfortunes, asked him what he thought of that communication? Gordon replied:
"This, then, is the way that men are treated! They are first beaten and then, like monkeys, they dance."
The Huron resuming his character, which always returned in the great emotions of his soul, tore the letter to bits, and threw them in the courier's face:
"There is my answer," said he.
His uncle was in terror, and fancied he saw thunderbolts and twenty lettres de cachet at once fall upon him. He immediately wrote the best excuse he could for these transports of passion in a young man, which he considered as the ebullition of a great soul.
But a solicitude of a more melancholy stamp now seized every heart. The beautiful and unfortunate Miss St. Yves was already sensible of her approaching end; she was serene, but it was that kind of shocking serenity, the result of exhausted nature being no longer able to withstand the conflict.
"Oh, my dear lover!" said she, in a faltering
