CHAPTER V

AMONG THE HILLS.

As the little party went on board the Saguenay boat next morning, a

surprise was in store for them, for who should come to meet them, with

the most smiling air, but Mr. Winthrop himself, looking very bright,

and meeting them all as if it had been the most matter-of-course thing

in the world! Kate met him with the same cordial, matter-of-course

air, but May observed that they exchanged a few words in a low tone,

which seemed to set them on their old footing at once.

"Do you know," said Flora, to her, as they stood apart in the stern,

taking a last look at the great frowning rock and the tall, dark

houses looming above them,--"I believe some one wrote to him and

explained Kate's misconception, and I have my suspicions as to who it

was. I saw Hugh scribbling off a few lines in a great hurry, that

evening on the boat, and I shouldn't wonder in the least if it was to

Mr. Winthrop! But I'm glad it's all right, for I think he is a very

nice fellow, and Kate and he would suit each other very well."

May was completely taken back. Had Flora no thought of Hugh, then? Or

did it not occur to her that _his_ happiness might be in some degree

involved in this matter? But if Hugh really did what she supposed, how

very noble it was of him! He was a real hero, a chivalrous knight!

However, she could not, of course, say anything of this to Flora, so

she silently determined to put Hugh and his fortunes quite out of her

thoughts for the present, as too perplexing a problem, and give

herself up entirely to the influence of the glorious scenery and the

lovely morning.

They were, by this time, fast losing sight of the grey old fortress

about which had raged so many fierce conflicts in the days of old. The

Isle of Orleans, along whose southern shore the steamer took her

course, quickly hid from them the picturesque old town and its

beautiful setting, and even the rocky cleft in which Montmorency was

ceaselessly pouring down its masses of snowy foam, and raising its

great mist-cloud to the sky. As the Isle of Orleans was itself left

behind, the glorious river grew wider and grander, as point after

point opened before them in ever-receding vista. The blue, cloud-like

masses of Cap Tourmente and Ste. Anne gradually became great dark

hills, covered from head to foot with a dense growth of foliage,

chiefly birch and fir. One after another of this magnificent range of

superb hills rose on their left, wooded from base to summit, and

looking almost as lonely and untouched by civilization as when

Cartier's "white-winged canoes" first ascended the "great river of

Hochelaga." Here and there a white village or two gleamed out from the

encompassing verdure, or stood perched on a hill-top beside its

protecting church. To May, who had so often dreamed over the voyages

of these early explorers, it seemed like an enchanted land. The Isle

of Orleans was to her the old "_Ile de Bacchus_," purple with the

festoons of wild vines that offered their clusters of grapes to the

French adventurers, and the beautiful Ile aux Coudres, which the

Captain pointed out, she recalled as in like manner an old

acquaintance, surveying it with much interest, as she pictured to

herself the hardy explorers regaling themselves on its native

filberts.

Then the noble bay of St. Paul's opened out its grand spreading curve,

with the pretty village of Les Eboulements nestling in its breast; and

by and by they had stopped at the massive light-house with its high

pier, intended to suit the variations of the tide.

"What a lonely life it must be in these solitudes!" observed Mr.

Winthrop, as they watched the great lumbering ferry-boat carrying off

the passengers whose homes lay among these hills;--"just think of the

contrast between life here and life in the crowded bustle of New

York."

"And yet," said Hugh, "I fancy life is, in the main, not so very

different here, if we could only see below the surface. I suppose the

main outlines of life are pretty much the same everywhere, after all!"

May had been inwardly following out the same thought, and trying to

imagine the sort of life and surroundings to which the pale girl in

gray, who had specially excited her interest as a supposed bride, was

going in her future home. Then the voyagers dreamily watched for some

time in silence the long silent procession of wooded hills, dappled by

the shadow of the great fleecy white clouds that swept up across the

blue sky, while, ever and anon, snowy sea-gulls darted down to catch

from the tossing crests of the sparkling waves, the fragments of food

thrown to them by passengers, seeming to spy it unerringly from afar,

and now and then white whales or porpoises would toss up a miniature

geyser, as they disported themselves in the azure tide.

At length they came in sight of the headland forming the upper end of

picturesque Murray Bay, where they were to spend some time on their

return from the Saguenay. They all admired the lovely vista opened up

by this long and narrow bay with its white church, marking the village

from afar, with its grand promontory of Cap a l'Aigle at its lower

extremity, and its green valley, hemmed in by rank after rank of

billowy blue hills. But they could not see much of the long straggling

village of Pointe-au-Pic, or the quaint foreign-looking French hamlet

in the centre of the curve of the bay. Indeed, their attention was

quickly diverted from examining its details, for, among the people who

stood on the high pier awaiting the steamboat, they speedily

recognized Jack and Nellie Armstrong, who greeted them with much

delight, and were soon beside them on the steamer's deck.

"You see we got here in advance of you," said Jack Armstrong, and

Nellie exclaimed: "We've been wondering what could possibly have

become of you. We have been watching the last two boats, prepared to

join you if you were there, and were beginning to despair of you

altogether. You must have been bewitched, either by Quebec or the

Thousand Islands, to have been so long on the way."

"And you have very nearly missed the moon," added Jack. "We've been

watching it for the last two or three evenings in fear and trembling

lest Miss Macnab and Miss Thorburn should miss their cherished desire

of seeing Cape Eternity by moonlight."

"Oh, I think there is enough of it left yet," said Kate, while Mrs.

Sandford remarked that she thought she never should have been able to

tear those people away from the delights of the Thousand Islands.

"Or from Quebec," said Flora and May together. "_That_ was almost the

loveliest of all."

"Ah, I told you you would enjoy Quebec, Miss Macnab!" said Jack

Armstrong. And presently May observed that he had drawn Flora a little

aside, and engaged her in an animated description of what she had most

enjoyed since they had left Port Hope. And, indeed, she was looking

charming enough, in her Inverness cape and deerstalker cap, to draw

forth a good deal of admiration, May thought. As for Kate, in her

rough ulster and cap to match, with her color heightened by the sharp

sea breeze, she was looking brilliantly handsome, so evidently thought

Mr. Winthrop, who kept near her, displacing Hugh altogether, as May at

last believed. But now they were nearly opposite Les Pelerins, the

strange parallel rocks that stand, silent, stately warders beside the

great river, widening into a broad sea-like expanse, with a line of

distant hills faintly breaking the horizon to the right, while on the

left, the great hills which had been accompanying them all day now

receded somewhat into the distance. Then the little red brick town of

Riviere-du-Loup gleamed out ruddy on its sloping hill, growing more

and more distinct until the steamer had drawn up beside the high pier,

on which were a number of summer tourists eager to see who were on the

boat, or to get a little fresh news from the outside world. Bidding

these farewell, they quickly passed the long, straggling line of white

cottages that marked the pleasant watering-place of Cacouna. Our

travelers meant to visit it, and also Riviere-du-Loup, with its grand,

romantic waterfall, on the homeward way, but at present their thoughts

were engrossed with the Saguenay, and May's dreaming imagination was

already busy with the blue ridge of rounded hills that, as she was

told, marked the entrance and the course of that mysterious river.

But, as they crossed over towards the south side of the sea-like

river, they had a specimen of the glorious sunsets which form one of

the chief charms of Cacouna, shedding over the calm expanse of water a

flood of golden glory, and touching the distant hills with the richest

amethystine hues, till they seemed to float in a dreamy haze, between

the amber sky and the shimmering golden tide below. The sight held the

little party fascinated with its entrancing spell, and they remained

on deck heedless of the summons of the clamorous tea-bell, until the

rich hues and the golden glory had faded at last, not into the "light

of common day," but into the soft vagueness of the long northern

twilight. Then at last, with a sigh for the brief duration of the

beautiful vision, they descended to the lamp-lit cabin to enjoy the

appetizing evening meal, which their long afternoon in the bracing air

had made them all ready to thoroughly enjoy.

When they again came on deck they were just passing some straggling

islets, darkly green in the fast fading light, and rounding Pointe

Noire,--the fitly-named dark point of rock that guards the entrance to

the strange mysterious dark northern fiord about which have gathered

so many a marvelous story. And now May was eagerly looking out for

Tadousac, with her heroine Kitty, and the venerable old church and all

the little romance that followed, uppermost in her imagination. Then

those rounded sand-hills, skirted by rocks and fringed with a scanty

vegetation of stunted firs, were, Mr. Winthrop said, the

"Mamelons,"[1] about which cluster strange old Indian legends, of

fierce conflicts between the Algonquins and the Esquimaux--weird tales,

too, of a doom or curse on intermarriage of an Algonquin with an alien

race, which here overtook the offender with its inevitable Nemesis. In

the deepening gloaming, in the shadow of the dusky heights that

towered on high, casting long, dark, quivering reflections in the dark

mysterious stream, with scattered lights twinkling out here and there,

through the clustering foliage, is Tadousac. With its straggling brown

dwellings, and the massive timbers of the great pier storehouse

looming up in undefined vagueness above them, it was easy to imagine

any number of legendary tales of love and conflict; of

"Old unhappy things

And battles long ago."

as Hugh quoted once more. The steamer was made fast to the pier, with

much creaking and groaning, as if shuddering to begin the ascent of

the dark, fateful river, which, it is said, one of the earliest

explorers attempting with his men, found a fatal enterprise, none of

them ever returning to the light of day.

As the steamer was to remain here half an hour, the whole party

landed, as did most of the other passengers, to inspect the little

rude ancient church, built nearly three hundred years ago for the

Indians and the trappers who traded with them--the oldest surviving

building north of Mexico. They took the route which May had so often

followed in imagination with her shadowy friends of the story, across

the ravine and through the village, with its lights twinkling all over

its little cove, till they reached the plain, bare old wooden church,

beside which they stood for some time almost in silence, reverently

regarding the little wilderness-temple which had so long alone met the

needs and witnessed the devotions of men rough and rude, but men still

with the felt need of Divine help in their strange wild lives. But the

visitors could not enter, nor were they indeed anxious to do so, for

they felt that this might have broken the spell thrown over them by

the bare sombre, weather-beaten exterior and venerable associations.

Moreover, the steamer was already whistling its summons, so they set

out on their return through the same shadowy, suggestive gloom of dark

pine-studded rocks and deep murmuring unseen waterfalls, till they

came out suddenly on the clustered lights of the landing and the

steamer streaming with light through every crevice, just as May had

seen it so often, already, through the eyes of Miss Kitty Ellison.

Well, they had left Tadousac behind now, and had fairly entered into

the shadows of the dark and sullen Saguenay, which seems to lie like a

prisoner between its stern frowning warders and to have hewn out its

difficult passage to unite with the St. Lawrence, through the stern

rocks that would have shut it up in its lonely gloom forever. To Hugh,

the passage left behind seemed indeed a fortress-gate, strongly

flanked by tall overhanging rocks, crags with gnarled _savins_, and

white-stemmed birches gleaming even in the deepening dusk, clinging,

as if for life, to the jagged precipices. They had lost sight of the

twinkling lights of Tadousac, set in its little rocky niche of the

"_petite montagne qui est presque coupee par la mer_," as Champlain

had described it long ago, with its "little harbor," which would hold

only nine or ten ships in the _embouchure_ of the Saguenay, though

many more could find shelter in the bay that fronts the St. Lawrence.

The captain of the steamer told the young men about the little lake

close at hand, which guards the precious young salmon raised there for

the Government's fish-breeding establishment at Anse de l'eau.

And now the dark, vague forms of Titans seemed to rise up on either

hand,--great massive hills and cliffs that seemed almost to shut out

the light of the stars; and most of the party, growing tired of the

somewhat awesome silent procession, took refuge in the lighted saloon,

from whence soon came strains of sweet music, and the tones of Flora's

fresh young voice, in "Over the Sea to Skye," which seemed not

inappropriate to the _genius loci_. Mr. Winthrop and Hugh remained

talking with the captain about the more striking features of the

scenery and its historical associations; and to May, half listening to

them, half dreaming out again the vivid sketches of Parkman, the

solitude seemed peopled once more with the old explorers who

established ties of commerce between far-away St. Malo and these

lonely wilds,--Cartier and Roberval, Pontgrave and Chauvin, and their

bands of trappers and _voyageurs_, for whom the Indians paddled their

canoes, laden with costly furs, down this dark, fathomless stream. She

could realize more vividly the fate of one unfortunate band, left at

so lonely a post to starve, through one miserable winter. For, first,

by reason of its fabled wealth of gold and silver and precious stones,

and afterwards for the sake of its real riches in furs, the Saguenay

was even better known to the early pioneers than was the river between

Quebec and Montreal. Then, too, May's thoughts went back to that very

different little band of missionaries,--Recollets first, Jesuits

afterwards,--who came bearing a Christian message of love to the

savages of this wild region. She remembered how the trio of Jesuits

who first reached the river Sagne, as it was then called, in their

delight at reaching their goal, described it as being "as beautiful as

the Seine, almost as rapid as the Rhone, and deeper than many parts of

the sea," and how Pere Le Jeune, in particular, felt that they were

the forerunners of a host of brave soldiers of the Cross who should

subdue the land for the Lord. She remembered how the sight of some

poor Indian captives, cruelly tortured by their captors arrayed in all

their uncouth adornment of parti-colored paint, had so impressed the

good Fathers with pity, that they only longed for an opportunity of

preaching to them the gospel of love and peace, although, as Pere Le

Jeune observed, the same fate might at any time befall themselves.

And, indeed, Pere Le Jeune's, observation on that head is well worthy

of being recorded:

"In truth, I was cut to the heart. I had thought of coming to Canada,

only because I was sent. I felt no particular regard for the savages,

but I would have rendered obedience, had they sent me a thousand times

further; but I can truly say, that, even if I should have detested

this country, I should have been touched by what I have seen, had my

heart been brass. Would to God, that those who can help these poor

souls, and do something for their salvation, could be here for three

days! I think the desire of saving them would seize their whole

souls." Then he proceeds to reflect that in England, in Spain, in

Germany, when the Gospel was first carried thither, the barbarism of

the people had been as great. (He says nothing about France, evidently

considering that the time of _its_ barbarism belonged to remote

antiquity.) And further, that the Indians do not lack sense, but

instruction; and then goes on to speak of his plans for founding

schools for the more docile children; thus anticipating the

common-sense missionary policy of our own day. And he takes refuge in

the end, as all souls yearning for the salvation of their fellows have

had to do, in the promise of the Eternal: "_Dabo tibi gentes

heridatatem tuam, et possessionem termios terrae_."

In that same bay of Tadousac, too, May recollected, the good Fathers

had their first experience of what the St. Lawrence could do in the

way of a storm, and had reason to be thankful for the measure of

shelter which this bay could give them. As another sample of New World

experience, they were nearly eaten up by the mosquitoes and a host of

other insect persecutors, while the fireflies formed at least one

cheering exception as they glittered among the woods "like sparks of

fire, by which he could even see to read at night."

But the captain went on to talk about some of the old floating legends

that still increase the romantic interest attaching to this strange

river of the North,--of the fierce battles between the rival tribes, in

the course of one of which is said to have taken place the terrible

earthquake which rent asunder these scarped and jagged cliffs, to form

this sublime channel of the Saguenay. And he spoke, also, of the

romantic story which has been woven out of the old legend that a mixed

marriage between the white man and the Indian was followed by the

impending doom; and the terrible forest fires which have at times

swept over the whole region, scorching and destroying all life,

vegetable and animal, that lay in their course, and leaving their

melancholy traces in the splintered, seamed crags that raise aloft

majestic forms once clothed in a graceful drapery of green, now only

crested here and there with a dreary skeleton of their departed

forests. It was not difficult to imagine the awfulness of the scene at

night, when the billows of red flame and ruddy smoke rolled in dread

majesty over those grand hills, uncontrolled and uncontrollable, till

they were suddenly checked by the dark, deep waters of the cold and

deep river.

But the captain's talk ended, and Mr. Winthrop, who had gone up the

Saguenay before, was by and by attracted into the saloon, and only May

and Hugh Macnab were left on deck, with a few of the other passengers,

who, like themselves, were held by a sort of fascination in the savage

and sombre grandeur of the dark, cloud-like shapes that seemed to

unroll themselves before them in endless succession. It seemed strange

to sit there, as it were in the presence of the Infinities, in their

awful, everlasting silence, while lights were streaming from the

saloon and from it also were coming,--now snatches of the wild, wailing

melody of "Loch-Lomond," now of the gay little French love ditty;

"Il y'a long temps que je t'aime,

Jamais je ne t'oublierai!"

which Hugh absently hummed in concert with the singers within, setting

May again at work on her little romance, the ending of which was so

perplexing her at present. But this was only for a passing moment; for

the presence of these dark hills was too absorbing to admit other

thoughts. And now the faintly diffused light of the rising moon,

itself still hidden from view, made a pale background for the great

bold _silhouettes_, and showed, too, something more of their minor

features; and at last the bright silver disk, shorn of something of

its roundness, rose clear above the sharply defined edge of a jagged

crag, partially clothed with trees. And now the great grooves and

seams of the rocks could be distinctly discerned in unrelieved light

and shade,--and the dark lines of such vegetation as could here find a

foothold, with here and there a cluster of twinkling lights, marking a

little centre of human life in the midst of the wilderness. As they

advanced, the precipices grew bolder and bolder; one bold profile

after another became defined in the moonlight, then opened up new

vistas of the sea of hills and precipices which was continually

changing its relation to the spectator. And presently Hugh went in to

summon the rest of the party to come out, for, far away in the

distance, a practised eye could already discern, just touched by the

moonlight, the commanding peak and striking triple profile of Cape

Trinity. It seemed an impressive and solemn approach to the mighty

crag, growing every moment grander and more majestic in the pale

radiance of the moonlight. The triple effect, both vertically and

laterally, showed more effectively, though less distinctly, the

bare-browed cliff looking even more imposing than in daylight,--every

scarped crag and splintered pinnacle and barbicon standing out in the

sharpest contrast of light and shade. The travellers gazed up at the

giant, towering above them to such a height that it made one dizzy to

try to follow it with the eye; and so close did it seem impending over

the vessel, that they could scarcely realize their real distance from

it, till a copper coin, thrown by Mr. Winthrop with all his force,

came far short of the rocky wall, and fell into the dark stream below.

Cape Trinity left behind, Cape Eternity began to loom up in lonely

majesty beyond--its mighty mass partially clothed with verdure, and,

like the other, idealized in the moonlight. The awesomeness of its

grandeur oppressed them with an overpowering effect of dread

sublimity, and it was almost a relief when the steamer at last glided

away from those tremendous embodiments of nature's savage grandeur,

and saw rising before them vistas of a somewhat gentler, though still

bold and picturesque type.

But it was now long past midnight, and most of the party, despite

interest of the scene, were growing exceedingly sleepy. Mrs. Sandford,

indeed, had long ago retired to her state-room, declaring that neither

of the two famous cliffs were worth losing the best half of a night's

rest for! The rest of the party now followed her example, and as May

passed through the ladies' cabin to her state-room, she was startled

for a moment by seeing the dark forms of a number of sleeping nuns,

who occupied the sofas instead of berths. They were doubtless going

out from one of the great nunneries on a missionary expedition, and to

May it seemed delightfully in harmony with the spirit of the scene.

Nor would it have been at all difficult for her to imagine figures

called up from the old days when these dark uniforms were the only

civilized female dress in all the region of the Saguenay. She regarded

her own simple dark blue travelling dress with a sigh. It certainly

was not nearly so picturesque!

May slept soundly enough, notwithstanding the motion of the boat and

the creaking of the chains and timbers during the occasional

stoppages. But about daybreak she was awakened by the rattling of

chains and the confused clatter of voices, and started up in haste,

that she might not lose an hour of the wonderful scenery about her. On

coming out of her state-room, she was again somewhat startled by the

cluster of dark-robed nuns, some of whom were already up, and absorbed

in their morning devotions. But she had no time to think much about

them just then, for through the cabin window she caught a glimpse of

some wonderful granite peaks, touched with the loveliest rose-color by

the light of the sun, which had not yet risen above the rugged hills

that close in about the crescent curve of Ha-Ha Bay. Calling Flora to

make haste to follow her, she stood for a little time at the stern,

feasting her eyes on the exquisite solemn beauty of those granite

hills thus glorified by the coming day. Then, joined by Flora, to whom

the scene recalled her own Highland hills, she hastened on deck to

enjoy the full extent of the lovely view around them. They were lying,

stranded by the receding tide, near one end of the long bay, which

takes its name, according to some, from the surprised laugh of some of

the first explorers at finding themselves _cul-de-sac_;--according to

others, from their expression of satisfaction at having at last found

soundings in this apparently fathomless river. Just above them, now

gilded by the level sunlight, rose a rugged height of richly-tinted

granite, sprinkled by birch and balsam, at the foot of which clustered

the little grey-peaked wooden houses of the tiny hamlet of St.

Alphonse. The piazzas of the summer hotel, and the steep-roofed stone

church looked down from the hill-slope beyond the pier, and, far along

the sweeping curve of the bay, the gleaming village of St. Alexis

shone white on the green shore behind it, long sloping uplands of

arable land, while near it a black-hulled ship lay at anchor, the

first anchorage for the mariner on this dark rock-bound stream.

One by one the little party had collected on deck, with the exception

of Mrs. Sandford, keenly enjoying the loveliness of the hour and

scene; and already their fellow-passengers were beginning to leave the

steamer on various little expeditions, to fill up the hours which they

must wait for the turning of the tide--some to drive across the hills

or along the shore of the bay; others to stroll along the shining

sands and examine the long-stretching weir, composed of interlaced

boughs, jutting far out into the stream, which here presents the most

fascinating combination of sea-shore and inland river. A little party

of long-robed ecclesiastics, whom our travellers had noticed the

evening before, in a corner of the saloon, poring over their

breviaries, were seen slowly ascending the hill-slope, towards the

church, and Hugh suggested a stroll in the same direction, as the

hill-slope seemed a good point for observation of the surrounding

landscape.

The morning air blew cool and bracing in their faces as they left the

pier, the view before them growing grander and wider at every step.

They skirted the hotel grounds, where a few early stirring guests on

the piazza watched them with great interest, and soon found themselves

at the door of the church, from whence they could command a noble

panorama of hills and river in their cool, pale northern coloring,

somewhat warmed by the slanting rays of the early August sun. But when

they presently entered the church, the solemn hush of the scene within

carried off their thoughts in an entirely different direction. It

seemed a large church for so small a settlement, and the fresh and new

look, the white and gold decoration, and the robes of the priests,

seemed curiously out of keeping with the primitive wildness of the

surroundings. The party of ecclesiastics, who, it now appeared,

numbered a bishop among them, were there in full force, and a small

congregation, including several officers of the steamboat, were

already gathered for early mass. Hugh sat down reverently in the

nearest seat, and the others followed his example, and remained there

until the short service was completed. It was singularly restful and

soothing, and to May and Flora, despite their staunch Protestant

preferences, it was a memorable experience. The deep tones of the

officiating priest and the solemn chant of the psalms, seemed laden

with memories of the days when these same chants first arose in these

savage solitudes, from the rude bark chapel or the simpler forest

sanctuary, before the wondering eyes of the half-hostile Indians.

As the last chant died away on the ear, it was like awaking from a

dream of the remote past, to come out once more on the wide summer

landscape lying at their feet, the long line of level sands, the

stranded vessel, the still receding tide, the long stretch of gray

uplands and dark green hills. But breakfast began to seem a welcome

possibility, which quickened the steps of the travellers back to the

steamer, where they found Mrs. Sandford in a little flurry of concern

about their long absence, and more than ready, she declared, for her

breakfast. And after their early rising and their long stroll, it

scarcely needs be said how keenly they enjoyed the excellent breakfast

of porridge, smelts, salmon, fresh rolls, and excellent coffee--not

forgetting the blueberries for which the region is so famous. After

breakfast there was still some time before the steamer could move.

Flora hunted up her sketch-book, and went, accompanied by May and

Nellie, to make a sketch on shore, while Hugh Macnab and Jack

Armstrong, who insisted on coming, too, amused themselves by

clambering up the rocky height above them, to see what sorts of plants

might be growing among the crevices--for Hugh was something of a

naturalist as well as a poet. The others, including Mrs. Sandford,

preferred to remain on the deck of the steamer, watching the lumber

vessel take in her load, and the swift return of the tide, nearly as

remarkable for its speed as is the Scottish Solway, which has

furnished the comparison:--

"Love flows like the Solway

And ebbs like its tide."

As the girls sat there, a young, pleasant-faced _habitante_ came up to

them, followed by two or three tiny children, glad to exchange a word

with the strangers, and to offer for sale tiny canoes, which the

inexperienced hands of the children had shaped, in imitation of the

pretty toy canoes offered for sale at all the booths of French and

Indian wares. They spoke no English, and May was too doubtful of _her_

French to try it, but Nellie and Flora opened a conversation with her,

to her evident pleasure, for, in so secluded a spot, a talk with a

stranger is an event. "Yes," she said, after telling the names and

ages of the children; "yes, the summer _is_ very short, and the winter

long and cold." But then her husband stays at home, and in summer he

is away, working on boats, and that is evidently compensation--for he

is "_un bon garcon_." And indeed she seemed a happy wife and mother,

for the blessings of life, happily, generally counterbalance its

privations. The girls gladly bought the tiny canoes, the "'prentice

work" of the little childish hands, and, after an interested

inspection of Flora's sketch, and many admiring comments thereupon,

they parted--the travellers to return to the steamer, the children and

their mother to return to their _cabane_, happy in their little store

of silver coins. And now the tide has flowed in, up to the end of the

weirs, the scattered passengers are collected on board, and the

steamer, with screw revolving once more, glides swiftly out of Ha-Ha

Bay, leaving behind all its rugged beauty and its primitive, secluded

life; and turns up another bend of the fiord, towards the great hill

curves that bound the vista. Point after point, bend after bend,

succeed each other in bewildering succession, while the travellers

feel once more how distinct is the stern sublimity of the Saguenay

from the grand beauty of the St. Lawrence. The great, bare splintered

crags that rear their grey, furrowed brows to the sky, the endless

succession of pine-crested hills, craggy points, dark, deep gorges,

and weather-worn and lichen-scarred rocks, contorted by fire and water

into every conceivable form, seemed almost oppressive, at last, in

their almost unbroken savage wilderness. Here and there green uplands

and stretches of softer forest verdure, or sheltered valleys, with

little settlements nestling in their laps, or clinging to the

sheltering rocks, introduce a gentler tone; but the general impression

is one of savage sterility, scarred by the traces of devastation on

the fire-swept hills, bristling with dark tree skeletons, and by the

sullen darkness of the stream itself. And now and then the sky grew

grey, too, as a sudden squall swept down the gorge; and it was easy to

associate with the wild mountain fiord the strange tales told to the

early explorers, and to see in imagination the fur-laden canoes, with

their silent, dusky paddlers wending their way down the rocky _canyon_,

which the river seems to have hewn for itself with such difficulty,

from the inaccessible solitudes behind, through the sea of rocks

between these and the St. Lawrence.

As they steamed onward towards Chicoutimi, however, which is the real

head of the bay, the scenery becomes softer in type, and, amid the

rolling uplands, cluster little white villages, each with its guardian

church. Chicoutimi, with its fine stone church on the hill, and its

sawmill and lumber-yard below, comes into view, as they round one of

the numberless points, a place of some consequence in this lumbering

country. The steamer stops at the pier, and the little band of

_religieuses_ disembark and wend their way to the convent on the hill,

while May and Flora watch their black-robed figures and vainly

speculate on their past and their future, wondering what routine of

duties awaits them here, and whether they are of the same heroic fibre

with those who, two hundred years ago, crossed the stormy ocean into

exile in this wilderness, in order to nurse sick Indians and teach

Indian children their _Pater-Noster_.

As the steamer left Chicoutimi behind, Hugh Macnab and Mr. Winthrop

discovered two or three half-breed _voyageurs_, coming down with the

luggage, boats, etc., of a party of gentlemen who had been canoeing

among the rocks and rapids of the "Grand Discharge" of the Saguenay,

in the comparatively untrodden wilds into which no steamer can

penetrate, and tracing the dark waters up to their source in Lake St.

John. The swarthy good-humored boatmen were eagerly questioned and

cross-questioned by the three young men, till it became clear, to the

observant Kate, at least, that they were planning some private

excursion of their own, not in the original programme of their party,

though at present they all observed an obstinate silence as to any

such idea.

Meantime, they all sat dreamily watching the long procession of

headland, rock, and hill,--a silver thread of cascade occasionally

trickling down the dark precipices, wondering at the variety and

effect produced with such apparent sameness of material. But, behold!

a great grey Titan looms up behind a distant headland, seeming to

pierce the sky; and the passengers, English, American and Canadian,

begin to crowd the forward deck, with eager outlook. A little farther,

and the vast breadth and height of Cape Eternity uprears its mighty

mass overhead,--its summit seeming lost in the sky, across which great

clouds are rapidly drifting. May thought it had looked even grander in

the moonlight, which seemed to expand it into infinity; but Hugh and

Mr. Winthrop declared that to them it was no less imposing in the

clear light of day, which gave it the strength and force of reality.

Scarcely had they ceased gazing in fascination at its mighty mass,

when Kate, pointing triumphantly before them, drew their attention to

the still grander headland, the mighty triple profile of Cape Trinity.

And now, just above their heads, as it seemed, that sublime rock was

unfolding its triple unity, both vertical and lateral, each way

divided into three distinct heads; a far more impressive

individuality, they all agreed, than the sister cape. Again came that

curious optical illusion of the great precipice towering immediately

overhead in close proximity to the boat,--a delusion only dispelled

with much difficulty after seeing that the pebbles which the

passengers amused themselves by throwing at it, fell invariably a long

way short of their aim. And a feeling of soul-subduing awe stole over

May, as she threw back her head, and tried to scan the entire face of

those lofty summits which seemed to rear their grey, weather-beaten

heads into the very empyrean! Here and there, a stray bit of

vegetation clung with difficulty to a cleft in the rock, seeming to

emphasize its ruggedness and stern majesty. But, as Hugh observed, and

all agreed, the white statue of the Virgin, placed, by Roman Catholic

piety, in a niche of the crag seemed an impertinence, even from the

broadest point of view, for surely they felt that grand Mount Horeb,

symbol of Divine Majesty, should have been profaned by no mortal

image. Nevertheless, when the steamer slackened speed, just under the

precipice, and the sailors in solemn cadence chanted an "Ave Maria,"

there was a pathetic earnestness and an antique, old-world air about

the proceeding which was very impressive. What Hugh himself thought of

the grand, wonderful bit of nature's architecture, found its way to

paper in the course of the afternoon, the lines taking shape in his

mind as the too swiftly receding lines of Cape Trinity faded away into

dim remoteness, when it seemed to all the party that the central

figure, the chief interest of the Saguenay, had passed out of the

scene. And, after the long strain of attention,--the effort to lose

none of the ever-changing grandeur of the shifting panorama,--it was

almost a relief when the showery clouds that had gathered so grandly

about Cape Trinity, deepened into a leaden grey; and mist and rain

began to blot out all save the nearest hills. As they sat watching in

somewhat sombre mood the silent procession of mist-laden hills, with

here and there a white thread of waterfall trickling down their sides,

and the white whales and porpoises splashing in the dark stream

below,--the only sign of life in all the great solitude, while an

occasional gleam of sunshine, from an opening cloud, threw a golden

gleam to relieve the stern aspect of the scene, Hugh was called on for

a reading from a volume into which he had been dipping during the day.

It was the copy of Charles Sangster's poems, which he had procured in

Montreal, and he willingly gave them a few stanzas from the poet's

description of the Saguenay;--the following lines, in particular,

seeming to express the very spirit of the scenery about them:--

"In golden volumes rolls the blessed light

Along the sterile mountains. Pile on pile

The granite masses rise to left and right;--

Bald, stately bluffs that never wear a smile;

Where vegetation fails to reconcile

The parched shrubbery and stunted trees

To the stern mercies of the flinty soil.

And we must pass a thousand bluffs like these,

Within whose breasts are locked a myriad mysteries.

"Dreaming of the old years, before they rose,

Triumphant from the deep, whose waters rolled

Above their solemn and unknown repose;

Dreaming of that bright morning, when, of old,

Beyond the red man's memory, they told

The secrets of the Ages to the sun,

That smiled upon them from his throne of gold,--

Dreaming of the bright stars and loving moon,

That first shone on them from the night's impressive noon;

"--Dreaming of the long ages that have passed

Since then, and with them that diminished race

Whose birchen fleets those inky waters glassed,

As they swept o'er them with the wind's swift pace.

Of their wild legends scarce remains a trace;

Thou hold'st the myriad secrets in thy brain,

Oh stately bluffs! as well seek to efface

The light of the bless'd stars, as to obtain

From thy sealed, granite lips, tradition or refrain!"

"That is striking poetry," said Mr. Winthrop. "The author deserves to

be better known! But the wild legends of the past have not entirely

passed away. Now and then, one comes across an old legend or story

among a set of fellows like our _voyageur_ friends there."

"Yes," said Hugh, "that is one reason why I should like to explore the

wilds about Lake St. John! I think one might pick up from our guides

some old stories that would be interesting. But I was reading, this

morning, a pathetic little legend which is said to be still cherished

among the Montagnais Indians, concerning one of the pious Jesuit

Fathers, who was wont long ago to minister in that little grey church

at Tadousac."

"Oh, do tell it to us!" said Kate and Nellie, in a breath; and Hugh

readily complied, telling the tale, in substance as follows:

"One of the most benignant and beloved of these pioneer missionaries

was Pere La Brosse, the last of the old Jesuit Fathers of Tadousac,

and the story of his 'Passing' reads almost like a French-Indian

version of the 'Passing of Arthur.' Strange, how that wistful,

pathetic interest, clustering round the death of the good and gentle

and strong, crops up everywhere, among all sorts and conditions of

men!

"Well, the story runs, that, at the close of an April day, spent as

usual in fulfilling the duties of his pastoral office among his Indian

converts, the venerable Father had spent the evening in cheerful

converse with some of the French officers of the post. As he rose to

leave them, to their amazement he solemnly bade them a last adieu,

telling them that, at midnight, he would be a corpse, and at that hour

the chapel bell would toll for his passing soul. He charged them not

to touch his body, but to go at once to the lower end of the Ile aux

Coudres, which, you know, we passed yesterday, many miles up the St.

Lawrence, and bring thence Messire Compain, whom they would find

awaiting them, and who would wrap him in his shroud and lay him in his

grave. They were to carry out his bidding, regardless of what the

weather might be, and he would answer for their safety. The astonished

and awe-stricken party of rough traders and Indians kept anxious

vigil, till, at midnight, the chapel bell began to toll. Startled by

the solemn sound at dead of night, they all rushed tremblingly into

the church. There, as he had foretold, they found Pere La Brosse,

lying prostrate before the altar, his hands joined in prayer, and the

seal of death on his tranquil face. With awe-struck sorrow, they

watched for dawn, that they might fulfil the father's last command.

With sunrise, arose an April gale, but trusting to the promise of one

who had won their unfaltering trust, four brave men set out on their

appointed errand, in a fragile canoe, breasting the big rolling waves,

which, however, seemed to open a passage for the frail bark, and, in a

marvellously short time, they had reached Ile aux Coudres; and there,

as Pere La Brosse had said, sat Pere Compain on the rocks, breviary in

hand, ready to accompany them back to do the last offices for the

dead. He, too, had received a mysterious warning. The night before,

his chapel bell had tolled at midnight for a passing soul, and a voice

had told him what had happened and what he was expected to do. And it

said, moreover, that in all the Missions where Pere La Brosse had

served the chapel bells tolled at the moment of his death."

"Well!" exclaimed Mr. Winthrop, "that is a story that _ought_ to be

true, _ben trovato_, at least, as the Italians say, if we only had

faith enough. One could almost find it in one's heart to believe it

here, in these wild solitudes, even in this degenerate, sceptical

age!"

"Now, Hugh," observed Kate, "why shouldn't _you_ write a '_Mort de

Pere La Brosse_' _a la_ Tennyson? I'm sure it would make a lovely

poem."

"Perhaps he will, by and by," said Flora, a little mischievously.

"Meantime, I found in a book of his this sonnet on Cape Trinity. I was

sure he was composing something of the kind!"

"Oh, that's not fair!" said Hugh. "That's not revised yet."

But there was an unanimous demand for the reading of it, and under

protest, Hugh allowed Flora to read it.

"Thou weather-beaten watchman, grim and grey,

Towering majestic, with thy regal brow,

O'er all the thronging hills that seem to bow

In humble homage, near and far away;--

Even thy great consort seems to own thy sway,

In her calm grandeur, scarce less grand than thou

Rising, star-crowned, from the dark world below,

So lonely in thy might and majesty!

Thy rugged, storm-scarred forehead to the blast

Thou barest,--all unscreened thy Titan form,

Radiant in sunset, dark in winter storm,

So thou hast stood, through countless ages past,

What comes or goes, it matters not to thee,

Serene, self-poised in triple unity!"

As she finished reading the lines, a rift in the breaking clouds let a

rich gleam of sunset through, and they caught a brief glimpse of a

distant lofty summit, probably Cape Trinity, glowing out in crimson

glory, like a great garnet, set amid the grey mountain curves.

They all watched it silently, till it passed out of sight in the

windings of the stream. It was a sight to carry away as "a joy

forever,"--a fitting parting gleam of the grandeur of the Saguenay.

And swiftly it all fades from sight as the veil of twilight falls once

more about them, softening the hard outlines of the iron hills into

cloud-like phantasms, while the twinkling lights of Tadousac again

gleam out from the shaggy cliffs, soon again to be left behind, as

they pass out of the rocky _embouchure_, under the starlight, into the

wide reach of the St. Lawrence and cross its wide expanse to the

distant shore, where they stop at length at the long-stretching pier

of Riviere-du-Loup. This time they disembark, and are soon driving

rapidly along the two mile sweep of curving road, with a late gibbous

moon rising above the trees, as they approach the straggling environs

of Fraserville. They are speedily installed in a comfortable little

French inn, with a plain but comfortable supper before them, and a

lively group of French Canadians chattering gayly around them in their

rapid patois. As it happens, these prove to be a party of musicians,

whose music, vocal and instrumental, and gay little French Canadian

songs serenade them till irresistible sleep closes eyes more weary

with sight-seeing than their owners had before realized.

No one was up very early next morning, for human nature cannot stand

perpetual motion. But, as the day was fine, though cool, a carriage

was ordered immediately after breakfast and the whole party were once

more _en route_, driving over a straight smooth road to the old

Riviere-du-Loup, and thence to the noble waterfall, whose wild

picturesque beauty seems close to the little town.

Leaving the carriages, they all walked on by a winding path, till they

came to a grassy spur of the slope, jutting out, as it seemed, rather

more than half down, close to one side of the fall. Here, though they

could not see the whole extent of the cascade, they could get an

impressive view of its volume and beauty, as it came thundering down

the dark grey height, clad with dusky pines; so that, looking up to

the crest of foliage above, it seemed to come thundering down in snowy

spray and foam, out of the very bosom of the primeval forest. To May

it seemed almost as grand as _Montmorency_, though far short of it in

height. And, like Montmorency, it vividly brought back the memory of

incomparable Niagara. The spell of the falling water,--"falling forever

and aye,"--had its usual influence on her, and she sat dreaming there,

scarcely conscious of herself or the flight of time, while the rest of

the party wandered about, surveying the waterfall from other points of

view. But at last she was aroused from her reverie by Hugh, who came,

despatched by Kate, in quest of her, to bring her down to the foot of

the Fall where the others were resting, and where she could see it, as

it were, _en masse_.

She lingered a moment, however, reluctant to leave the charming little

nook. "See!" she said to Hugh, as she rose to accompany him

down,--"look at those exquisite little harebells, growing so peacefully

out of that green moss under the very spray of this rush of foaming

water."

Hugh smiled as he looked down at the fragile flower, cradled, as it

were, in the midst of the turbulent commotion. He stooped over and

picked two of the drooping blossoms carefully, handing one to May,

while he studied the other, in its graceful, delicate beauty. "It is

an embodied poem!" he exclaimed, as they turned slowly away.

"Then, won't you write out the poem it embodies, for the rest of us to

read?" said May, somewhat timidly, and surprised at her own temerity.

"If I can, I will," he replied, frankly. "It doesn't always follow,

because one may _see_ an embodied poem, that one can translate it into

verse!"

At the foot of the Falls, they all sat for an hour or two, enjoying

the comprehensive, though somewhat less impressive view of the whole

fall, as it came rushing down the dark gorge, in sheets of silvery

foam and clouds of snowy spray. And here, in a grassy nook, under some

trees, they sat for some time watching the Falls, Flora declaring that

it reminded her of some of their finest Scottish waterfalls and also

of one or two she had seen in Switzerland. Before they left their

quiet halting place, Hugh, who had been sitting very silent for some

time, handed quietly to May, a leaf from his note-book, on which, with

much satisfaction, she read the following lines:--

"Where the great, thundering cataract tosses high

Its crest of foam, 'mid thunders deep and dread,

A tiny harebell, from its mossy bed,

Smiles, softly blue, to the blue summer sky,

And the great roaring flood that rages by,

In sheets of foam on the grey rocks outspread

But sheds a tender dew upon its head.

--Emblem of hearts whose gentle purity,

Seeks only heaven in this rude earth of ours;

Dwelling in safety 'mid the roar and din

Of human passion, as in sheltered bowers;

Growing in beauty, 'mid turmoil and sin,

--Keeping the hue of heaven, like the flowers,

Because they keep the hue of heaven within!"

"Oh," exclaimed May, looking up from its perusal, "_that_ is almost

just what I was thinking about it, myself, only I couldn't put it into

words like that!"

"I'm glad I happened to catch your thought," he replied. "Keep the

lines for yourself, if you care for them, in memory of this pleasant

day."

"We've had so many pleasant days!" said May,--wistfully,--for she felt

that they were fast drawing to a close. And if the young men really

took that canoe trip up the Saguenay, their party would be divided

during the sojourn at Murray Bay,--their last halting place. But she

felt that she could never lose the memory of that delightful journey,

and all its enjoyments.

After going back to the hotel for an early dinner, they ordered the

carriages again and drove in the soft afternoon sunshine,--now

beginning to assume a slightly autumnal air, over the low, level

stretch of sandy road, leading through skirting spruce and cedar, to

the long straggling settlement of Cacouna, mainly composed of summer

cottages, with its hotels and little church. Most of the cottages are

scattered along a high sloping bank, just above the sea-like river,

where the bathing, albeit lacking the surf, is almost as good as in

the open sea. The Armstrongs had friends residing in Cacouna for the

summer, and the party drove directly to their cottage, where they met

with a most cordial welcome, were shown all the sights of the

vicinity, and finally regaled with "afternoon tea" on the veranda,

from whence they enjoyed one of the grand sunsets for which Cacouna is

famous, the bold hills on the north shore, here etherealized by

distance,--reflecting the glory of the rich sunset sky in the most

exquisite tones of purple and rose.

Next morning, the little party took an early train from

Riviere-du-Loup, on the Intercolonial Railway, to see the remainder of

the river shore as far as Bic, where the Gulf may almost be said to

begin, and the river end. It was a charming ride along the high land a

little back from the river, yet still occasionally in sight of it,

with the grand hills of the north shore looking cloud-like and remote,

as they came into view of the beautiful bay of Bic, surrounded by its

noble hills, with its picturesque coves, its level beach, and its wide

flats, studded with black rocks. Away in the distance, beyond the tall

bluffs which guard the mouth of the bay, and the islands which also

protect its harbor, lay the deep blue wooded island of Bic, and beyond

that, again, the far distant north shore, looking like a cloud of mist

on the horizon. Here they had to stop, for, beyond that, the railway

leaves the river to wind its way through the ravines of Metis, and

then over the hills to the famous valley of the Matapedia, whose

charms, fascinating as they are, were not for the travelers--on this

journey at least. They spent a few hours pleasantly at Bic, strolling

through its village, set on a plateau high above the beach, or

wandering over the flats, where two rivers sluggishly find the end of

their journey, and gathering seaweeds among the little pools and

rocks, which reminded the Scotch cousins so strongly of their own

seaside home. They climbed up some of the gentler slopes of the high

rugged hills, to get a still wider view, and to feel the bracing salt

breath of the sea come sweeping up the river, while Kate described the

beauties of Gaspe, peninsula and basin, and the wonderful Perce rock,

which she had once visited on a voyage down the Gulf; and Mr. Winthrop

told them of a grim old tradition of the island of Bic,--of a sort of

Indian edition of the massacre of Glencoe, when a branch of the fierce

Iroquois had caught a comparatively helpless band of Micmacs with many

women and children, in a cave, and had smoked them out, to meet death

if they escaped it within.

But they had now reached the eastern-most limit of their

progress--still leaving, as Hugh said, some "Yarrow unvisited." They

took the returning afternoon train back to Riviere-du-Loup, for their

course must now be "Westward-Ho!" At Riviere-du-Loup, they waited for

the Saguenay boat, and re-embarked for Murray Bay, which they reached

about midnight, landing at the high pier under the pale ghostly light

of the waning moon, which gave a strange unreal look to the houses on

the shore, and especially to the strangely shapen rock, which, rising

solitary near the point, gives it its name of "Point Au Pic" (or

Pique). There were an abundance of _caleches_ in waiting, and the

travellers distributed themselves among these, and were soon driven

along the straggling village street to their destination,--the "Central

Hotel," chosen by Kate on account of its delightful view. But the

"Central" was too full for so large a party, as the landlord declared

with many regrets,--so the ladies were accommodated very comfortably at

the "Warren House," next door, while the young men were put up

temporarily at the "Central" as they intended leaving on their canoe

trip very early in the week.

May had been feeling that, since this trip began, she had had so many

delightful impressions, that she could scarcely find room for any

more. But the first sight of the grand vista of noble hills that

enfold Murray Bay, as it were, in their embrace, gleaming out under

snowy mists, in the fair breezy morning, made her feel that she had by

no means lost the receptive power, and that she had much to see and

admire yet. It was a peaceful Sunday morning, and a Sabbath rest

seemed to enwrap the blue hills that encompassed the long bay,

receding in lovely curves and peaks behind each other, till they were

lost in a soft vagueness of distance. Just about the middle of the

long curve of the bay, and showing whitely against a background of

deep green woods, a white church stood out as a sort of centre to the

little brown French village that clustered about it on both sides of

the Murray River. Below the bridge stretched long brown sands with a

strip of blue water in the middle, and a three-masted vessel lying

stranded by the receding tide;--while just across the bay, narrowed by

the low tide, rose the long bold headland of Cap a l'Aigle, jutting

far out into the wide blue expanse of the St. Lawrence, bounded on the

southern shore by a wavy line of soft blue and purple hills,

glistening with silvery specks, which were, in reality, distant French

villages. It was a feast to the eye, a refreshing to the whole being,

simply to sit there and take in the lovely vista. May, for one, was

glad that it was Sunday, and that, therefore, there could be no

excursions, but that she could sit quietly there as long as she

liked,--dreaming or thinking, or reading a little of the old Scripture

poetry about the "Everlasting hills;"--but ever and anon looking up to

see the realization of words which had formerly left on her mind a

rather vague impression of their meaning. Nothing which she had seen

seemed to her so satisfying to her ideal of beauty. Niagara had its

own solitary overpowering grandeur, but no surrounding scenery. The

Saguenay hills were too stern in their solemn splendor. At Quebec, the

view seemed almost too wide, too complex; but this charming valley,

with its brown-beached blue bay, nestling amongst these richly wooded

hills, with rank after rank of mountain tops,--as they seemed to her,

fading away into the distant blue, seemed to have all the unity and

beauty of a well-composed picture, and to satisfy her imagination

without her knowing why. Flora was in an ecstasy. The scene reminded

her strongly of some of her own Highland glens; and Hugh and she were

soon eagerly comparing it with one after another of their favorite

resorts,--tracing its points both of resemblance and of dissimilarity.

The young men of the party had taken an early bath, and pronounced the

water very bracing indeed, but also decidedly cold--too cold, they

thought, for the girls to attempt; notwithstanding which, however,

Kate and Flora announced their intention of trying it next day. At

eleven they all went to church at a neat little chapel close by, built

for the use of the Protestant visitors, and used alternately for an

Episcopalian and a Presbyterian service, an instance of brotherly

unity which might be indefinitely extended. To Flora's great

satisfaction, (for she was a staunch little Scottish churchwoman,) the

service that day happened to be the Presbyterian one--the first time,

she observed, that she had had the pleasure of attending her own

service since she had left her native land. To Hugh it did not matter,

she observed, for he liked one just as well as another, to which he

replied that he was by no means so superior to the power of

association, which must, in most cases, after all, determine our

ecclesiastical preferences.

As there was no evening service, an evening stroll in Nature's great

temple around them was proposed instead, for which the young people

were ready enough after the long, quiet day of rest. Mrs. Sandford,

who had not yet recovered from the fatigue of so incessant travelling,

preferring to sit on the veranda with her book,--the latter taking the

place of her knitting-needles, which lately had had an unusual

respite. Nellie Armstrong, however, who had a headache, elected to

stay with her, so the rest started, perhaps all the more satisfied,

pairing off naturally--Mr. Winthrop, of course, with Kate; Jack

Armstrong with Flora; while Hugh and May were left as inevitable

companions. May, as on some similar occasions, felt at first slightly

uncomfortable; but this feeling soon wore off, for Hugh and she had

become excellent comrades, and now found many subjects for

conversation; and she felt that he had by this time accepted Mr.

Winthrop as a permanent factor in the situation, and was determined to

make the best of it. And May in her heart esteemed him all the more

for the cheerfulness with which he had adapted himself to the

inevitable!

They walked, by a rambling footpath, along the sandy, reedy shore of

the bay, until they had at length to betake themselves to the ordinary

road, striking it close to a picturesque old mill, with a little

waterfall plashing over the moss-grown old waterwheel, just as she had

so often seen it in pictures of English scenery. They reached the

French village of Murray Bay, and passed close to the white church

which had made the centre of the picture in the distance, and the

pretty little _Presbytere_, with its shady garden-walks overlooking

the river, on one of which May discerned a black-cassocked figure, in

whom she immediately conjured up a modern Pere La Brosse. Then on,

past the little brown French houses, with their steep roofs and

balconies, and tidy, if bare, exteriors,--each one apparently

possessing its great wooden cupboard, and large box stove for the cold

winter days. Crossing the bridge over the Murray, from which there was

a lovely view up the valley, into the heart of the hills, they held on

their way up the wooded slope beyond, past a little memorial chapel

under the shadowing pines, which interested the girls so much that

they declared they must get the key and see the interior some day; and

then onward by an open, breezy bit of road, skirting on one side

undulating woods, gilded by slanting sunlight, and on the other

affording glimpses of pleasant manorial residences between them and

the river. And then they came out on the high table-land of the

"_Cap_," from whence they could see the wide river expanse, now taking

on soft hues of rose, and purple, and opal, and the far distant hills

beyond, also glorified by the sunset.

But May's steps had begun to flag a little, and her cheek to grow

rather pale, and Hugh said that he was sure she was tired, and

proposed that they should go no farther, but take a rest until the

others returned. May looked rather wistfully at Kate and Flora, still

stepping on, evidently unwearied. But although much stronger than when

she had left home, May was not so strong, yet, as the other two, and

it was of no use to pretend that she was not very tired.

"Let us walk back to that pine-crested bluff," said Hugh. "There we

can sit quite comfortably till the others come back."

They strolled back very slowly, and it occurred to May, _a propos_ of

her own fatigue, how much more Hugh could stand than he could have

done a month ago; and how seldom even "Aunt Bella" now worried him

with well-meant exhortations to take extra care. The outdoor life of

the past weeks had certainly done wonders for this sunburnt, active

young man, with elastic step and firm tread, who seemed so different a

being from the pale and somewhat languid stranger to whom she had been

first introduced. But she soon forgot everything else in the fair

scene that lay at their feet, half screened by the pine boughs that

drooped above them; for no fairer view had greeted her during the

whole journey. Opposite, across the blue bay below them, lay Point au

Pic, with its pier and its monumental rock, its straggling cottages,

and the long, hilly, wooded ridge that swept round the corner of the

bay on the other side. To their left lay the broad, sunset-flushed

river, with the wavy line of delicate hues beyond it. The two watched

the lovely glow of color for some time in silence. At last, when the

scene was swiftly taking on the grayness of evening, Hugh remarked:

"How many lovely evenings we have seen! And this seems almost the

loveliest of all."

"Yes. It almost makes one sad to think that they are nearly all

past,"--she replied, with a little wistful sigh.

"I don't know that it _should_, however," replied Hugh. "We can't lose

their memories and their influences. _That_ seems to become part of

our being, and we shall always be the richer for it. You know 'a thing

of beauty is a joy forever.' Do you know," he continued, after a

pause, as May did not reply, "this great river on which we have been

wandering so long, seems to me to present a very fair parable of human

life. It comes, like Wordsworth's version of our infancy, out of the

mysterious majesty of Niagara, and that great sea-like lake. Then it

has its tranquil sunny morning amid the lovely mazes of the Thousand

Islands, which, like ourselves, it seems reluctant to forsake, for the

more work-a-day rural stretch below. Then comes the strenuous time of

conflict,--the '_sturm und drang_' period of the rapids, and then the

calm strength, the gradual expansion, the growing dignity of a noble

life, till at last we have this exquisite sunset, glorifying a river

that is swiftly passing on, to lose itself in the great 'silent sea,'

symbolizing the beauty of the same rich and noble life, passing away

from its old familiar shores to lose itself in the boundlessness of

eternity."

"I think you have got material for another poem there," May observed,

smiling, though touched by the emotion which seemed to have carried

him on unconsciously. She and Hugh had got into the way of talking

about his literary endeavors. There was another pause, and then Hugh

looked up from his note-book, into which he had been looking.

"Do you recollect," he asked, "a lovely morning we had, just after

coming to Sumach Lodge?"

"Yes," replied May, promptly, "the morning you rowed me over to that

pretty little island, when the river was so calm, and it all looked so

lovely."

"And I wrote some verses there, which I should like to read to you, to

see how you like them. May I?"

May looked a little perplexed, for she had not forgotten that he had

seemed anxious that she should _not_ see them, _then_, and with her

_idee fixe_ of his hopeless passion for Kate--she had connected those

verses in some way with that imaginary romance. However, she listened

with great interest to his low toned reading:

In gleam of pale, translucent amber woke

The perfect August day,

Through rose-flushed bars of pearl and opal broke

The sunlight's golden way.

Serenely the placid river seemed to flow

In tide of amethyst,

Save where it rippled o'er the sands below,

And granite boulders kissed;

The heavy woodland masses hung unstirred

In languorous slumber deep,

While, from their green recesses, one small bird

Piped to her brood--asleep.

The clustering lichens wore a tenderer tint,

The rocks a warmer glow;

The emerald dewdrops, in the sunbeam's glint,

Gemmed the rich moss below.

Our fairy shallop idly stranded lay,

Half mirrored in the stream;

Wild roses drooped above the tiny bay,

Ethereal as a dream.

You sat upon your rock, a woodland queen,

As on a granite throne;

All that still world of loveliness serene

Held but us twain alone.

Nay! But there seemed another presence there

Beneath, around, above;

It breathed a poem through the crystal air,

Its name was _Love_!"

May listened to the poem with a rather bewildered feeling: it was so

different from what she had expected. But gradually the images

suggested by it took possession of her mind to the exclusion of other

thoughts, and she scarcely noticed the closing lines, in the pleasure

which it gave her to have that lovely morning so vividly recalled. But

Hugh seemed to look for more than the pleasure she frankly expressed.

He was silent for a few moments, then said in a very low tone, looking

straight into her eyes, "I think that what brought the poem was my

finding out, then, _that I loved you_!"

May was utterly taken by surprise, which indeed, overpowered every

other feeling. She had not a word to say. Hugh saw how unprepared she

had been for his avowal. Presently she managed to stammer out, "I

thought it was--Kate!"

"I _know_ you did, at first," he replied, "but I thought you must have

known better, _now_! I haven't acted very much like a jealous lover,

have I, since Mr. Winthrop appeared on the scene? And any one could

see how that was going to turn out. No, May, I'm sure I've tried to

make you understand!"

But May still sat silent, in a sort of dazed bewilderment. At last,

the ludicrous aspect of the mistake--all her sincere, misplaced

sympathy with Hugh in troubles which were entirely of her own

imagining, struck her so vividly that she laughed outright, though her

laugh had a rather hysterical note in it, and she felt that it was

most inappropriate to so serious a crisis. But the personal aspect of

the affair, she could not yet at all take in. Hugh laughed a little,

too, reading her thoughts; but presently he said gravely enough:

"Well, May, now that the mistake is cleared up, you're not going to

say you can't care for me! Why should we not travel down the river of

life together? I mean down the river to the sea,"--he added pleadingly.

"Oh, Mr. Macnab," she replied, at last, "it is so strange to me! I

don't seem able to realize it. And I have never thought of you in that

way."

"Well, dear," he said, gently, "I won't hurry you; but you and I are

very good friends, I think, which is an excellent beginning, and I

don't see why we couldn't be something _more_. But take plenty of time

to find out! I'll promise to be patient meantime. Only, as I am going

away to-morrow for a few days, I wanted to try my fate, at least, and

make sure that you knew my feelings before I left--for one never knows

_what_ may turn up."

May's face changed when he spoke of the approaching parting, which was

only, of course, the prelude to one of much longer duration, since she

herself must return home as soon as the party reached Toronto, on its

homeward journey. And the thought gave her a sharp pang which she

could not ignore. Still, she was not sorry to hear the voices of the

others not far off, and to know that this rather embarrassing

_tete-a-tete_ was nearly over. Hugh detained her a moment, however.

"I won't press you any farther now," he said; "only promise me that

you will think about it while I am gone, and perhaps you may be able

to answer me as I wish, when I come back."

May readily promised this,--glad to have a little time to grow familiar

with an idea which had seemed so strange to her at first. The rest of

the walk was very quiet,--Hugh talking about indifferent things, while

she found it difficult to keep up conversation at all.

Next morning it was decided that, as it was too fine a morning to

lose, where there was so much to see, the whole party should drive

down to the Falls of the Fraser, taking luncheon with them, that so

they might not have to hurry back until the time when the three young

men should have to tear themselves away from the society which, to say

the truth, they were all reluctant to leave,--in order to take the

steamer down again to Tadousac for the projected canoe trip on the

upper Saguenay, and so on to the wilds about Lake St. John. As they

were to go in _caleches_, however, Mrs. Sandford begged off, and

Nellie Armstrong was packed into a _caleche_ with her brother and

Flora Macnab--Jack, who was familiar with the vehicle, having

volunteered to act as charioteer.

It was a charming drive on such a charming day,--the light

cloud-shadows chasing each other over the hills, and causing

bewitching effects of light and shade on the distant hills. Their

course lay along the Murray River for some distance, past the bridge

and village, then back among the hills beyond, up and down short

hills, so abrupt that the descent was often like to jerk the riders

off the little high seats; but Jack assured them all, in his cheery

voice, that the _caleche_ was at once the easiest and the safest

vehicle for these hills, and that every French-Canadian pony knew just

how to behave on such roads, if only his driver gave him fair play.

And the French drivers of the other _caleches_ smiled and declared

that it was "shoost as de shentleman said." Kate and Mr. Winthrop had

of course paired off, so that Hugh and May went together, as a matter

of course; but Hugh abstained from the slightest reference of any kind

to their conversation of the previous evening, for which May felt duly

grateful; for as yet his declaration seemed to her an unreal dream,

and she did not like to think about it, or what seemed to her, a

mortifying mistake.

As they left the road altogether, and struck across fields with the

utmost recklessness about taking down fences, and driving over

trackless meadows, they could hear the distant murmur of a waterfall,

and soon they came in sight of a small river winding its way to the

gorge, into which it speedily disappeared. Then they dismounted from

their _caleches_, and sought a point of view from which they could

best see this lovely waterfall, which rushes down, not in one sheer

descent, but in several leaps, over the brown rocks; so that they

could stand, as it were, part of the way down, looking up to the

topmost fall, and also far down below them, where, at the foot of it,

there lay a pretty green, level point, on which cows were browsing

under some noble trees--as charming a pastoral picture as could be

found.

Flora took out her sketch-book and color-box, and set to work

diligently to make a few rough sketches from the most favorable

points, Jack willingly offering his services in carrying her

appliances from place to place, and watching the progress of the

sketches with an intensity of interest which was slightly embarrassing

to the artist and somewhat amusing to Nellie, who declared, to Jack's

indignation, that she had never known before that he took so much

interest in artistic pursuits. Jack, however, was a most amiable

critic, ready to admire generously all the work of Flora's nimble

fingers, each sketch being, in his opinion, "awfully pretty;--you'd

know it anywhere!" Meantime the rest of the party strolled about,

finding out new points of view, and exploring pretty nooks, till it

was time to set out the simple luncheon of sandwiches, cold fowl,

coffee, and blueberry pie, after the due discussion of which it was

necessary to set out at once on the return trip--in the order in which

they had come.

When they drove up to the hotel they were met by the intelligence that

the Quebec steamer was in sight, and that they must drive down to the

pier at once. The young men's valises were quickly thrown into the

_caleches_, and they all drove to the pier, to find the big white

steamboat just approaching the point. There was a hurried and, truth

to tell, a reluctant leave-taking on the part of the intending

_voyageurs_, who declared that they would be sure to be back in about

a week; and then the steamer gave her parting whistle and they were

off, their waving hats and handkerchiefs being soon lost in the

distance. Hugh had just said to May, in a low tone, at

parting,--keeping her hand for a few seconds closely pressed in his

own, "Don't forget your promise--or me--while I am gone," and May had

replied only by a smile, from which, perhaps, tears were not very far

away. At all events, there was a strange, inexplicable _ache_ in her

heart, as the four girls walked slowly back to the hotel, a trifle

less merrily than was their wont.

It was curious indeed, what a blank there seemed to be, now that three

out of their number were gone, though no one except Mrs. Sandford and

Nellie were willing to admit it in words. As for May, she could not

help feeling that she missed Hugh, in particular, at every turn! His

low-toned voice and slightly Celtic accentuation seemed to be

perpetually in her ear, and every particular charm of the landscape

seemed to recall his always quick appreciation of such beauty. Some

occasion on which she wanted to appeal to him for sympathy or

appreciation was constantly turning up; and she found herself

perpetually laying up a stock of things about which she wanted to talk

to him, when he should return. She had no idea how much he had

gradually become a part of her life, and how important his ever-ready

sympathy had come to be, until the lack of that sympathy made itself

so strongly felt. If she had not been so simply and dreamily romantic,

so free from egoistic self-consciousness, she would never have made

the mistake she had done, and even now there was a constant struggle

between the instincts of her heart and the power of the firmly-rooted

impression. Kate, who had divined the real state of the case, but had

been afraid to enlighten her cousin too suddenly, now ventured on a

little good-humored chaffing; but with great and praiseworthy caution.

Seeing that May sensitively shrank from the subject, she soon

desisted.

Whatever Kate's own sense of loss may have been in the absence of Mr.

Winthrop, she was not the sort of girl to let the absence of the three

young men take away all the zest of the pleasure of Murray Bay. She

constituted herself the leader of the little party, and the four girls

and Mrs. Sandford had what they all voted as a "very quiet, pleasant

time," in which they took things easily and enjoyed themselves just as

the fancy seized them. They strolled about the beach in the sunny

mornings, while Flora sketched the vista of distant hills, and a

gentle inquisitive French Canadian would come up to look respectfully

at the sketch of "Mademoiselle," and to express his admiration of "the

_facilite_" with which she accomplished the task of coloring,

evidently an inscrutable mystery to him, though he declared that he

could draw "in _crayons_." Kate and Flora occasionally tried a dip

into the cold waters of the bay, but their experience was not

sufficiently encouraging to tempt the other two, and Mrs. Sandford

shook her head, and declared that she considered it unsafe for any of

them. But they enjoyed watching the sturdy children who daily rushed

in for a few moments and then came out with skins as red as lobsters,

laughing, and rosy, and ready for any number of races on the beach

afterwards. They went to inspect the neighboring "Fresh Air"

establishment, originated by a benevolent lady of Montreal, and

maintained by private beneficence, where a number of convalescents,

old and young, received without cost, the benefit of the pure bracing

air and lovely scenery, a true and refreshing instance of Christian

charity. They explored over and over again, the road leading past the

long strips of farm and pasture land which ran up the hill that

overhung it, and the little French farmhouses, with the curious clay

ovens which stood near them, but quite detached, and sometimes on the

other side of the road, and which Flora was so delighted to see and

sketch; and the long straggling French village, and the little chapel

on the hill, which was so disappointing on a near acquaintance. They

scraped acquaintance with the simple French folk and talked to the

polite village children whom they met, so respectful in their address,

and whom Flora delighted by including some of them in a sketch from

the bridge. They wandered down the road to the pier, between the rows

of summer cottages, and roamed about the pretty grounds of the "Lorne

House," where some old friends of Kate's were staying, and lounged

away an hour or so, inspecting the little Indian huts and booths at

the pier, and the various wares therein displayed, and the dark

impassive faces of the Indian vendors, and purchased all manner of

little souvenirs, toy canoes, snowshoes, toboggans, birch-bark napkin

rings and other pretty trifles, as presents for the people at home;

while Flora sketched the curiously shaped rock which has so often

stood for its picture. Or they strolled up the hillside among the

fragrant spruce and cedar, and enjoyed the charming views from thence

of Cap-a-l'Aigle and the river and bay, and examined the primitive

little wooden aqueducts that led the water from springs on the hill,

to the houses down below. Everything was as quaint and primitive as

Normandy, Flora declared, except only the manners and dress of the

summer visitors!

And sometimes they went on little canoe parties with those friends of

Kate's at the "Lorne House,"--up the winding Murray River under the

bridge, from which Flora took a pretty sketch, and on for some

distance farther, picking their way among the brown shallows and

stones which narrowed the navigable water of the stream. Or they would

drive up the solitary Quebec road, among its aromatic pine woods, and

past its little clearings, with their patches of tobacco and maize and

little log cabins, and the peculiar exhilarating aroma of the mountain

air;--or by another pretty road to the picturesque cascade of "Les

Trous" beside which they took their luncheon, and spent the best part

of an afternoon. And so the days went quickly by--happily enough, and

on Saturday, May found herself realizing that the travellers would

very soon be back. Half a dozen other expeditions were still reserved

for the last few days, after the party should be reunited, before they

should leave for the West. But these plans, like many other human

projects, were not destined to be realized. For Monday morning brought

May a letter, containing an unexpected summons to return home at once,

as her father and mother were called away by the illness of a

relative, and her presence as eldest daughter was needed at home.

Dearly as May loved her home and ready as she was to comply with and

obey the summons, this hastening of her departure from Murray Bay was

a great disappointment, in more ways than one. There was, however, no

boat before Tuesday night, and as Mrs. Sandford had begun to feel

anxious herself to return home, and would not hear of letting May go

back alone, it was finally decided in a cabinet council, that they

should arrange to take their departure by the Tuesday's boat, and

that, in case the young men had not returned by that time, they could

follow and overtake them somewhere on the way. May's heart had sunk

more than she could have believed, when she contemplated the

possibility that Hugh might return and find her gone! She had not in

the least made up her mind as to what she should say to him, when he

did return, and, even if she herself cared ever so much, she could not

see how she could possibly be ever separated from her home, nor

indeed, could she as yet bear to think of that aspect of the affair.

But she could not help feeling it no small trial to return without

seeing him again; apart from the disappointment that she knew it would

be to him should he return only after her departure. And as Mrs.

Sandford was always reminding them, so many things might happen to

detain the _voyageurs_, for they intended to find their way back

somehow, by land, through the wilds that lay between Murray Bay and

Lake St. John.

That evening she could not settle down with the others on the veranda,

but wandered down alone to the beach and took her seat on one of their

favorite rocks. It had been a day of thunder showers with lovely

bursts of sunshine between, and some of the glorious rainbows so

frequent there; and now, after a golden sunset, breaking through

purple clouds, the bright tints were fading out of the sky and from

the great gray stretch of water, on whose breast some stately ships

were gradually disappearing from view. The scene vividly recalled to

her mind Hugh's parable of human life, and his unexpected application

of it. A sense of the evanescence of all beautiful things and all

human enjoyments had taken hold of her, and the tears welled up in her

soft gray eyes as she said in her heart a mute farewell to the lovely

scene around her, which had so fascinated her, and her mind went

wistfully back over all the fair scenes she had beheld since the day

on which she had set out, full of happy anticipation. How much better

it had all been than even her brightest anticipations! A vesper

sparrow--our Canadian nightingale--was carolling sweetly close at hand,

and its song seemed to bring back to her the sweet refrain of the old

song:--

"Sweet the lev'rock's note, an' lang,--

Wildly liltin' doun the glen;--

But, to me, he sings ae sang

Will ye no come back again?"

The last line seemed to haunt her with an indescribable pathetic

intonation. She rose to go back in order to fight off thoughts that

were too much for her when lo! a familiar step sounded close to her,

and a well-known voice was in her ear, with a low-toned, "Well, May?"

And May, startled and overjoyed, could scarcely exclaim,--"Oh, Hugh! is

it really you?" and then, for all answer to his question, she burst

into tears. Perhaps this was almost answer enough, but it encouraged

Hugh to go on, and to secure a still better and more satisfying one,

before they returned together to join the rest, and to exchange quiet

congratulations and a little teasing with Kate, whose engagement to

Mr. Winthrop was now definitely admitted. Jack Armstrong looked very

wistful and rather envious over the two engaged couples, but the merry

Flora is inscrutable, and whether his warm admiration will ever be

returned is still a matter of conjecture to both Kate and May.

The three _voyageurs_ had many adventures to relate and much to say

about the wild beauty of the upper Saguenay, its _portages_,

waterfalls, tributary streams, and especially about the solitary

beauty of the lonely Lake St. John. Hugh declared that he would not

have missed it on any account, and _that_, as he remarked, _sotto

voce_, to May, was, in the circumstances, saying a good deal. Mr.

Winthrop was to write a description of it for an American periodical,

and Jack Armstrong declared it would give enough to talk about, and

excite other fellows with envy, for the next year, at all events.

And the last day at Murray Bay was, after all, happier than May in her

lonely reverie of the preceding evening had thought possible. They

visited several of their favorite haunts during the morning, and it

was wonderful how much Hugh and May had to say to each other,--said

Kate, mischievously, careless of the retort that "People who lived in

glass houses needn't throw stones." In the afternoon they took a long

drive along the Cap-a-l'Aigle heights, watching another gorgeous

sunset bathe the hills and river in its exquisite dyes. And as these

once more faded into the greyness of twilight, and the stars gleamed

out, and the white sails of a large vessel that had caught the last

glow of day became dimly spectral in the distance, Hugh whispered to

May, as they turned downwards, and away from the beautiful scene they

had been contemplating:

"And now, dearest, what can we desire better, than the hope of the

long voyage together down the great river to the silent sea?"

THE END.

Footnote 1: The Mamelons--rounded bluffs.

End of Project Gutenberg's Down the River to the Sea, by Agnes Maule Machar