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"Let entlemen whom the rebels cry out upon," she said "Sir John Johnson is a ish and overheavy, allant officer"

"His father was a wise and honest gentleman before him," I said sincerely "Is his son, Sir John, like him?"

She nodded, and went on to deal with old John Butler--nor did I stay her to confess that these Johnsons and Butlers were no strangers to me, whose blackened Broadalbin home lay a charred ruin to attest the love that old John Butler boreand silent, while she spoke of Walter Butler, describing him vividly, even to his amber black eyes and his pale face, and the poetic melancholy hich he clothed the hidden blood-lust that smoldered under his s, proud, and ara, too, and--if I knew him--he had not spared her hints of that impetuous flame that burned for all pure women deep in the blackened pit of his own da

"Walter Butler's--wife!" she gasped, turning on , deep breath; suddenly, the gayest, sweetest little laugh followed, but it was slowly that the color returned to lip and cheek

"Is he not wedded?" I asked carelessly--the daain she laughed, which was, no doubt, my wordless answer

"Does he dance well, this h

"Divinely, sir I think no gentlerace Oh, you New Yorkers! You think we are nothing--fit, perhaps, for a May-pole frolic with the rustic gentry! Do not deny it, Mr Renault Have we not heard you on the subject? Do not your officers froh Halifax and Quebec, all slasses raised? And--'Very pretty! ! spike rass? Damme, where's the snow--and the polar bears, you know?'"

I laughed as she paused, breathlessly scornful, flushed with charnation

"And is not Canada all snow?" I asked, to tease her

"Snow! It is sweet and green and buried in flowers!" she cried

"In winter, ue h--I have not known you above half an hour I shall tell Lady Coleville"