sacred rite. When the ceremony was over, she rose quickly from her knees, and, retracing her steps, joined her friends at the entrance of the chapel. As she passed out, she noticed Leighton, who had entered silently at a side door, and now stood, sketch-book in hand, half concealed behind a pillar. She gave a quick, convulsive start, as her eyes met those of the artist, blushed deeply, and let fall her crape veil to hide evident emotion. What there was so visibly to disturb her, Leighton could not divine. So far as he knew, they had never previously met; and Leighton was not vain enough to suppose that there was about his person or appearance anything specially attractive to a stranger. Her agitation, he concluded, was due to some painful memory. His impressions were deepened later on in the day, when, all having returned to the hotel at which they were staying, he found ing from a conversation into which he had been drawn at the hotel porch, lit a cigar, and strolled over to take his evening walk on Dufferin Terrace. Here he was shortly afterwards joined by the English tourists who had arrived that morning by the Liverpool steamer. Passing the group, who were evidently enjoying the superb view from the promenade, the elderly gentleman accosted Leighton with some inquiry about Point Lévis, on the opposite shore. Leighton courteously satisfied the old gentleman and was about to pass on when further questions were simultaneously addressed to him, this time by the two ladies. These referred to other objects seen from the Terrace, and, answering the questions, the artist was drawn into an animated conversation with the whole party, who manifested great interest in Leighton's rapid recital of the historical events connected with Quebec, the himself more than once the object of the beautiful stranger's furtive but wistful gaze and indifferently hidden interest. Before nightfall the Fates seemingly decreed that the two people who had conceived so sudden an interest in each other should come together. After dinner the young artist excused himself in withdraw citadel, and the régime of French dominion in the New World. Leighton was well read in Canadian history, knew its every legend and tradition, and had the gift of a minstrelscholar in telling a story. In the walk back to the hotel he had in Lady Isabel an intelligent and interested auditor; and at her request he had to recount to the rest of the party several of the old Breton and Norman legends which had most interested her in the return to their night's quarters. It was far on in the evening when the party broke up, and day had nearly dawned before Leighton could get the lovely Isabel out of his head, to enable him to snatch an hour or two's rest before breakfast. The new day brought Leighton again into close contact with his English friends, all of whom seemed to wish to put themselves under his guidance during their brief stay at Quebec. Lady Isabel, though still cordial in her manner, obviously desired to impose some restraint upon the suddenly sprung-up friendship, and left conversation with him pretty much to the other members of the party. Leighton understood and accepted the somewhat changed relations; and while he regretted that he could not presume to ask that there should be a return of the cordiality that marked the previous evening's intercourse, he was consoled by the conviction that he had not lost favor in the lady's eyes. She still regarded him with marked interest, and, much as she desired to do so, could not altogether conceal the fact. Only once during the day did he find himself for a few minutes alone with her, during which she talked of Leighton's profession and her interest in it, and let fall the remark that her husband, too, had been an artist. Leighton was too well bred to do more, at this stage of their acquaintance, than signify that he had heard the casually dropped bit of personal history. He went on to speak of the attractive field there was in the Old World for the artist, and of the better rewards that there wait upon art-talent and industry; while she, on her part, spoke enthusiastically of the scope and variety which the New World opened to the genius and trained skill of American and Canadian painters. Unluckily the conversation was here interrupted by the return of Lady Isabel's travelling companions, who informed Leighton that they had decided to go on to Montreal by the evening boat and were sorry to have to take sudden leave of their new friend. They added, however, that they hoped to renew acquaintance with him at Toronto, where they expected to be in about three weeks, after a brief tour in the States, when they would most likely take advantage of his suggestion to spend a week at the Muskoka Lakes, where, he had previously informed them, he usually spent a part of the summer. From Muskoka, whither Leighton was himself shortly about to proceed, he was apprised that the party would set out for the Northwest, and, after a run through to the Pacific Coast, would then retrace their steps and go back to England. With this indication of the movements of the tourists and an exchange of cards between the gentlemen, and with profuse thanks for the young Canadian's civilities from all the travellers, the artist took leave of the group, after expressing the pleasure it would give him to meet them again, either at Toronto or at Maplehurst, the Ontario summer resort on Lake Rosseau, about a hundred and fifty miles north of the provincial capital. The reader already knows that all have again met by the waters of Muskoka, though he may not know in what turmoil of heart poor Leighton has been since he bid adieu at Quebec to Lady Isabel Wilton and let his ardent glance modestly fall before the spirituelle face and tear-moistened eyes of the beautiful English widow. Leighton tried hard to disguise from himself that he was in love. It was true, thanks to his own industry, and to the professional reputation he had earned, he was now in a position to marry; but what did he know of her to whom his heart was now captive, save her surface beauty; and even if she were all he sought in a wife, why, he sternly asked himself, should he be the favored of all suitors? Moreover, the fair Isabel could not have been long a widow, and might not her heart be still in the grave? Such were some of the thoughts that perplexed the mind of Frank Leighton as he walked with heightened color by the side of the beautiful gentlewoman among the hotel guests at Maplehurst, on the morrow after her arrival. To a few of his intimate acquaintances the young artist introduced the English travellers, and together for a week or more the newcomers enjoyed themselves hugely. The weather was glorious, and each day there was sufficient wind for a sail. Every morning some little party was made up, and in concert the group of sail-boats explored the picturesque inlets and gleaming stretch of waters that gem the prettily-wooded basin of the Lakes of Muskoka. In Leighton's yacht were always to be found the Lady Isabel with Mrs. Kinglake, her bosom friend and travelling companion. In a stroll in the odorous pine woods, or in a pull up the nereidhaunted Shadow River, that empties into Lake Rosseau, you would be sure to find the same happy company. Yet, in this idle dalliance daily with the woman he greatly loved, no word escaped Leighton indicative of his feelings. He saw that he was trusted by both women who honored him with their company, and he would not betray the trust; nor was it in his nature to be likely to do so. Soon, however, was there to occur an incident which brought the two chief figures in the drama of love more closely together. Leighton had arranged with his English friends an excursion by water, down the lake to Port Sandfield, with a break at ་ Eagle's Nest," thence up Lake Joseph to Port Cockburn, and over the Parry Sound road to the island-studded shores of Georgian Bay. A week was to be consumed in the trip. Before starting out on it the two gentlemen of the English party wished to run down to Toronto to complete their arrangements for proceeding to the West. This they presently did, leaving the ladies to Leighton's care. The day before Mr. Lewis and Mr. Kinglake were expected to return, Leighton crossed over to Rosseau village to buy an extra trolling-line for the ladies who were to join the expedition, and to fit up his boat's larder with such modest luxuries for the trip as the village afforded. He left Mrs. Kinglake and Lady Isabel cruising about in a small craft at the head of the lake, with a young lad staying at the hotel, and a boatman from the village. On his return to Maplehurst wharf, Leighton received a message left for him by the ladies, to the effect that they had set off for Morgan's Bay, a large inlet a little way down the lake; but that they would return shortly. As he crossed over from the village, he noticed that a storm was blowing up, and he became a little anxious for the safety of his charge. His fears increased as the sky darkened and the wind rose. Casting off from the wharf, Leighton hurried away in search of his friends. He had n't been gone many minutes when to his horror he observed the boat, with the ladies alone in it, scudding out from the inlet under the jib, and with the rudder apparently fouled. As the wind was now blowing a gale from the north, the little boat, with its panic-stricken inmates, when it emerged from the inlet, darted down the lake with the speed of the Furies. Leighton hoisted every inch of canvas his yacht could safely carry, and bore hotly down in pursuit. As he gained upon the fugitives he shouted to them some words of encouragement, which they sadly needed, for, to add to their fright, night came on and it began to pour. By the time Leighton overtook the ladies their boat had been driven miles down the lake; and the rescuer saw that, as they had passed the up-going steamer, which he had vainly tried to intercept, the only thing now to be done was to seek shelter, as well as safety, in some accessible cove. Drawing alongside, he transferred the ladies to his own boat, took theirs in tow, and steered for what seemed a safe place to land. As the storm increased there was no time to look for house or hut in which, could they find, they might take shelter; and of course it was out of the question to beat up to Maplehurst in the face of the wind. Whatever anxiety might be felt at the hotel about the fugitives, the report of those on the steamer, who saw the rescue, Leighton concluded, would allay fears. thus, at any rate, that the young artist reasoned. Though the ladies were not only fearful of spending a night by the now gloomy shore, but were apprehensive of the effects of the drenching which all had received, they gratefully put themselves under the charge of their gallant and considerate rescuer. It was Ere long Leighton was lucky in striking a suitable inlet. Coasting along its windsheltered shore, he was fortunate to find an old camping-ground, with a shelving rock approach from the water, and a rudely extemporized wharf. He quickly steered alongside, tied up his boat, got the ladies out, and, with a rather dull lantern light groped his way to a comparatively commodious shanty which he had descried from the landing. Though deserted, the shanty was fairly clean, and fortunately the roof was weatherproof. After housing the ladies and securing the place as much as possible from the violence of the storm, Leighton returned to the boat to get from its locker a bundle of shawls and rugs which, in view of the morrow's expedition, had been stowed there that afternoon. The locker also contained the afternoon's purchases at the village, a supply of coffee, biscuits, and canned provisions. Returning with these to the shanty, and being a man of resource, he set about making a fire, which was now possible, as the wind had fallen and the dark rain-clouds had blown over the lake. He had lights and a hatchet, and, going a little way into the dense woods, he got sufficient dry twigs to start a fire, and there was plenty of driftwood on the beach to keep it going. Putting a kettle of water on the blazing logs he made another excursion into the woods for dry branches, as a night's bedding for the ladies, and cut material for a rudely constructed couch. In the meanwhile the ladies had divested each other of their wet outer garments and were now warming themselves by the camp-fire, wrapped in the dry shawls which Leighton's happy forethought had provided. Both had by this time recovered from their fright, and with more complacency than could have been imagined they resigned themselves to a night's lodging in the woods. If they had the least fear, Leighton assured them, he would act as sentinel by their hut, and he playfully added that if they had any appetite they would n't go supperless to bed. To their credit be it said, they were less anxious about their supper than concerned as to how Leighton was to spend the night. Of this the artist's disinterestedness, not to speak of his gallantry, gave him no concern. At any personal sacrifice he was only too happy in serving the now idol of his heart. What thoughts of Leighton the while were coursing through the brain of the idol herself, we can but dimly conjecture. Naturally enough, on her lips she had nothing but thankfulness for her own and her companion's deliverer. In her heart was there any feeling deeper than gratitude? Time, aided by a chance discovery on the morrow, was ere long to disclose. In the meantime supper had been partaken; they had got themselves cheerily warmed by the fire; the storm had blown over; and the scene was brightened by the advent of a full moon. Long the three sat by the blazing logs, Leighton enlivening the evening by telling them, by request, the story of his life, and recounting a number of adventures he at various times had met with in the woods. In the recital of the events in his own history, both ladies, and-need we say it?-the Lady Isabel especially, manifested a lively interest. That Leighton had in the beautiful widow a rapt listener, the sweet pensive face beside him, on which the moon and the blazing pile shone, and the occasional interruptions of her sympathetic voice, were gratifying proof. Like Othello, when relating to Desdemona the chapter of his woes, he had the felicity of receiving Lady Isabel's compassionate interest. The night was far advanced ere the little party by the camp-fire broke up, and Leighton at last urged the ladies to seek rest. Up to the present time he had not been in a hurry to see them retire for the night, for with the passing of the storm and the advent of the clear full moon he had not abandoned the hope of getting back to the hotel with his charge. To this project the rough water in the lake was the only obstacle, coupled with the timidity of the ladies to undertake what to their minds was a hazardous trip. The idea was therefore abandoned, and with a cordial good-night to the artist, which expressed no little gratitude for their preservation and comparative comfort, the ladies retired to their hut. Their protector renewed the logs on the camp-fire, donned a big tarpaulin over his great-coat, and set his companions the example of composedly wooing, on a bed of pine twigs, sweet repose for the night. Leighton was early abroad the next morning, not only to renew the camp-fire, but to look abroad for the deficiencies of his boat's larder as material for breakfast. After hooking and preparing for the frying-pan a good-sized trout, he set out in the rowboat to explore the cove in which they had found shelter for the night, and to procure, at a settler's farm he espied near by, fresh milk and rolls for breakfast. Securing these and a few other dainties to tempt the matutinal appetite, he returned to the landing in time to have all prepared ere the ladies were abroad and had completed their camp toilet. When the al fresco meal was ready, his interesting charges appeared on the scene, shouting a gay morning accost, and profuse in their assurances that they had enjoyed a most comfortable and undisturbed rest. They commended Leighton for his thoughtfulness in foraging so successfully, and playfully complimented him on his attainments as a maid-in-waiting and cook. Leighton rejoined by telling them that his proficiency in the culinary arts would be best gauged by the extent of the meal the ladies made and their honest enjoyment of it. He had not long to wait for the practical evidences that their appetites were unimpaired and that the breakfast was appreciated. The day opened auspiciously, though the lake was still rough; and after breakfast they all concluded that they would be in no hurry to return to Maplehurst. The woods were inviting to walk in, and round their side of the cove there was a beautiful shingly beach. Here Leighton took a stroll, first with Lady Isabel, who was in the gayest of spirits, and later on with the equally bright and vivacious Mrs. Kinglake. The latter spoke delightedly of the novel experience they had had over night, in what she called "the wilds of Canada,” and took occasion to say to Leighton how much both she and Lady Isabel were indebted to him for his more than brotherly solicitude and many acts of kindness. The last night's adventure seemed to create a bond, which had not hitherto existed, between this lady and the artist; and in proof of this she confided to his hungry ear not only some facts about her widowed companion's early life, but gave him some hints of Lady Isabel's ill-disguised interest in himself. The Lady Isabel, she told him, was the only daughter of an old and once wealthy member of the British peerage, who wished to improve his fortunes by his daughter allying herself in marriage with a wealthy neighbor who had become possessed of some of the family estates and agreed to surrender them as the price of the Lady Isabel's hand. This neighboring magnate was an object of loathing to her friend, on account not only of a stain on his moral character, but because he was slightly deformed. Another reason for her antipathy to the proposed suitor lay in the fact that she had already lost her heart to a young Scottish artist, named Wilton, whom she had met on the Continent, and with whom, to escape the hunchback-lover forced upon her by her father, she eloped and married. Unhappily, continued Mrs. Kinglake, her conjugal life, in consequence of a heart-rending occurrence, did not extend beyond the brief honeymoon. The loving couple, after the clandestine marriage, had gone from Scotland direct to Switzerland, where they had first met, and where the happy |