"Yes," added Archie, "and I remember how eloquently you pleaded for the culprit, who, in despair at having so deeply offended so good a father, was in danger of proceeding to rash extremities against himself. 'Dear papa,' you said, 'should you not rather thank heaven for having preserved Jules's life? What matters the loss of a cow, a horse, a carriage? You might have seen his bleeding body brought home to you!' 'Come, let us talk no more about it,' was your father's reply. 'Go and look for your rascal of a brother, for I doubt not you and Archie know where he has taken refuge after his nice performances!' "I see yet," continued Archie, "the half-penitent, half-comical air of Jules when he knew the storm had blown over. 'What, my father,' he ended by saying, after listening to some energetic remonstrances, 'would you have preferred to see me dragged to my death, like another Hippolytus, by the horse which your hands had nourished to be the murderer of your son? Would you have chosen to see my ensanguined locks dangling on the brambles?' To which the captain answered: 'Come, let's to supper, since there seems to be a God for such madcaps as you.' 'Now, that's more like the way to talk to a fellow,' was Jules's response. I never could quite understand," continued Archie, "why your father, who is ordinarily so unforgiving, used to forgive and forget so easily any offense of Jules." "Father knows," said Blanche, "that Jules loves him devotedly, and would endure anything to spare him pain. For all his headlong thoughtlessness, Jules could never offend my father deeply." "Now that we have called up so many pleasant memories," said Archie, "let us sit down on this hillock where we have so often before rested, and let us speak of more serious matters. I have decided to settle in Canada. I have lately sold a property which was left to me by one of my cousins. My fortune, although but moderate in the old country, will be counted large out here, where my happiest days have been spent, and where I propose to live and die among my friends. What do you say, Blanche?" "Nothing in the world could please us more. Oh, how happy Jules will be, how glad we will all be!" "Yes, you will all be pleased, doubtless; but my happiness can never be perfect, Blanche, unless you will consent to make it so by giving me your hand. I love--" The girl sprang to her feet as if an adder had stung her. With trembling lips and pale with anger, she cried: