[Illustration: "She shortened up straps and adjusted buckles."] "There!" she cried, as she coiled up my hair tightly, "we must do without the wig, but the bonnet will cover a multitude of sins. You are as pretty a looking fellow as the heart of woman could desire. Nothing is wanting now but a brave carriage! Walk up and down like this, till I see," and she did her best to imitate a martial stride. "Courage, cherie! you are pale as a ghost. Courage! and remember every heart true to France will pray for you, whether you win or lose. You are carrying the fate of the colony in your hands to-night. Let me kiss you, cherie. Again. Bah! I'm only crying because I can't go in your stead. Come, I will let you out." When the side door of the convent shut behind me and I found myself alone in the darkness of the narrow street, my courage wellnigh failed me, and with shame in my heart I realised I was trembling so I could hardly put one foot in front of the other. But the rain dashed into my face by the high wind revived me, and with an effort I went on. As I made my way down past the Jesuits my courage gradually returned, and resolutely thinking of my mission alone, I banished my fears to such extent that I was enabled to grasp my sword firmly, and step forward with some show of assurance. As I turned into rue St. Jean a drunken soldier struck terror into me again by shouting out a convivial salutation in Gaelic, but his more sober comrades silenced him with low curses at his imprudence, and I went on, unmolested. There were not so many in the streets as I had expected, and with this one exception no one noticed me; but as I drew near to the St. John's Gate I made out a crowd of men busily engaged in barricading it, and for a moment I stood still in bewildered helplessness. I had so resolved on leaving the town by this means that when I found it closed against me it seemed as if my whole plan had failed. With my heart beating so I could hardly see to direct my steps, I turned back along the way I had come, and it was not until I drew near the Palace Hill I remembered there were other exits. Gaining fresh courage, I turned down and made my way to the Palace Gate, when, for the first time, it struck me that a password must be given, and of it I was ignorant. I did not even know the forms necessary to pass the men, and if an officer were present I must be discovered at once; but it was now too late to draw back, as I was in full view of the guard. It was a strange time to remember such things, but the first line of poor Lucy's hymn kept ringing in my head, and I advanced, saying over and over to myself, like a charm: "Thou very present Aid In suffering and distress."