She was greatly pleased, as indeed she might be, for the poor fellows had shown their gratitude in the most honourable fashion they knew, and she begged me to return her thanks and the assurances of her interest in them all, which I did in terms that, however they might have violated her ideas of rhetoric, were best understood by the men before me:

“Neil, son of Angus, remember,” I concluded, “and remember, too, every one who hears me, that though these good sisters do not understand us nor our ways, they have knitted their hearts' kindness into every stitch that has gone into those stockings, and there is not a man of you who has a mother, or a sister, or a wife, at home, who, if she knew what had been done for you this day, but would be down on her knees praying for these good women. In the mean time, see you don't forget to do it yourselves!”

When I finished they were nearer crying than saluting, and I am not sure that I was far from it myself; for, as I spake, the once familiar hills and glens, the humble dwellings, the quiet-faced women, the yellow-haired children, all that meant home to these brave fellows, came before me like in a dream, and I found myself longing for something I thought I had parted with forever.

The winter proved unusually severe, and the suffering of the troops and the few people of condition who remained was excessive, but there was no disorder to speak of, and the hardships were borne uncomplainingly. From time to time we had news of our army encamped on the Jacques Cartier, not only by the legitimate channel of the foraging and reconnoitring parties, but even by means of some who carried on a business of trafficking between the two camps, the greed of gain triumphing over war and famine, and even over ordinary patriotism. It was reported that M. de Lévis had said he would eat his Christmas dinner in Quebec under his own flag; but he was not given to such empty boasts, that I had ever heard, and the day passed unmarked for us save by the services in our chapel.

Towards the end of January, Archie came to me with a letter. “There, Peggy, this, I take it, should go into your hands, as it is addressed to your care. It is fortunate that Maxwell governs himself like a gentleman in some things, for if he had attempted to send his letter by any underhand means it might have placed you in an unpleasant position, and even exposed me to suspicion. Listen to this—I wish I could write like the fellow:

“CAMP ON THE JACQUES CARTIER,
22 Jan'y, 1760.

Sir,—I have the honour to be known to your Excellency's brother, Lord Elibank, and though Fate had thrown me on the side opposed to your command, I venture to beg your courtesy in remitting the enclosed letter to the care of Mme. de St. Just, at present in your lines. I have left it unsealed, should you deem it your duty to peruse it, but I give you my word of honour it contains nothing but the most private matters affecting one in whom Mme. de St. Just is interested. Should your regulations, however, forbid such a favour, I beg that you will burn it yourself, and I will none the less hold myself to be,

Sir,
Your very obliged and humble servant,
Hugh Maxwell of Kirkconnel.

To the Hon'ble James Murray,
Commanding in Quebec.'

“I give you my word, Peggy, the general would allow such a letter to pass did it contain all the treason between here and Mozambique. He bids me give it you with his compliments, and assure you that not only is it unread, but that should you wish to answer it under the same restriction as to news, he will enclose your reply the first time he has occasion to communicate with the French general.”