But as we dropped down the stream and stood watching the great rock of Quebec, with its fringe of batteries, and the English flag flying where ours had so proudly held its place for many a day, a sadness fell upon us all.
Margaret and I stood somewhat apart from the others.
“Hugh, dear, cannot you find some cause for thankfulness?” she said, softly.
“Oh yes; like Bougainville, I can at least quote the Psalmist: 'In exitu Israel de-AEgypto, domus Jacob de populo barbaro.'”
“Oh, Hugh, do not say that! It has been a blessed land to us. Listen, dear, to what has been my comfort all these years,” and with her beauteous face filled with the exaltation of her love she repeated:
“The span o' Life's nae lang eneugh, Nor deep eneugh the sea, Nor braid eneugh this weary warld, To part my Love frae me.”
[Epilogue]
The desolate point known as Tadoussac, at the mouth of the river Saguenay, in Canada, is the place of exile of a few officials who guard the interests of the fur trade.
Their quarters, a few storehouses, and the little church with its modest presbytère, form an outpost to the civilised world. During the summer season the wandering Indians flock down in their canoes, build their temporary huts, and a constant bustle of trade and barter sets in. Furs are examined, valued, and exchanged for guns, ammunition, clothing, and other luxuries of savage existence. The arrival of the few ships necessary to this primitive commerce makes the only other break in the monotonous existence of the little colony. At the approach of winter the Indiana scatter, and the officials and the solitary priest are prisoners until the spring once more opens for them the doors of the outside world.