In the grey of the morning, Julian, too excited to sleep, heard the soft plash of oars alongside the Sutherland, and raising his head to look over the bulwarks, he heard his name pronounced in a familiar voice.

“Humphrey, is that you?”

“Yes,” he answered.  “I have gleaned some news.  I want to impart it to the General.”

Wolfe was lying on deck looking up at the quiet stars overhead, worn out with the long strain, yet free from acute pain, and thankful for the boon.  He heard the words, and sat up.

“Bring him to me,” he ordered; “I will hear his report.”

The next minute Humphrey was on deck and beside him.  Humphrey was often employed to carry messages from ship to ship.  He had built himself a light, strong canoe; and could shoot through the water almost like an Indian.  He stood beside Wolfe’s couch and told his tale.

“I went up to the French camp as close as possible.  I heard there that some boatloads of provisions were to be sent down tonight upon the ebb to Montcalm’s camp.  They have done this before, and will do it again.  Later on I came upon two Canadians, seeking to escape from the French camp.  I took them across to our vessels for safety.  They confirmed what I had overheard.  Boats laden with provision will be passing the French sentries along the coast tonight.  If our boats go down in advance of these, they may do so almost unchallenged.”

Wolfe’s eyes brightened before he had heard the last word.  He instantly perceived the advantage which might accrue to them from this piece of information luckily hit upon.  He grasped Humphrey’s hand in a warm clasp, and said: 

“You bring good news, comrade.  I think the star of England is about to rise upon this land.  Go now and rest yourself; but be near to me in the time of struggle.  You are a swift and trusty messenger.  It is such as you”—­and his eyes sought Julian and Fritz, who were both alert and awake—­“that I desire to have about me in the hour of final struggle.”

Then, when Humphrey had gone below with Fritz, Wolfe turned to Julian and said, speaking slowly and dreamily: 

“There is something I would say to you, my friend.  I have a strange feeling that the close of my life is at hand—­that I shall not live to see the fruit of my toil; though to die in battle—­in the hour, if it may be, of victory—­has been ever the summit of my hopes and ambition.  Something tells me that I shall gain the object of my hope tomorrow, or today perchance.  I have one charge to give you, Julian, if that thing should come to pass.”

Julian bit his lip; he could not speak.  He was aware of the presentiment which hung upon Wolfe’s spirit, but he had fought against it might and main.

The, soldier placed his hand within the breast of his coat, and detached and drew out that miniature case containing the likeness of his mother and his betrothed.  He opened it once, looked long in the dim light at both loved faces, and pressed his lips to each in turn.