“Why,” asked De Valette, “are you so powerfully agitated?”

“I am not agitated,” said Hector, starting as from a dream; “I was vexed,—­that is all; but it is over now,” and resuming his usual gaiety of manner, he turned to La Tour, and added,

“I have played my borrowed part long enough for this evening, and if your own curiosity is satisfied, and you have amused your friends sufficiently at my expense, I will again crave permission to retire.”

“Go,” said La Tour,—­“go and doff your foolish disguises; it is, indeed, time to end this whimsical farce.”

“I shall obey you,” returned the page; and gladly retreated from his presence.

Fort St. John’s, on that evening, presented a scene of unusual festivity.  La Tour permitted his soldiers to celebrate the marriage of their comrade, and their mirth was the more exuberant, from the privations they had of late endured.  Even the joy, which the return of their commander naturally inspired, had been prudently repressed, while the New-England vessels were unlading their supplies, from respect to the peculiar feelings of the people who had afforded them so much friendly assistance.  These vessels had left the fort, on the morning of that day; and their departure relieved the garrison from a degree of restraint, to which they were wholly unaccustomed.

La Tour remained conversing with Arthur Stanhope, where the page, who was soon followed by De Valette, had left them, till a message from his lady requested their presence in her apartment.  The scene without, was threatening to become one of noisy revel.  Many of the soldiers had gathered around a huge bonfire, amusing themselves with a variety of games; and, at a little distance, a few females, their wives and daughters, were collected on a plat of grass, and dancing with the young men, to the sound of a violin.  The shrill fife, the deep-toned drum, and noisy bag-pipe, occasionally swelled the concert; though the monotonous strains of the latter instrument, by which a few sturdy Scots performed their national dance, were not always in perfect unison with the gay strains of the light-hearted Frenchmen.  Here and there, a gloomy Presbyterian, or stern Hugonot, was observed, stealing along at a cautious distance from these cheerful groups, on which he cast an eye of aversion and distrust, apparently afraid to venture within the circle of such unlawful pleasures.

“Keep a sharp eye on these mad fellows, Ronald,” said La Tour to the sentinel on duty; “and, if there is any disturbance, let me know it, and, beshrew me, if they have another holiday to make merry with!”

“Your honor shall be obeyed,” said the sentinel, in a surly tone.

“See you to it, then,” continued La Tour; “and be sure that none of those English pass the gates to-night.  And have a care, that you do not neglect my orders, when your own hour of merriment arrives.”

“I have no lot nor portion in such things,” said Ronald, gruffly; “for, as the scripture saith”—­