with a clergyman in the farthest part of
Lancashire, and that Annie was supposed, by
the Plenmouth doctor, to be in a rapid
decline.

This man, then, on Bytown wharf, this
lumberer, this mysterious personage, the
recognition of whose identity had so
perplexed me, was Hugh Elvyn! He must have
escaped from the place of his banishment,
and found a home here among hundreds of
others similarly circumstanced. As the notion
grew upon me, all the old recollections came
flowing through my mind. I saw the little
fishing town and the market, so redolent of
shrimps and herrings; the jolly little
alehouse where I lodged, with its sanded floor
and those perpetual choruses on Saturday
nights. I saw the worm-eaten sea-besoaked
jetty; the huge, hard-drinking, hard-handed,
soft-hearted fishermen; the church, with its
worn grey tower, its wooden tombstones and
quaint epitaphs; the parsonage, with its
smiling garden, the delicious smell of flowers
always hanging round its porch, and its
simple-minded hospitable owner. I thought
of Annie, and—but that is no matter! In
the calm reflection of after years, I often
fancy that I had other causes of dislike to
Hugh Elvyn beyond those I have here
mentioned. Revolving all these matters in
my mind, I arrived at Calumet Island and
walked into the public room of the hotel. At
the further end of the apartment was a large
counter or bar, at which several people were
drinking; among them, and recognisable at
once by his height and manner, was Hugh
Elvyn. I had scarcely set foot in the room
when he saw me, our eyes met, and hastily
tossing off his liquor, he hurried out through
a door opposite to that by which I had
entered.

I was now convinced of the accuracy of
my conjecture, and of Elvyn's determination
to avoid me; but I determined not to be
baffled in my attempts to learn something
more of his history. I accordingly mixed
with the lumberers still surrounding the
bar, and endeavoured to draw them into
conversation. In this attempt I am bound
to say I signally failed; so far, at least, as my
object was concerned: they talked freely
of the weather, of the prospects of the ice
breaking up, and of that grand topic in
which all dwellers in Canada are interested,
the annexation question; but of
themselves, or of their recent companion, whose
name I casually mentioned, they would say
nothing. One by one they dropped out of
the room; at last, I drew a table to the
window, pulled out my travelling case, and
commenced writing a business despatch. I had
been at work about half an hour, when a
shadow falling across the paper caused me
to raise my head, and, looking up, I saw
an Indian squaw, who, after glancing
cautiously round, threw a letter upon the table,
pressed her finger on her lip, and retired as
mysteriously as she had arrived.
Immediately on her departure I took up the letter,
broke the seal, and read as follows:

I thought I had escaped pursuit, and that I
might linger out the remainder of my wretched life,
alone, unsuspected, and unknown. When, having
eluded the vigilance of those to whom my crimes had
consigned me, I managed, after enduring the greatest
hardships, to reach these solitudes, I fancied that the
overhanging sword of the Avenging Angel had at
length been turned aside, and that I might be allowed
to die without ever encountering a face which I had
seen before or hearing the name which I had borne in
happier times. It seems, however, that this is not to
be, and that you have discovered my retreat. I saw
you yesterday on Bytown wharf, to-night I find you
have traced me further. What your intentions may
be, I know not. You have come, perhaps, to deliver
me into the hands of the law, from which I have
escaped; perhaps, some better motive prompts your
pursuit. All is however useless, no amount of toil,
hunger, or misery (and Heaven knows I have endured
all these!) would appal me, but I could not endure
once more to be pointed at as a felon, or even to be
seen or spoken to by any one who had known me in
my former condition. On this side the grave at least,
I will be free from interference or reproach.
H. E.

That night I retired to bed more disturbed
than ever, and only determined upon one
point, that I would pursue my investigations
no further. I could be of no assistance to
this unhappy man, and no mere verbal
consolation would have been of any benefit to
him; my best plan was to try to forget the
events of the last two days, and never to
allow Elvyn's name or history to pass my
lips. After a seemingly never-ending night
spent in feverish tossings and tumblings, with
occasional snatches of perturbed sleep, I rose
with the first glimmer of daylight, and
hurried out into the fresh morning air.

On issuing from the door of the inn, my
attention was attracted by a group of people
on the river bank, who were gathered round
some dark object which had apparently been
just landed from an Indian canoe lying near.
As I approached, the group divided; and
there, in the centre of it, dank and dripping,
discoloured and contused by the snags against
which, in the rapid flow of the river, it had
been tossed, and with a small punctured
wound in the chest, round which the blood
had clogged, lay the body of Hugh Elvyn.

Horror-stricken, I inquired of the
bystanders, and was soon made acquainted with
all they had to tell. A young Indian
attached to one of the lumbering parties had
for some time suspected the existence of an
intrigue between his wife and Elvyn; on the
previous evening he had seen them continually
together, had tracked her to the inn
whither she had been sent with my letter,
and then had been heard to vow vengeance
against his betrayer. Late that night, Elvyn
was perceived, in a half-intoxicated state,
making his way towards the shanty, at the edge