one dead, is to be more pitied than that man or woman in whose soul jealousy has taken up its abode? It is, I believe, the most grievous passion that can sear the heart of man. What crimes will he not commit to appease that demon in his breast, whose presence banishes every tender and human sentiment? If he be driven by jealousy to the commission of the unpardonable sin, if he shed the life-blood of brother or of wife, what council of his peers but will judge that the demon was stronger than his humanity, and that, just or unjust, his crime must be condoned?
It was on the very edge of night that Robert arrived at the little settlement of friendly Indians. He found the wigwams deserted by all save the women and old men. After resting for a few moments, he proceeded to the chapel of the missionary priest, situated at a short distance from the hamlet. His way led him over a dilapidated bridge which spanned a bayou contiguous to the great lake. He stepped lightly over the loose-lying planks, which would have failed to support any less wary wayfarer. He knew just how to throw his weight, and could spring from a rotten board before it gave way beneath him. He was midway on his somewhat perilous journey when he was hailed by a cheerful voice; a wagon was fording the bayou, and he recognized
