He thinks of the fair maiden who
hourly awaits his coming with the flush of fond expectation mantling
the delicate cheek, and as he gazes upon the faithful portrait of
his betrothed, murmurs, "Is there aught on earth so pure and true as
thee my own--my Marguerite."
"Confiding, frank, without control,
Poured mutually from soul to soul,
As free from any fear or doubt,
As is that light from chill or stain
The sun into the stars sheds out,
To be by them shed back again."
CHAPTER XLII.
THE NORTHWEST REBELLION.
"The great heart of the nation heaves
With pride in work her sons have done well,
And with a smile and sigh she weaves
A wreath of bays and one of _immortelle_."
--_Toronto Mail_
It is the spring of 1885--a memorable one to many a bereaved
household. The Northwest Rebellion is at its height and our
brave-hearted volunteers are starting to the front "to do or die."
On that lovely May morn many a patriotic mother looked on her
first-born with a smile of encouragement upon her lips and a dull
aching at her heart. And that boy's farewell kiss! It lingers, oh so
lovingly, upon the quivering lips and pale cheek! But the brave soul
can suffer this much and more if her country needs it.
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