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The promise of immunity had no effect upon Zulma, who knew that she had nothing whatever to fear, but she accepted the offer eagerly through the motive of being near her aged father, and because the excitement of travel was a positive relief in her then state of mind. The journey was accomplished successfully and without incident. The weather was favourable and the winter roads excellent.

Zulma Sarpy was this living, breathing model, fair as a filament of summer gorse, and statuesque in all her poses. She had been educated in France, according to the custom of many of the wealthy families of the Colony.

"Then stay here," exclaimed Zulma peremptorily. She added that she would take proper care of her father, and that Eugene need have no solicitude on that score. In the meantime, things had not come to the worse; perhaps, it would take even weeks before the siege commenced, and they would have ample time to communicate with each other again.

He was particularly alarmed lest his son should be exposed by remaining in the city, and thought of withdrawing him from the Seminary during the impending siege. What did Zulma think of it? "When do you return to Quebec?" was the abrupt query. "I will return at once, and father is going with me." "I will go too.

Grandpapa when he left me, two days ago, said au révoir. That means, 'I will see you again." "But perhaps those bad men have killed him." "What bad men? The Wolves?" Zulma did not understand, but Sieur Sarpy understood very well. "Yes, the Wolves, my dear," he said with a sad smile. "Oh, my grandfather does not fear the Wolves. The Wolves fear him.

"They are gone. The siege is raised. It was unforeseen, and done in the utmost precipitation." "And he too is gone!" "Alas! my dear." "That is as bad as death." And uttering a piercing shriek, Pauline fell back in a swoon upon her pillow. The cry was heard by Zulma in the garden, and she rushed back into the room.

That smothered, saucy laugh which bubbled on her red, ripe lips was an echo of the peal which greeted Hardinge when he pronounced the name of "Zulma," at the road gate. And as she rolled her fine head slowly to and fro on the velvet bosses of the back of her chair, was she not meditating some further design on the heart of the loyal soldier?

She, too, was about to leap forth, when her servant ran back precipitately, exclaiming: "The Bastonnais!" At the same moment the gleam of bayonets was seen under the arch of the bridge, two soldiers advanced into the light, and the sharp, stern summons of halt resounded through the hollow. The servant stood trembling behind the sleigh. Zulma quietly signalled the two soldiers to approach her.

Zulma was too brave a girl to hide the real meaning of her feelings from herself, nor would she have feared to confess them to anybody else. Least of all, in her opinion, should Cary ignore them.

The influence of prayer and of silent communion with God could never be more perceptible. She looked like a totally distinct being from the one whom we have known in the preceding pages. Zulma moved slowly, and when she reached the door of the confessional, she paused a moment. But it was not through hesitation. She was recollecting herself for a supreme act of religion.