ld anybody else about the matter. How, then, pray, did it come to your
ears? You must have known of it before you came here to-night."

"I did, sir, and came expressly on that account."

"Who in the world could have told you?"

Hardinge broke out into a hearty laugh. The laugh was re-echoed by a
silvery voice in the passage.

"Treason is indeed rampant," roared out M. Belmont, cheerily. "A man's
worst enemies are those of his own household." Saying which, he advanced
rapidly to the door and opened it wide. Pauline stood before him, her
eyes swimming in tears, but with a smile of ineffable joy playing on her
white lips.

"Don't embrace me, don't speak to me," said M. Belmont, with mock
gravity. "I will hear no explanations. Settle the matter with this
gentleman here. If he forgives you, as he has forgiven your father, then
I will see what I can do for you."

He went out of the room, leaving Pauline and Roderick together for a
full quarter of an hour. There is no need to say that the twain laughed
and wept in turns over their victory.

When M. Belmont returned from his cellar, with a choice bottle of old
Burgundy, the reconciliation was complete, and that night the happiest
hearts in Quebec were those of Roderick Hardinge and Pauline Belmont. M.
Belmont was content at having done a good deed, but he was not really
happy. Why, the sequel will tell.

XVIII.

RODERICK HARDINGE.

It was a little before nine o'clock when Hardinge entered his quarters
at the barracks. He had passed through an eventful day, and he felt
weary. The interview which he had just held with M. Belmont was,
however, so absolutely the object of his pre-occupation, that he
appeared in nowise disposed to seek the rest required by his exhausted
physical powers. Mechanically divesting himself of his civilian costume
and assuming the undress uniform of his rank, he moved absently about
his little room, muttering to himself, humming fragments of song, and
occasionally breaking out into low laughter. Arnold and his rebel crew
were clean forgotten, the military events through which he had passed,
during the preceding few days, were blotted from his mind, and the
coming and going of the troops in the courtyard below completely escaped
his attention. It has been said, and with easily assignable cause, that
the soldier on the eve of battle is more sensitive to the softer
passions of the heart and the oblivion of all else which these passions
in