istance.

While this conversation was going on, Pauline sat a little in the
background. She said not a word, but her eyes were full of tears. Cary,
as he glanced around, to relieve himself of the melancholy of the
moment, noticed her emotion and was strangely touched by it. He knew
well who she was, as Zulma had often mentioned her name to him,
explaining the embarrassing situation which the war had created for
herself and family, and the relations in which she stood towards
Roderick Hardinge. These marks of silent sympathy from one of the
besieged in Quebec, and one who was tenderly attached to a leading
British officer, moved him profoundly, and, from that moment, he took
steps to enlarge his acquaintance with Pauline. By degrees the
conversation turned into a more cheerful channel, and the anxiety of the
morrow being temporarily forgotten, as young hearts will forget and are
blest in forgetting, the evening passed agreeably on, and Cary had
abundant opportunity of enjoying the society of Pauline. His manner and
his words proved how much he was impressed with the charms of her
person, and the beauty of her character, and the admiration which he
expressed was reciprocated by Pauline in those half advances and still
more eloquent reticences which are the delicious secret of loving women.
Zulma was so little disconcerted by this mutual good understanding,
that she openly favored it, being unable to conceal her delight that her
own two best friends should be friends together. Far seeing girl as she
was, she was rejoiced that, on the eve of separation and the consequent
resumption of hostilities, the young Continental officer should have
made the acquaintance of one who might perhaps be his saviour if the
storm of war whirled him torn and bleeding within the walls of the
beleaguered city. Divine instinct of women! How often it stands in good
stead the headlong rashness of man amid the wildering strokes of fate!

Genuine gaiety resumed its sway, and the work of taffy-making was taken
up again. Cary was fed with choice titbits until he was fairly satisfied
and had to beg for quarter. Then, taking up a large roll of the _tire_,
Zulma twisted it into a series of elegant and intricate plaits. The long
coil flashed like a beautiful brazen serpent, as she held it up to the
light, and set it beside her own golden hair.

"These are Saint Catherine's tresses!" she cried. "Who will wear them,
you or I, Pauline?"

And the sally wa