he accepted, at his solicitation, Eugene's offer of a trip to the Sarpy
mansion, the particulars of which have already been set before the
reader. A few hours after her departure, Batoche suddenly made his
appearance with the startling intelligence that the Bastonnais would
return the next day to begin the regular siege of the town, and the
anxious father commissioned him to set out and bring back his daughter
at once. In the course of the same evening Roderick Hardinge called and
was very much concerned to learn the absence of Pauline, but was
partially reassured when M. Belmont informed him of her expected speedy
return. Roderick's visit was short, owing to some undefined constraint
which he observed in the conversation of M. Belmont, and it was perhaps
on that account also that he omitted stating the reason why he
particularly desired to speak to Pauline. We have seen that he was
waiting at the outer gate when she drove up in the early morning
accompanied by Batoche and Cary Singleton.

As soon as they found themselves alone and safe within the town,
Roderick said abruptly:

"I would not have had you absent to-day for all the world."

Pauline noticed his agitation and naturally attributed it to his fears
for her personal safety, but she was soon undeceived when he added:

"You must by all means come to the ball with me this evening, my dear."

"To the ball?" she asked with no feigned surprise, because the events of
the preceding day and night had completely driven the recollection of it
from her mind.

"Yes, the Governor's ball."

It was in vain that she pleaded the suddenness of the invitation, her
want of preparation, and the great fatigue which she had just undergone.
Roderick would admit no excuse. His manner was nervous, excited, and at
times almost peremptory.

"And my father?" she urged as a last argument.

"I saw your father last night. He complained of being unwell and
evidently cannot come."

The slight emphasis which Roderick, in his rapid utterance, placed on
the word "cannot" was not lost on his sensitive companion. She looked up
at him with a timorous air.

"And what if my father will not let me go?" she asked almost in a
whisper.

"Oh, but he will. He _must_, Pauline."

Her eyes were raised to his again, and he met them frankly.

"Let me be plain with you, my dear. If you will not go to the ball for
my sake, you must go for your father's sake. Do you understand?"

She _did_ understan