oche closed as abruptly as he had begun. After a final sweep over the
strings that sounded like a shriek, he held his bow extended in his hand
for a moment, while his contracted features and fixed eye assumed an
expression of listening.

"There is trouble in the air," he said quietly, as he walked back to the
alcove to lay by his fiddle. "The day which has been so eventful shall
be followed by a night of distress. We have been happy. Our friends are
not so happy."

XVI.

A PAINFUL MEETING.

Deep silence followed these words. It was broken, after an interval of
about ten minutes, by a great commotion outside and the rushing of
Batoche to the door. Cary and Zulma remained in their seats awaiting an
explanation which was soon forthcoming. Batoche entered supporting on
his arm the drooping form of Pauline. M. Belmont followed, the picture
of anger and despair. When Zulma saw her friend, she uttered an
exclamation of pain and sprang forward to meet her. Pauline having shot
a burning glance at her and at the figure sitting beside her, placed her
hand upon her heart, and fell backwards in a swoon. Cary, forgetting his
wounds, hobbled to her assistance. The whole household was bustling
around the beautiful victim, as she lay unconscious in Batoche's easy
chair. But the attack was only transient. Pauline soon recovered
consciousness and strength under the action of restoratives, and the
company was enabled to understand what combination of strange
circumstances had thus brought them so unexpectedly together. M. Belmont
drew Batoche into the alcove, where they had a long and loud
conversation, the substance of which was that both the friends were in
imminent danger, the one of his life, the other of his liberty. M.
Belmont had been warned that day, through the friendly offices of
Captain Bouchette, that he must not receive Batoche into his house any
further. Batoche had lately been tracked in his nocturnal excursions to
and from the town, the authorities had been made aware of his doings,
and strict orders had been issued for his capture dead or alive. The man
who was on his heels was Donald, the servant of Roderick Hardinge, who
had apprised his master of the facts. Roderick, through delicacy, had
not ventured to mention the matter to M. Belmont, but had commissioned
their mutual friend, Bouchette, to do so. The Belmont house was
hereafter to be closely watched, and if Batoche or any of his companions
were found the