diately on my return. I suppose you and
your father saw the crowd in the Square this morning. It was great
fun. Give my respects to M. Belmont and believe me,

Ever yours, devotedly,

RODDY.

Pauline was still holding this note in her hand, thinking over it, when
her father surprised her by walking into the room. He was very pale, but
otherwise bore no marks of agitation. Setting his fur cap on the table
and throwing open his great coat, he took a seat near the hearth. Before
his daughter had time to say anything, he asked her quietly what she had
in her hand.

"It's a letter, papa?"

"From whom?"

"From Roddy."

"Roderick Hardinge? Burn it, my dear."

"But, papa--"

"Burn it at once."

"But he sends you his love."

"He has just sent me his hate. Burn it, my daughter."

Poor Pauline was overwhelmed with surprise and sorrow, but, without a
word further, she dropped the paper into the fire. Then throwing her
arms around her father's neck, she burst into a tempest of tears.

VII.

BEAUTIFUL REBEL.

Hardinge had not been gone more than half an hour when the skies lifted
and the snow-storm ceased. The wind then shifted to the north, driving
the drifts in banks against the fences and low stone walls, and leaving
the road comparatively clear. He thus had splendid riding in the open
spaces. He was in exultant spirits, of course, for he had everything in
his favor--a magnificent horse upon whose speed and endurance he could
rely, the opportunity of exploring a long stretch of country previously
unknown to him, and, above all, the sense of being employed on a
military expedition of the greatest importance. He had played for high
stakes and had won them. At one stroke, he had rehabilitated the militia
and brought his own name into prominence. The way was now open to him in
the career which he loved and which his father had honored. If all went
well with him he would win advancement and glory in this war. And he had
no misgivings. What young soldier has with the bright sky over his head,
the solid earth under his feet, the wide world before him, and the whiff
of coming battle in his nostrils?

He imparted his own animation to his steed. The noble grey fairly flew
over the ground, and Roderick saw from the first that he would have to
restrain rather than impel him. His first stoppage was at
Pointe-aux-Trembles, a beautiful village, which became historic during
the war of invasion an