ed upon his lips, intelligence beamed softly in his look, and,
withdrawing his long emaciated hand from under the sheet, he extended it
to his old friend.

"Batoche!" he whispered.

The latter took the proffered hand reverently and pressed it to his
lips.

"You know me, Captain?"

"Perfectly."

"I have longed to see you."

"And I to see you."

"But it was impossible to come sooner."

"I know it and you had to use that uniform."

As Cary said this he pointed to Batoche's disguise with a subdued laugh.
He immediately added:

"And my friends, how are they? Mademoiselle Zulma and Sieur Sarpy?"

"They grieve at your misfortune and pray for your recovery.
Mademoiselle's chief regret is that she cannot be at your side."

A radiance passed over the sufferer's face, and he said:

"Does she know in whose kind hands I am?"

"She does and that is her only consolation."

It was Pauline's turn to betray her emotion, by averting her head and
wiping the tears from her eyes.

"Here are a few lines from her pen," continued Batoche, "written not
many hours ago."

Cary held out his hand for the paper, partially raising himself on the
pillow in his eagerness as he did it. He would have asked that it be
read to him, when Batoche interposed with that quiet authority so
familiar to him.

"Not to-night, Captain. Keep it for your first joy on awakening
to-morrow morning."

The sick man smilingly acquiesced, and handed it to Pauline, saying:

"We will read it together at breakfast."

After a pause, during which Cary appeared to be collecting his thoughts,
calmly, however, and without effort, he said to Batoche:

"You return to-night?"

"Yes, at once. It is growing late."

"You will see Mademoiselle Sarpy and her father. You will thank them for
their solicitude. Tell them that my thoughts are with them. If I live
and secure my liberty, my first visit will be to them. If I die--"

"Die, Captain, die!" exclaimed Batoche in a ringing voice that startled
Pauline and her father. "A soldier does not die thus. All is not lost.
We shall fight side by side again. A young man does not die thus. Death
is for old men like me. A glorious future is before you. Die? You will
not die, Captain Singleton. You must live for the sake of your parents
and relatives in the old home of the South, and you must not break the
hearts of these two Canadian girls, whose happiness hangs upon yours."

This last sentence especially Batoche blurt