icle stopped, and
while the papers were being perused by the officer on guard, a final
interview took place between the members of this little circle. It was a
moment of trying emotion to all, and there were tears in every eye as
the last embrace was given.

On a high embankment, level with the wall, and commanding a view of the
gate, rose the solitary figure of Roderick Hardinge. Leaning on his
sword, he stood in the young grass, under the budding boughs of a walnut
tree. He had waited there till the carriage came. He would wait till it
rolled away through the valley. There was a terrible moment, as it
lingered before the guard-house, when he would have rushed down to plead
his great love once more at the feet of Pauline. Perhaps at that
critical time he might win his suit. Perhaps she was waiting for him and
wondering in pain why he did not come. But, spite of his anguish,
Roderick retained mastery over his soul. He checked this intention,
feeling with cruel vividness that a sacrifice, to be a sacrifice, must
be carried out to the end. Their last farewell was on yesterday. She had
distinctly wished it thus. He would not disturb the vision of their
parting--the closed eyes, reversed form, pallid cheek, and appearance
of helpless misery. She too had suffered. He would not make her suffer
more. And there was that kiss on the burning forehead. He could never
forget that, nor would he allow impressions to intervene and possibly
efface it.

So the noble fellow stood in the young grass, leaning on his sword,
immoveable, stern, holding his forehead up against fate, and silently
fighting a battle with himself compared to which the clash of battalions
and the thunder of ordnance were mere child's play. And he conquered. A
shadow of a smile fluttered over his lips as he resigned his last hope,
and closed the door for ever to the cherished prospect of the
efflorescence of love into fruition.

At that moment the friends of M. Belmont stepped aside, and, as the door
closed, Roderick caught a glimpse of Pauline's dress. His imagination at
once constructed the picture. She lay recumbent upon pillows, with her
father at her side. Her face was pale, and her lips drawn down, but her
eyes were animated with a glow that was a mixture of inquiry and regret.
Was she really expecting Roderick? Alas! who can doubt it? She knew him
too well not to feel that he must be somewhere in her neighbourhood, and
the unerring instinct had its magneti