, near the entrance to the
house, she threw herself upon his neck and burst into silent tears.

"Courage, mademoiselle," he said in a pathetic voice. "You have been
magnificent, and shall have your reward. Courage."

"It is over, Batoche. A momentary weakness which I could not resist. I
am happier now than I ever was in my life."

Batoche looked at her with admiration and whispered:--

"There was only one way of saving her life."

"Yes, and we have adopted it."

"You have adopted it, not I. Yours is all the merit and you shall be
blessed for it."

The two then went into the room of M. Belmont to keep him company, while
he awaited with resignation the result of the conference in the sick
chamber.

We may not dwell upon the details of the conference. Suffice it to know
that it was consoling in the extreme to the invalid and supremely
painful to the young officer. At sight of the wasted figure before him,
Cary lost all control over his feelings. He remembered only one
thing--that this girl had saved his life. He saw but one duty--that he
must save hers at whatever cost to himself and others. The long watches
of those eight weeks at the Belmont house came back to him, the
tireless attention, the gentle nursing, the sweet words of comfort. Her
illness was the result of his. That was enough.

Pleased as Pauline was to hear his words of gratitude and declarations
of devotion, she gave him no encouragement to believe that they would
have the effect of restoring her either in body or mind. The poor girl
shuddered at the alternative in which she was placed. Zulma was so
near--only a wall separating them. Roderick was so far--the ramparts of
Quebec seeming to have receded beyond an infinite horizon. Death was at
hand. Why recoil from it? Why not hail its deliverance with a benison?

Not in words did Pauline communicate these thoughts to Cary. With all
her resolution she would have been utterly unable to do so. But he
gathered her meaning only too well, the acuteness of his own suffering
making him read on the suffering face of the patient the recondite
thoughts which, on ordinary occasions, he would never have been able to
fathom. But, in spite of all this, Pauline was happy in the simple
presence of Cary. There were moments when she scarcely heeded what he
said, so intent was she in the enjoyment of the assurance that he was
really once more at her side. If she could have had this boon
indefinitely, without the need o