le
that Zulma was horror-stricken. Pauline lay absolutely as if dead. No
breathing was audible, and her pulse had apparently ceased to beat.
Restoratives were applied, but failed to act. Although they did not
exchange a word together, both Zulma and M. Belmont thought that it was
the end. With the setting sun, and the coming of darkness, an awful
silence fell upon the house, through which alone, by the terrified
listeners, was faintly heard the rustling of the wings of doom.

Then the tempest arose, fit accompaniment for such a scene. Thunder and
lightning filled the sky. A hurricane swept the landscape, with a voice
of dirge, while the rain poured down in torrents. For long hours Zulma
knelt beside the inanimate form. M. Belmont sat at the head of the bed
with the rigidity of a corpse. But for the ever Watchful Eye over that
stricken house, who knows what ghastly scene the morning sun might
witness?

Through the storm, the sound of hoofs was heard, followed soon after by
a noise at the door. Zulma turned to M. Belmont with a sweet smile,
while he awoke from his stupor with indications of fear.

"Heavens! are our enemies so soon upon us?" he exclaimed, rising.

"Never fear," said Zulma, rising also. "It is our friends."

She went to the door and admitted Cary Singleton and Batoche. They were
both haggard and travel-stained. It required but a glance to reveal the
situation to them. The young officer, after pressing the hand of Zulma
and M. Belmont, stood for several minutes gazing at the insensible
Pauline. The old man did the same at a little distance behind. Then the
latter gently touched the former upon the shoulder. He turned and the
four held a whispered conference for a few moments, the speakers being
Cary and Zulma, both earnest and decided, especially Zulma. A conclusion
was soon reached, for M. Belmont hurriedly quitted the room. During his
brief absence, while the two men resumed their watches beside the couch,
Zulma carried a little table near the head, covered it with a white
cloth, set upon it two lighted candlesticks, and a little vessel of holy
water in which rested a twig of cedar. She did this calmly,
methodically, with mechanical dexterity, as if it had been an ordinary
household duty. Never once did she raise her eyes from her work, but,
from the increased light in the room, one might have noticed that there
was a spot of fiery red upon either cheek. Cary, however absorbed in his
meditations, coul