r, excited her liveliest
apprehensions. But that faded into nothingness in comparison with the
absolute terror that seized her at the thoughts of the speedy arrival of
her father in the Colony.

Caroline, overwhelmed with a sense of shame and contrition, pictured to
herself in darkest colors the anger of her father at the dishonor she
had brought upon his unsullied name.

She sat down, she rose up, she walked her solitary chamber, and knelt
passionately on the floor, covering her face with her hands, crying to
the Madonna for pity and protection.

Poor self-accuser! The hardest and most merciless wretch who ever threw
stones at a woman was pitiful in comparison with Caroline's inexorable
condemnation of herself.

Yet her fear was not on her own account. She could have kissed her
father's hand and submitted humbly to death itself, if he chose to
inflict it; but she trembled most at the thought of a meeting between
the fiery Baron and the haughty Intendant. One or the other, or both of
them, she felt instinctively, must die, should the Baron discover that
Bigot had been the cause of the ruin of his idolized child. She trembled
for both, and prayed God that she might die in their stead and the
secret of her shame never be known to her fond father.

A dull sound, like footsteps shuffling in the dark passage behind the
arras, struck her ear; she knew her strange visitant was come. She
started up, clasping her hands hard together as she listened, wondering
who and what like she might be. She suspected no harm,--for who could
desire to harm her who had never injured a living being? Yet there she
stood on the one side of that black door of doom, while the calamity of
her life stood on the other side like a tigress ready to spring through.

A low knock, twice repeated on the thick door behind the arras, drew
her at once to her feet. She trembled violently as she lifted up the
tapestry; something rushed through her mind telling her not to do it.
Happy had it been for her never to have opened that fatal door!

She hesitated for a moment, but the thought of her father and the
impending search of the Chateau flashed suddenly upon her mind. The
visitant, whoever she might be, professed to be a friend, and could, she
thought, have no motive to harm her.

Caroline, with a sudden impulse, pushed aside the fastening of the door,
and uttering the words, "Dieu! protege moi!" stood face to face with La
Corriveau.

The bright lamp