“From his highness,” answered Harding, laughingly detaining her, “Eugene Raoul, Count De Marsiac!” She gazed at him in surprise for a few moments; and then, catching the light of his smile, folded her hands upon his shoulder, looked archly into his eyes and said— “If the envoy does not deem my hand a prize high enough to justify his preferring a claim on his own behalf. I must even listen to the overtures of his sovereign.” “Then I must deliver my credentials,” said Harding, and drawing her to him, he kissed her upon both cheeks. “And now,” he continued, taking her hand, “my mission is ended; and in my own proper character I claim this hand as my own. Is it mine?” “Forever,” she answered, and he was about to resume his “credentials,” when a rustling among the bushes attracted his attention; and before Margarita could disengage herself, Lieutenant Grant confronted them, and leveled a pistol at Harding’s breast! “Traitor!” he shouted furiously; “you shall pay for this with your life!” Margarita screamed loudly, and threw herself in front of her lover; but before Grant was aware of his intention, Harding drew his sword, and passing around her, threw himself upon him. He knocked the pistol into the air just as it exploded; and the next instant Grant was stretched upon the sward, bleeding profusely from a wound in the head given by the back of Harding’s sword! The latter drew the remaining pistol from the sash of the fallen lieutenant, and kneeling beside him raised him from the ground on his arm. “Bring some water from the river,” he said to Margarita. But as he looked up, he perceived that the party had been increased by one! A tall, handsome woman, of perhaps thirty-six, stood gazing sternly on the scene, while Margarita shrank back abashed. She had a face once evidently distinguished for its proud beauty, but now remarkable chiefly for the masculine strength of its expression. Her eye was of that deep blue, which oftener indicates coldness than tenderness; and her lips, now compressed and white, were full of fierce resolution. It was plain that a sneer was more natural to her than a smile, anger than affection. Her brow was high but narrow, and her nose a thin aquiline. It was not at all strange that she had been the dominant spirit in Colonel Eltorena’s household. “What is this?” she commenced, in a voice of powerful compass, but no sweetness. “And who are you, sir, who dare to invade my private garden to brawl with my guests?” “You know me full well, madam,” said Harding, irritated by her tone, “and I intend that you shall know me better. But this is no time to instruct you. Margarita, will you bring some water from the river?” Margarita looked doubtfully at her mother; but at a wave of her hand, ran away toward the river. As she disappeared, her mother advanced closer to Harding, who was endeavoring to resuscitate Grant, and said—