"If he would only come," she murmured, as she stood there. "But it is impossible. There is no riding on horseback through such snow, or I should have gone out myself." At length the weary afternoon had worn away. Five o'clock rang through the house from the old French clock at the head of the stair. Zulma had just finished counting the strokes with a feeling of relief when the tinkling of sleigh bells fell upon her ear. She rushed to the window, shot a glance upon the court, uttered an exclamation of joy and ran out of her room. "No, it cannot be, my darling, and in such weather!" But it was Pauline nevertheless. The two friends fell into each other's arms, kissed each other over and over again, and repaired together to Zulma's room, where, amid the work of unwrapping, and warming feet, and sipping a glass of wine, the congratulations and expostulations went briskly on. Pauline had come with Eugene Sarpy, as that young gentleman himself testified when he entered the house in noisy boyish fashion, after having put up the horse. It was a holiday at the Seminary where the youth was immured, and he had the opportunity to drive out to the old home once more. He had asked Pauline to accompany him, and she declared herself only too glad of the occasion to see Zulma again. "It may be our last chance, you know," she said, half laughing, but with a slight shadow on her sweet face. "And those horrid rebels," rejoined Zulma very merrily. "How did you make up you mind to encounter them?" "We did not encounter them." Zulma's face suddenly turned white. "What? Are they gone?" The fear flashed upon her mind that perhaps the Americans had left the neighborhood, which would account for the absence of Cary during the day, but she was reassured by Pauline, who informed her that Eugene had avoided the American camp by taking a roundabout way through the concessions. "That must have increased your distance." "It did at least by four leagues, but I didn't mind that so long as we were free from danger." "You do not like these soldiers?" "I dislike them all, except, perhaps, one." Zulma looked up in surprise. "And pray who may that one be?" "Don't you remember the bearer of the flag?" "Oh!" was the only exclamation that Zulma uttered, while cheeks were fit to burst with the rush of conscious blood. "Roderick has spoken to me of him in the highest terms of admiration," continued Pauline quietly. "He will doubtless be flattered to hear of this," said Zulma, with just a touch of sarcasm in her tone. But it was lost upon the gentle, unsuspicious Pauline, and Zulma, regretting the remark, immediately said: