"Yes, you heard he was ill and you came, at the peril of your life. You are a noble man, a generous friend. Oh, how he will be delighted to see you. He sleeps; we cannot awake him, but when he awakes, your presence will give him strength and courage. And Zulma----" Just then there was a low rap at the front door, and the girl, interrupting her speech, stepped out of the room and down stairs. "It is Hardinge," said M. Belmont "Go into the adjoining room, Batoche. He will not remain long. Perhaps, as the sick man is now reposing, he may not come up stairs at all." It was some moments before he ascended, being engaged in a colloquy with Pauline, and when he did come up, it was only to gaze upon the sleeping man for a few seconds. He contented himself with saying to M. Belmont that he had just seen the doctor, who declared that this was the height of the crisis, but that the chances were largely in favour of the patient. Anything--the merest trifle--that would tend to cheer up his moral nature at this time, without unduly exciting him, would most probably determine a salutary change for the better. M. Belmont smiled faintly as he heard this. He thought of Batoche's visit. "That will be just the thing," he murmured inwardly. VI. THE SAVING STROKE. When Roderick took his departure, Pauline accompanied him to the outer door, but she was not long away, being desirous to assist at the interview between Cary and Batoche. The old man stood by the bedside of his friend keenly observant of the symptoms which presented themselves to his practised eye. He that had so often been exposed to the severities of the Canadian winter and the hardships of the hunter's life was well acquainted with a malady which had more than once threatened his own days. "Both his lungs are terribly attacked and he is very, very feeble," said he to M. Belmont and Pauline, "but the clearness of his complexion shows that his constitution is sound, and the repose of his limbs is proof that he is endowed with remarkable strength. He was struck by a ball under the right shoulder and the upper lobe of the lung was probably grazed. He held up against the shock, thus wasting much of the vital force which absolute repose from the beginning would have spared him. He is a very sick man, but I believe with the doctor that he will pull through. Indeed," added Batoche in that quaint oracular way which was no longer new to those who heard him, "Cary Singleton cannot, must not die. Not only is his own young life precious, but there are dear lives depending upon his. What would Zulma Sarpy do without him, she that is fretting at the very thought of his illness? And, Pauline, you, I am sure, would not have him die?" The answer was two large tears that quivered in the eyes of the poor girl.