in the light of an
exotic. Yet was the heart of Zulma really unspoiled. Her instincts and
principles were true. She by no means regarded herself as out of place
in her native country, but, on the contrary, felt that she had a mission
to fill in it, and, having had more than one opportunity of honorable
alliance in France, preferred returning to Canada and spending her days
among her own people.

But she had to be taken as she was. If the good simple people around her
did not understand her ways, she could afford to leave them in their
wonderment without apology or explanation. The standing of her family
was so high, and her own spirit so independent, that she felt that she
could trace out her own course, without yielding to the narrow and
antiquated notions of those whose horizon for generations had never
extended beyond the blue line of the St. Lawrence.

Was she thinking of these very things this morning, as she lounged
before the fire? Perhaps so. But if she did, the thoughts had no
palpable effect upon her. Rather, we fancy, were her thoughts straying
upon the incident of three days before, when she had that rattling ride
with the handsome British Lieutenant and distanced him out of sight.
That glance in her great blue eyes was a reflection of the one which she
cast upon the youthful horseman through the little window squares of the
farmer's house. That tap of the slippered foot, on the edge of the
shining fender, was the gentle stimulant she administered to her pony's
flank as he leaped forward to win the race. That smothered, saucy laugh
which bubbled on her red, ripe lips was an echo of the peal which
greeted Hardinge when he pronounced the name of "Zulma," at the road
gate. And as she rolled her fine head slowly to and fro on the velvet
bosses of the back of her chair, was she not meditating some further
design on the heart of the loyal soldier? Conspiracies deeper than that,
designs of love that have rocked kingdoms to their foundation have been
formed by languid beauties, recumbent in the soft recesses of their easy
chairs.

Zulma had reached the culminating point of her revery and was gradually
gliding down the quiet declivities of reaction, when she was aroused by
a great uproar in the lower part of the house. She did not at first pay
much attention to it, but as the sound grew louder and she recognized
the voice of her father, speaking in loud tones of alarm, she sat up in
her chair and listened with con