cussing this point when their attention was
arrested by a movement at the gate almost beneath them. A British
officer walked out alone and went direct to the flag-bearer.

"It cannot be," exclaimed Pauline.

"Yes, it is no other," replied Zulma with a laugh.

"Roderick!"

"Yes, and no better choice could have been made. A handsome loyalist
against a handsome rebel. But there is a disparity of age."

"Hardly."

"I beg your pardon. Our tall, beautiful rebel is hardly twenty-one, I am
sure, while your Lieutenant, Pauline, is more mature."

It was indeed Roderick Hardinge who had been commissioned to go forward
and meet the American messenger. As he neared him, the two young
officers bowed politely to each other and exchanged the military salute.
Then the following brief conversation took place, as learned afterwards
from the lips of the participants themselves.

"I presume, sir, that you have been detailed to meet me here," said the
Continental.

"I have that honor, sir," responded Roderick.

"And to receive my message."

"I beg your pardon, sir, but I regret to say that I have instructions
_not_ to receive any message whatever."

"But Colonel Arnold demands a parley according to the usages of war."

"I am sorry, sir, that I cannot argue the point. My orders are to inform
you that the commandant of the garrison of Quebec does not desire to
have any communication with the commander of the Continental force.

"But, sir, this----"

"Excuse me, we are both soldiers. We have done our duty and I beg to
salute you."

Lieutenant Hardinge bowed and retreated a step or two. The flag-bearer
looked perplexed for a moment at this turn of affairs, but recovering
his self-possession, returned the bow, wheeled about, and, followed by
the trumpeter, started at long strides over the plain.

An universal tumult arose. Both parties were aroused to the highest
pitch of excitement. The Americans, seeing the insult which had been
offered to their messenger, could scarcely contain themselves within the
ranks. The citizens on the wall sent up cheer after cheer, and the
ladies fluttered their handkerchiefs. Zulma was an exception. She had no
pleasure to manifest, but the contrary. She resented the affront made to
the handsome young rebel, and had immediate occasion to show her
feeling. As Roderick Hardinge turned to retrace his steps toward the
gate, he glanced upward at the dense line of spectators on the
ramparts, and caught