needed no protection,
as she anticipated no annoyance. She then called her servant to his seat
beside her, and was about driving off when the loud report of a gun was
heard in the direction of the city. She and the officer looked at each
other.

"A stray shot," said the latter, after listening a moment. "It is
nothing. You are not afraid, mademoiselle?"

"Excuse me, sir," Zulma replied, "but this is the second shot I have
heard to-day. This one may mean nothing, but the first was terrible, and
I shall never forget it."

The officer looked at Zulma, but said nothing.

"Is it possible that you do not remember it too?"

"We are so used to it, mademoiselle, that--"

"The man who fired that shot is a scoundrel, and the man at whom it was
fired," exclaimed Zulma, sitting upright and fixing a glowing eye upon
the officer, "is a hero. Good evening, sir."

And, as if impelled by the spirit with which his mistress pronounced
these words, the horse dashed forward, and the sleigh plunged into the
gloomy cavern of the bridge.

VIII.

CARY SINGLETON.

It was Cary Singleton. He stood a moment looking in the direction of the
bridge, then walked slowly away buried in thought. He was perplexed to
understand the meaning of the words which the beautiful Canadian had
spoken. Which was the shot that she referred to, and who was the
fortunate man whom she proclaimed a hero? At last, the suspicion flashed
upon him that perhaps the young lady had witnessed the scene of that
afternoon under the walls of Quebec. It was very probable, indeed, that
she was one of the hundreds who had lined the ramparts at the time that
the flag of truce advanced toward the gate. In that case, she may have
meant the treacherous firing on the flag, and if she did, her hero must
be the bearer of that flag. But this was almost too good to be true. The
girl was doubtless a loyalist, and to speak as she did, if she meant as
he thought, would argue either that she was a rebel at heart, or that
she was actuated by higher principles of humanity than he had a right to
look for in exciting and demoralizing times of war. And then could she
possibly have recognized him?--for it was no other than he that had
borne the ill-starred flag.

This last question gave a new zest to his excitement, and he stopped
short on the brow of the hill to nerve himself for a sudden resolution.
A second rapid analysis convinced him that he had indeed been recognized
by the l