lady, in these troublous times, but I really do not live very far--only
ten miles."

"Ten miles!" exclaimed Hardinge.

The lady broke out into a merry laugh, and said:

"You wonder. This little beast is like the wind. You are well mounted,
but I doubt you can follow me. Will you try?"

So saying, she snapped her white fingers, and the little Canadian pony,
making a leap into the air, was away like an arrow. Hardinge dashed off
in pursuit, and for a time held his own bravely, the horses keeping neck
to neck, but presently he fell behind and the lady disappeared out of
sight. When at length he came up with her, she was waiting at the gate
of her father's house, a mansion of fine colonial dimensions, standing
in a bower of maples. She was laughing heartily and enjoying her
triumph. Hardinge, touching his cap gracefully, acknowledged his defeat.

"This will be a lesson for you, sir," she said.

"A lesson, mademoiselle?"

"It will teach you to chase rebels again."

"Beautiful rebel," murmured Roderick, bowing profoundly and wholly
unable to conceal his admiration.

"You don't choose to understand me," she said, half seriously and half
jestingly, "but later, perhaps, you will do so. I believe I am speaking
to Lieutenant Hardinge?"

"That is my name, at your service, mademoiselle, and am I mistaken in
presuming that I address a member of the Sarpy family, for this is the
mansion of Sieur Sarpy, well known to me."

"I am his daughter. I have only lately returned from France where I
spent many years."

"Not the Zulma of whom I have heard your brother speak so often?"

"The same."

And the wild frolic of her spirits broke out into a silvery peal, as she
seemingly recollected some idea connected with the name. She invited
Roderick to dismount and enter, but he was obliged to excuse himself as
having tarried already too long, and thus this adventure terminated. Its
romantic sequel will be related in subsequent chapters.

Hardinge pursued his journey without further episodes of interest. The
road between Quebec and Three Rivers was not what it is at present.
There were no corduroys across the swamps, no bridges over the streams
and the way was blocked for miles upon miles by the unpruned forest,
through which a bridle path was the only route. Notwithstanding all
these drawbacks, however, our horseman had reached Three Rivers, stabled
his grey, and delivered his despatches before ten o'clock that night. He
was ve