gh, and it was no surprise to me
that Harry Herndon was keen to go with me. His grandmother made no
objection, especially when he explained that he desired to be my best
man. His real reason for going, however, was a lively hope that
Katherine Bledsoe would accompany Jane Ryder. And then there was
Whistling Jim to be taken into account. He made known his intention of
accompanying me whether or no. He was free, and he had money of his
own, and there was no reason why he shouldn't visit Murfreesborough if
he cared to. He settled the matter for himself, and, once on the way, I
was very glad to have him along.

But for the subtle changes made by peace, the town was the same, and
even the old tavern in the woods had survived all the contingencies of
war and stood intact, but tenantless. I made haste to escape from the
old house, and was sorry that I had ventured there before the appointed
time. The sight of it gave me a feeling of depression, and I had a
foretaste of the emptiness there would be in life should Jane Ryder
fail to come.

The only consolation I had was in the hopefulness of Whistling Jim.
"She'll be dar ez sho' ez de worl'," he said, and his earnestness was
so vital that it was the means of lifting me across a very bad place in
my experience; yet it did not cure me of the restlessness that had
seized me. The night before the appointed day, I wandered far beyond
the limit of the town, and presently, without knowing how I got there,
I found myself near the house where Jack Bledsoe had lain when he was
wounded. I went to the gate and would have gone in on the pretence of
inquiring the way to the town; but a woman was standing there in the
darkness.

I hesitated, but I should have known her among a thousand--I should
have known her if the darkness had been Egyptian. I opened the gate and
held her in my arms. Neither said a word, and the silence was unbroken
until someone in the house came out upon the veranda and called:

"Jane! Jane! Are you out there? Where are you?" It was the voice of
Katherine Bledsoe, and I was glad for Harry's sake.

* * * * *

"I don't think that is a very pretty way to end a story," said the
mother of the college graduate, perceiving that I had nothing more to
say. "You should by all means get your sweetheart out of your arms."

"Since that day," I replied, "she hasn't been out of them long at a
time."

"But you will have to change that pa