f making the confession by letter, but this
he promptly rejected as a coward's dodge. "It's a damned unpleasant
duty, but that's the more reason I should face it myself."

At that moment the front door of the east hall was heard to open.

"It's Miss Elizabeth and her aunt," said Valentine, listening at the
door.

"Then I'll have the thing over at once, and be gone! Mr. Valentine, a
last kindness,--keep the aunt out of the room."

Before Valentine could answer, the ladies entered, their cheeks
reddened by the weather. Elizabeth carried a small bunch of belated
autumn flowers.

"Well, I'm glad to come in out of the cold!" burst out Miss Sally,
with a retrospective shudder. "Mr. Peyton, you've a bitter night for
your going." She stood before the fire and smiled sympathetically at
the captain.

But Peyton was heedful of none but Elizabeth, who had laid her flowers
on the spinet and was taking off her cloak. Peyton quickly, with an
"Allow me, Miss Philipse," relieved her of the wrap, which in his
abstraction he retained over his left arm while he continued to hold
his hat in his other hand. After receiving a word of thanks, he added,
"You've been gathering flowers," and stood before her in much
embarrassment.

"The last of the year, I think," said she. "The wind would have torn
them off, if aunt Sally and I had not." And she took them up from the
spinet to breath their odor.

Meanwhile Mr. Valentine had been whispering to Miss Sally at the
fireplace. As a result of his communications, whatever they were, the
aunt first looked doubtful, then cast a wistful glance at Peyton, and
then quietly left the room, followed by the old man, who carefully
closed the door after him.

While Elizabeth held the flowers to her nostrils, Peyton continued to
stand looking at her, during an awkward pause. At length she replaced
the nosegay on the spinet, and went to the fireplace, where she gazed
at the writhing flames, and waited for him to speak.

Still laden with the cloak and hat, he desperately began:

"Miss Philipse, I--ahem--before I start on my walk to-night--"

"Your walk?" she said, in slight surprise.

"Yes,--back to our lines, above."

"But you are not going to _walk_ back," she said, in a low tone. "You
are to have the horse, Cato."

Peyton stood startled. In a few moments he gulped down his feelings,
and stammered:

"Oh--indeed--Miss Philipse--I cannot think of depriving you--especially
after the circumstances