uld be very insensible," said Gertrude, "if all your kindness and
your courtesy had been lost upon me."

"In Heaven's name, don't talk about courtesy," cried the Major.

"I am deeply conscious of your devotion, and I am very much obliged to
you for urging your claims so respectfully and considerately. I speak
seriously, Major Luttrel," pursued Gertrude. "There is a happy medium of
expression, and you have taken it. Now it seems to me that there is a
happy medium of affection, with which you might be content. Strictly, I
don't love you. I question my heart, and it gives me that answer. The
feeling that I have is not a feeling to work prodigies."

"May it at least work the prodigy of allowing you to be my wife?"

"I don't think I shall over-estimate its strength, if I say that it may.
If you can respect a woman who gives you her hand in cold blood, you are
welcome to mine."

Luttrel moved his chair and took her hand. "Beggars can't be choosers,"
said he, raising it to his mustache.

"O Major Luttrel, don't say that," she answered. "I give you a great
deal; but I keep a little,--a little," said Gertrude, hesitating, "which
I suppose I shall give to God."

"Well, I shall not be jealous," said Luttrel.

"The rest I give to you, and in return I ask a great deal."

"I shall give you all. You know I told you I'm not religious."

"No, I don't want more than I give," said Gertrude.

"But, pray," asked Luttrel, with a delicate smile, "what am I to do with
the difference?"

"You had better keep it for yourself. What I want is your protection,
sir, and your advice, and your care. I want you to take me away from
this place, even if you have to take me down to the army. I want to see
the world under the shelter of your name. I shall give you a great deal
of trouble. I'm a mere mass of possessions: what I am, is nothing to
what I have. But ever since I began to grow up, what I am has been the
slave of what I have. I am weary of my chains, and you must help me to
carry them,"--and Gertrude rose to her feet as if to inform the Major
that his audience was at an end.

He still held her right hand; she gave him the other. He stood looking
down at her, an image of manly humility, while from his silent breast
went out a brief thanksgiving to favoring fortune.

At the pressure of his hands, Gertrude felt her bosom heave. She burst
into tears. "O, you must be very kind to me!" she cried, as he put his
arm about her, and she drop