ovely stranger. Her whole demeanor, her animated glance, her
inflamed cheek, her gesture of agitation and her last passionate word,
as he now vividly remembered them, pointed to no other conclusion. Yes,
she remembered him, she knew him, and, in a moment of unguarded
enthusiasm, she had expressed her admiration of him. And to be admired
by such a woman! He came from a land proverbial as much for female
beauty as for manly chivalry, but never had his eyes been blessed with a
vision of such transcendent perfection. Every rare feature came out in
full relief on his memory--the great blue eye, the broad entablature of
forehead, the seductive curl of lip, the splendid carriage of head, and,
above all, the magnificence of queenly form.

Cary Singleton was transported. He stormed against himself for having
been a fool. Why had he not understood these things ten minutes ago as
he understood them now? But he would make up for it. He would run over
to his encampment, a few rods behind the wood which skirted the road,
procure a horse, and start off in pursuit of the beautiful girl. He
would learn her name, he would discover where she lived and then ... and
then....

But a bugle-blast startled him from his dream, and shattered his
resolve. It was a call to quarters for special duty. He looked up and
saw great clouds of darkness roll into the valley. Alas! the day was
indeed done, and it was all too late. He walked grimly to camp bewailing
his lost opportunity, and devising all kinds of schemes to recover it.
As he tossed upon his cold pallet of straw that night, his dreams were
of the lonely gorge, the covered bridge, the fairy apparition, and when
he awoke the following morning, it was with the hope that such an
adventure would not remain without a sequel. He felt that it would be a
mockery of fate that he should have travelled so far through the forests
of Maine and over the desert plains of the Chaudiere, suffering hunger,
thirst and fatigue, and facing death in every shape, to see what he had
seen, to hear what he had heard, the night before, and then be denied
the fruition of eye and ear forever.

It must be remembered that Cary Singleton was barely one-and-twenty
years of age, and that in him the enthusiasm of youth was intensified by
an exuberant vigor of health. Your wildest lovers are not the sickly
sentimentalists of tepid drawing-rooms, but the rollicking giants of the
open air, and the adventures of a Werther are baby