u."

His hand had gone over hers, and now he held it in his strong clasp. "Of
course it isn't true, Becky."

"I am going to make it true."

Dead silence. Then, "No, my dear."

"Why not?"

"You don't love me."

"But I like you," feverishly, "I like you, tremendously, and don't you
want to marry me, Randy?"

"God knows that I do," said poor Randy, "but I must not. It--it would be
Heaven for me, you know that. But it wouldn't be quite--cricket--to let
you do it, Becky."

"I am not doing it for your sake. I am doing it for my own. I want to
feel--safe. Do I seem awfully selfish when I say that?"

A great wave of emotion swept over him. She had turned to him for
protection, for tenderness. In that moment Randy grew to the full
stature of a man. He lifted her hand and kissed it. "You are making me
very happy, Becky, dear."

It was a strange betrothal. Behind them the old eagle brooded with
outstretched wings, the owl, round-eyed, looked down upon them and
withheld his wisdom, the Trumpeter, white as snow in his glass cage, was
as silent as the Sphinx.

"You are making me very happy, Becky, dear," said poor Randy, knowing as
he said it that such happiness was not for him.

CHAPTER XI

WANTED--A PEDESTAL

I

The Major's call on Miss MacVeigh had been a great success. She was
sitting up, and had much to say to him. Throughout the days of her
illness and convalescence, the Major had kept in touch with her. He
had sent her quaint nosegays from the King's Crest garden, man-tied and
man-picked. He had sent her nice soldierly notes, asking her to call
upon him if there was anything he could do for her. He had sent her
books, and magazines, and now on this first visit, he brought back the
"Pickwick" which he had picked up in the road after the accident.

"I have wondered," Madge said, "what became of it."

They were in the Flippin sitting-room. Madge was in a winged chair
with a freshly-washed gray linen cover. The chair had belonged to Mrs.
Flippin's father, and for fifty years had held the place by the east
window in summer and by the fireplace in winter. Oscar had wanted to
bring things from Hamilton Hill to make Madge comfortable. But she had
refused to spoil the simplicity of the quiet old house. "Everything
that is here belongs here, Oscar," she had told him, "and I like it."

She wore a mauve negligee that was sheer and soft and flowing, and her
burnt-gold hair was braided an