t, wondering what this thing might mean. But, in the next
instant, the significance of it flashed on him. Somewhere, some time, he
had read the story of a soldier who was stigmatized by his fellows as a
craven in this manner. The presentation of the white feather to him meant
that he, Dick Swinton, was a coward.

As he realized the truth, the young man was stunned. It seemed to him a
monstrous thing that any could so misunderstand. Yet, there was the
evidence of his shame before his eyes. He grew white as he tried to
imagine what the sender must think of him. And then, presently, in
thinking of the sender, he was filled with an overmastering rage against
the one who dared thus to impugn his courage. He looked at the envelope,
which was addressed in a straggling hand, and was convinced that the
writer had disguised the handwriting. But he felt that he had no need of
evidence to know who his enemy was. Of his own circle, all were his
friends, save only Captain Ormsby. And he had struck Ormsby. This, then,
was Ormsby's revenge. After all, it were folly to permit the malevolence
of a cad so to distress him. Since he was not a coward, the white feather
concerned him not at all.

Nevertheless, he was unable to dismiss his annoyance over the incident as
completely as he wished, and he breakfasted without appetite. He was
still disconsolate when he set out to keep his engagement in Central
Park.

At five minutes past ten o'clock, there approached the spot where Dick
stood waiting in the Mall a very charming girl of scarcely twenty years
of age, of medium height, with a pretty, plump form delightfully outlined
by the lines of her walking dress. This was of a gray cloth, perfectly
cut, but almost military in its severity. Her mouth was small and proud,
her eyes gray and solemn, her color high from walking in the chilly air,
and her hair of that nondescript brown usually described as fair.
Uncommon, yet not sensational; but with a delicate charm that radiated
from her like perfume from a flower.

At the sight of the lover awaiting her, Dora's placid demeanor departed.
Her eyes lighted up and moistened with tenderness. She could not wait for
him to join her; she started forward with outstretched hands.

"You are not displeased?" she asked, with a blush. "I did so want to see
you! Oh, to think that we must part so soon!"

"I suppose you've heard all about last night?" asked Dick, hoarsely.

"Yes. Mr. Ormsby called to see fath