I am
killed."

"Oh, Dick!"

"Yes, I'm disappointed. I did hope that you thought the world well lost
for love, and that, having braved the inevitable anger of your father in
giving yourself to me, you'd show some feeling, and not look forward
eagerly to my leaving you. You seem anxious to be rid of me."

"Dick! Dick!" cried the girl. "I'm a soldier's daughter. I--"

"Oh, pray spare me a repetition of your father's platitudes--I've heard
them often enough. I don't know much about the war, but all I've heard
has set me against it. But never mind! And now, good-bye, my Spartan
sweetheart."

He extended his hand, sullenly and coldly.

"Hush! And don't be hateful" Dora remonstrated. Then, she added, quickly:
"It's more than ever necessary, Dick, now that you are going away, to
keep our secret. You mustn't anger your grandfather."

"Oh, yes, of course, we'll be discreet. And, if I'm killed--well, nobody
will know of our engagement."

"Dick, if you died on the field of battle, I should be proud to proclaim
to all the world that--"

She broke down and sobbed, in spite of some staring passers-by, who saw
that there was a lover's quarrel in progress.

"There's time enough to talk of my going when I am actually starting,"
said Dick haughtily, drawing himself up to his full height, and showing
an obvious intention to depart in a huff. "Good-bye."

"Dick! Don't leave me like that."

He was gone; and he left behind him a very wretched girl. As she watched
him striding along the walk, she wanted to call him back, and beg him to
adhere to his previous decision to stay at home that she might have him
always near. When he was out of sight, tears still blurred Dora's vision,
and she bowed her head. A strange faintness came over her. She wanted
him now. After all, he was her lover, her future husband; his place was
by her side. It was folly to send him away into danger.

Dora was the daughter of Colonel Dundas, a retired officer of
considerable experience. At his club, he was the authority upon
everything military. He fairly bristled with patriotism, and his views on
the gradual departure of the service "to the dogs, sir," were well
advertised, both in print and by word of mouth.

"The army is not what it was, sir, and, if we're not careful, we sha'n't
have any army at all, sir," was the burden of his platitudes; and his
motherless daughter had listened reverently ever since she was born, and
believed in him. He had taught