ident object of compelling her to entertain
the devotion of a rival, whose wealth and social position make him a
man to be feared,--a man whom any woman, old or young, might think
twice before refusing. Already the people at Laramie were discussing
the possibilities,--some of them in his very presence; and there were
not lacking those to say, that, even if she had been more than half
inclined to reciprocate McLean's evident attachment, she would be a
fool not to accept Roswell Holmes, with his wealth, education, and
undoubted high character. A second lieutenant in the army was all very
well for a girl who could do no better, but Elinor Bayard was of
excellent social position herself. Her mother's people ranked with the
best in the land, and her father, despite his _galanterie_, was a man
distinguished in his profession and in society. It was driving McLean
wellnigh desperate. Not one word of love-making had been breathed
between him and the gentle girl who so enjoyed her walks and rides
with him, but he knew well that her woman's heart must have told her
ere this how dear she was to him, and it was no egotism or conceit
that prompted him to the belief that she would not show such pleasure
in his coming if he were utterly indifferent to her. Coquetry was
something Nellie Bayard seemed deficient in; she was frank and
truthful in every look and word.

And yet, realizing what grounds he had for hope, McLean was utterly
downcast when he faced the situation before him. It would take him a
year--with the utmost economy he could command--to pay off the load
that had been so ruthlessly heaped upon him. He realized that so long
as he owed a penny in the world he had no right to ask any woman to be
his wife. Meantime, here was this wealthy, well-educated,
well-preserved man of affairs ready and eager to lay his name and
fortune at her feet. What mattered it that he was probably more than
double her age? Had McLean not read of maidens who worshipped men of
more than twice their years even to the extent of--"A love that was her
doom?" Had he not read aloud to her only a fortnight before the story
of Launcelot and the lily maid of Astolat? Poor fellow! In bitterness
of spirit he believed that in the last few days she had purposely
avoided him, and had treated him with coldness on the few occasions
when they met; and now he had sought this perilous duty eagerly and
avowedly; he had set forth without so much as a word of farewell to he