, no,--no! If that's the explanation, it is simple enough. No, I'm
all upset. I--I fancied there was some one listening. Come to me as
soon as you can, Hatton. By the way, have you heard from Mr. Holmes?"

"No, sir. He was called suddenly to the ranch, and I presume he is
there."

"I know, I know. But did he see McLean before he left?"

"See him! Yes, sir; but that's about all he could do. McLean was in no
condition to receive visitors, and Weeks hustled him out somewhat
unceremoniously."

"Well. That's all, just now. I'll expect you soon after tattoo."

"Very good, sir."

And then the major went away, closing the hall-door after him. Hatton
stood there a moment as though rooted to the spot, his brow moistening
with beads of sweat that seemed starting from every pore. Despite his
secrecy, then, despite McLean's destruction of the evidence of her
visit the night of the disappearance of their property, despite their
determination to shield the sister of an absent comrade from suspicion,
or disgrace, in some way the story must have gotten around. Possibly
there were other thefts of which he knew nothing, in which suspicion
had pointed to her. Possibly the vague confessions, implicating no one,
which he had made to Mrs. Miller, taken in connection with events of
which he had no knowledge, had proved sufficient to weave a chain of
circumstantial evidence about her; and now the commanding officer was
aroused, and was coming down on him, and poor Mac yonder, for full
details of their losses and their knowledge of the affair. He would
give anything to secure the postponement of that dreaded interview
until he could talk over matters with his comrade, but when would that
be a possibility? Just as soon as the attendant returned, he must go to
his commander, and either make a clean breast of it or refuse to utter
a word. What course would he ask or expect of a comrade if it were his,
Hatton's, sister, who was here alone and defenceless? By heaven, McLean
was right! They must shield her, so far as shield of theirs could
serve, until Forrest himself could come to be her adviser and
protector.

Then he, too, stopped, listened, and looked up the stairs. Then he,
too, started, but with a start to which the major's sudden turn was a
mere languid gesture. Hardly could he believe his eyes; hardly could he
trust his reeling senses, but it was she,--Fanny Forrest,--not standing
at the head of the stairs, but coming swiftly down upon