hat opportunities has a girl of
her--pardon my egotism--parentage in such a mill as this?"

Holmes almost choked over his cigar. He bent impulsively forward as
though to speak, but gulped back his words, shook his head, and began
puffing vigorously once more. He felt that the time had not yet come.
He knew that with her he was making no progress whatever. She had been
cordial, sweet, kind, as befitted her father's daughter to her father's
guest; but this day, as though her woman's wit were fathoming the
secret of his heart, a suspicion of reserve and distance had been
creeping into her manner and deepening toward night. Then he recalled
Miss Forrest's trenchant words; he remembered the white face that came
back from the peep into the empty hall. Was McLean the man "nearer her
own years" who had already found a lodgement in her heart? He had come
back full of admiration for the young soldier whose pluck and ambition
had prompted him to beg for service on a probably dangerous expedition,
a pursuit of the band that had wounded his comrade and killed two of
his men. He wanted to know more of him.

"Speaking of young McLean, who is he? The name is one of the best."

"Oh, he's only distantly related to the main line, I fancy. The
country is full of them, but only a few belong to _the_ McLeans. Of
course, I suppose they all hail from the old Highland clan, but even
there the line of demarcation between chieftain and gillie of the same
name was broad as the border itself. If the young fellow had money or
influence he'd come out well enough, provided he could travel a year
or so. He needs polish, _savoir-faire_, and he can't travel because
he's in debt and hasn't a penny in the world."

"How in debt? One would suppose a young fellow of his appearance could
live on his pay, unless he drank or gambled. I rather fancied he wasn't
given to that sort of thing."

"Oh, it isn't that; he's steady enough. The trouble with McLean is some
commissary stores that were made away with by his sergeant when he was
'acting' here last winter. He could hardly help it, I suppose: the
sergeant was an expert thief and hid his stealings completely, and made
a very pretty penny selling bacon and flour and sugar and coffee to
these Black Hills outfits going up the last year or so. When the
regimental quartermaster got back and the stores were turned over to
him, the sergeant promptly skipped, and McLean was found short about
six hundred dollars' wor