d private of the guard in full dress uniform.

"That's Leary,--the man who fired the shot," said Captain Wilton to his
senior lieutenant, who stood by his side.

"Belongs to B Company, doesn't he?" queried the subaltern. "Seems to me
I have heard Captain Armitage say he was one of his best men."

"Yes. He's been in the regiment as long as I can remember. What on earth
can the colonel want him for? Near as I can learn, he only fired by
Chester's order."

"And neither of them knows what he fired at."

It was perhaps ten minutes more before Private Leary came forth from
the door-way of the colonel's office, nodded to the corporal, and,
raising their white-gloved hands in salute to the group of officers, the
two men tossed their rifles to the right shoulder and strode back to the
guard.

Another moment, and the colonel himself opened his door and appeared in
the hall-way. He stopped abruptly, turned back and spoke a few words in
low tone, then hurried through the groups at the entrance, looking at no
man, avoiding their glances, and giving faint and impatient return to
the soldierly salutations that greeted him. The sweat was beaded on his
forehead; his lips were white, and his face full of a trouble and dismay
no man had ever seen there before. He spoke to no one, but walked
rapidly homeward, entered, and closed the gate and door behind him.

For a moment there was silence in the group. Few men in the service were
better loved and honored than the veteran soldier who commanded the
----th Infantry; and it was with genuine concern that his officers saw
him so deeply and painfully affected,--for affected he certainly was.
Never before had his cheery voice denied them a cordial "Good-morning,
gentlemen." Never before had his blue eyes flinched. He had been their
comrade and commander in years of frontier service, and his bachelor
home had been the rendezvous of all genial spirits when in garrison.
They had missed him sorely when he went abroad on long leave the
previous year, and were almost indignant when they received the news
that he had met his fate in Italy and would return married. "She" was
the widow of a wealthy New-Yorker who had been dead some three years
only, and, though over forty, did not look her years to masculine eyes
when she reached the fort in May. After knowing her a week, the garrison
had decided to a man that the colonel had done wisely. Mrs. Maynard was
charming, courteous, handsome, and accompli