he premises given
above, her first conclusion was the natural one that she should marry
the best man available, and the next that that man was Harry Glen.

Her efforts had been bounded by the strictest code of maidenly ethics,
and so artistically developed that the only persons who penetrated their
skillful veiling, and detected her as a "designing creature," were two
or three maiden friends, whose maneuvers toward the same objective were
brought to naught by her success.

It must be admitted that refining causists may find room for censure in
this making Ambition the advance guard to spy out the ground that Love
is to occupy. But, after all, is there not a great deal of mistake about
the way that true love begins? If we had the data before us we should
be pained by the enlightenment that, in the vast majority of cases the
regard of young people for each other is fixed in the first instance by
motives that will bear quite as little scrutiny as Miss Rachel Bond's.

We can afford to be careless how the germ of love is planted. The main
thing is how it is watered and tended, and brought to a lasting and
beautiful growth. Rachel's ambition gratified, there had been a steady
rise toward flood in the tide of her affections. She was not long in
growing to love Harry with all the intensity of a really ardent nature.

After the meeting at which Harry had signed the recruiting roll, he had
taken her home up the long, sloping hill, through moonlight as soft,
as inspiring, as glorifying as that which had melted even the
frosty Goddess of Maidenhood, so that she stooped from her heavenly
unapproachableness, and kissed the handsome Endymion as he slept.

Though little and that commonplace was said as they walked, subtle
womanly instinct prepared Rachel's mind for what was coming, and her
grasp upon Harry's arm assumed a new feeling that hurried him on to the
crisis.

They stopped beneath the old apple-tree, at the crest of the hill,
and in front of the house. Its gnarled and twisted limbs had been but
freshly clothed in a suit of fragrant green leaves.

The ruddy bonfires, lighted for the war-meeting, still burned in the
village below. The hum of supplementary speeches to the excited crowds
that still lingered about came to their ears, mingled with cheers from
throat rapidly growing hoarse, and the throb and wail of fife and drum.
Then, uplifted on the voices of hundreds who sang it as only men,
and men swayed by powerful emot