be able to tell just what Jack would do when
we were children--don't think I can now. How tall he is and how handsome.
The uniform is becoming. I wonder if I too am so greatly changed."

It is well here to betray the secrets of the novelists' confessional.
Leila Grey had seen in the South much of an interesting society where
love affairs were brief, lightly taken, easily ended, or hardly more than
the mid-air flirtations of butterflies. No such perilous approaches to
the most intimate relations of men and women were for this young woman,
on whom the love and tactful friendship of the married life of Grey Pine
had left a lasting impression. One must have known her well to become
aware of the sense of duty to her ideals which lay behind her alert
appearance of joyous gaiety and capacity to see the mirthful aspects of
life. Once long ago the lad's moment of passionate longing had but
lightly stirred the dreamless sleep of unawakened power to love. Even the
memory of John's boy-folly had faded with time. Her relation to him had
been little more than warm friendship. Even that tie--and she was
abruptly aware of it--had become less close. She was directly conscious
of the fact and wondered if this grave young man felt as she did. She lay
awake that night and wondered too if his ideals of heroism and ambition
were still actively present, and where too was his imagination--ever on
the wing and far beyond her mental flight? She also had changed. Did he
know it or care? Then she dismissed him and fell asleep.

As John Penhallow near to noon came out a little weary and anxious from
the examination ordeal, he chanced on his uncle and Leila waiting with
the officer of the day, who said to him, "After dinner you are free for
the rest of the afternoon. Mr. Penhallow has asked me to relieve you."

As he bade them good-morning, his uncle said, "How goes the examination?"

"Don't ask me yet, sir; but I cannot go home until the end of next week.
Then I shall know the result."

"But what examination remains?" persisted the Squire.

"Don't ask him, Uncle Jim."

"Well--all right."

"Thank you, Leila. I am worn out. I am glad of a let-up. I dream
equations and pontoon bridges--and I must do some work after dinner. Then
I will find you and Uncle Jim on Fort Putnam, at five."

"I want to talk with Beauregard," said Penhallow, "about the South. Leila
can find her way."

"I can," she said. "I want to sketch the river, and that will give