m a letter. "She gave me
this as I was leaving," she said.

"Thank you," he said again, and holding it clasped in his hand, stood
not looking at it, but as if he still had something to say. "Has
Bulchester gone yet, Mistress Royal?" he asked abruptly at last.

"No. But I think that he must be very hard to send away, and Katie you
know hates to say anything unkind. She doesn't see that it is the
kindest way in the end. We shall not go until to-morrow, you know. If
you have any letters, we shall be so glad to take them."

"Thank you once more." He stood still a moment. "The earl may be wise to
stay on the field," he said. "I may be swept off conveniently. Yes, he
is wise to wait and see what the fortunes of war will do for him."

"Oh! Mr. Archdale," cried Elizabeth, between indignation and tears at
his want of faith. "How can you not trust her? Your letter that she was
so eager to send will prove how wrong you are." Here Mr. Royal sauntered
up, and the conversation turned upon the scene before them.

But in the midst of Archdale's description of one of their skirmishes a
signal was given from the new battery. "They are signalling for me," he
said. "My place is in command of those guns. I am sorry to leave my
story half told, but I must go. I shall try to see you to-morrow." And
with a hasty farewell he sprang into the boat. As he was rowed away,
Elizabeth saw him put his hand into the pocket where he had slipped
Katie's letter, and draw this out.

She sat down again in her favorite place on deck, laid her arms on the
railing of the schooner and her face upon them. Now that her errand was
done, she became aware that she was very tired. She sat so quiet that
she seemed to be asleep. But she was only in a day-dream in which the
thought of which she was most conscious was wonder that Archdale could
doubt Katie. Had she not always been a coquette? And had she not always
loved him? Yet Elizabeth wished that she could have said that Lord
Bulchester had gone, wished that she could have seen Stephen Archdale's
face brighten a little before he left them, perhaps forever; she had not
forgotten the danger of his post. Nancy softly drew her chair close.
But Elizabeth made no movement. She sat with her face still buried,
thinking, remembering, longing to be at home again, counting the hours
until they should probably sail.

Suddenly she started up. For there had come light that she saw through
the dark folds that she had been pr