dn't make such a plan to trip me. Who ever heard
of a 'tack's' inspecting after taps two successive nights?"

"There's no reason why it should not be done, and several reasons why it
should," is the uncompromising reply. "Don't risk your commission now,
Billy, in any mad scheme. Come back and take those things off. Come!"

"Blatherskite! Don't hang on to me like a pick-pocket, Stan. Let me go,"
says McKay, half vexed, half laughing. "I've _got_ to go, man," he says,
more seriously. "I've promised."

A sudden light seems to come to Stanley. Even in the feeble gleam from
the gas-jet in the lower hall McKay can see the look of consternation
that shoots across his face.

"You don't mean--you're not going down to Hawkshurst, Billy?"

"Why not to Hawkshurst, if anywhere at all?" is the sullen reply.

"Why? Because you are risking your whole future,--your profession, your
good name, McKay. You're risking your mother's heart for the sport of a
girl who is simply toying with you----"

"Take care, Stanley. Say what you like to me about myself, but not a
word about her."

"This is no time for sentiment, McKay. I have known Miss Waring three
years; you, perhaps three weeks. I tell you solemnly that if she has
tempted you to 'run it' down there to see her it is simply to boast of a
new triumph to the silly pack by whom she is surrounded. I tell you
she----"

"You tell me nothing! I don't allow any man to speak in that way of a
woman who is my friend," says Billy, with much majesty of mien. "Take
your hand off, Stanley," he adds, coldly. "I might have had some respect
for your counsel if you had had the least--for my feelings." And
wrenching his shoulder away, McKay speeds quickly down the stairs,
leaving his comrade speechless and sorrowing in the darkness above.

In the lower hall he stops and peers cautiously over towards the
guard-house. The lights are burning brilliantly up in the room of the
officer in charge, and the red sash of the officer of the day shows
through the open door-way beneath. Now is his time, for there is no one
looking. One quick leap through the dim stream of light from the lantern
at his back and he will be in the dark area, and can pick his noiseless
way to the shadows beyond. It is an easy thing to gain the foot-path
beyond the old retaining wall back of the guard-house, scud away under
the trees along the winding ascent towards Fort Putnam, until he meets
the back-road half-way up the heights;