stunning revelation that it was for Willy's
sake that he--her hero--was now to suffer, he whose heart she had
trampled on and crushed! It is all more than mortal girl can bear. With
the beautiful strains moaning, whirling, ringing, surging through her
brain, she is borne dizzily away into darkness and oblivion.

* * * * *

There follows a week in which sadder faces yet are seen about the old
hotel. The routine of the Academy goes on undisturbed. The graduating
class has taken its farewell of the gray walls and gone upon its way.
New faces, new voices are those in the line of officers at parade. The
corps has pitched its white tents under the trees beyond the grassy
parapet of Fort Clinton, and, with the graduates and furlough-men gone,
its ranks look pitifully thinned. The throng of visitors has vanished.
The halls and piazzas at Craney's are well-nigh deserted, but among the
few who linger there is not one who has not loving inquiry for the young
life that for a brief while has fluttered so near the grave. "Brain
fever," said the doctors to Uncle Jack, and a new anxiety was lined in
his kindly face as he and Will McKay sped on their mission to the
Capitol. They had to go, though little Nan lay sore stricken at the
Point.

But youth and elasticity triumph. The danger is passed. She lies now,
very white and still, listening to the sweet strains of the band
trooping down the line this soft June evening. Her mother, worn with
watching, is resting on the lounge. It is Miriam Stanley who hovers at
the bedside. Presently the bugles peal the retreat; the sunset gun booms
across the plain; the ringing voice of the young adjutant comes floating
on the southerly breeze, and, as she listens, Nannie follows every
detail of the well-known ceremony, wondering how it _could_ go on day
after day with no Mr. Pennock to read the orders; with no "big Burton"
to thunder his commands to the first company; with no Philip Stanley to
march the colors to their place on the line. "Where is _he_?" is the
question in the sweet blue eyes that so wistfully seek his sister's
face; but she answers not. One by one the first sergeants made their
reports; and now--that ringing voice again, reading the orders of the
day. How clear it sounds! How hushed and still the listening Point!

"Head-quarters of the Army," she hears. "Washington, June 15, 187-.
Special orders, Number--.

"_First._ Upon his own application, First Lieutenan