. Oh,
it couldn't be true that he--cared for--was interested in--that woman,
the major's wife! Not that she _ought_ to care one way or another,
except that it was so despicable--so unlike him. Yet she had promised
herself--had virtually promised her father--that she would hold far
aloof from this man, and here he stood, so close that their
heart-beats almost intermingled, and he was telling her that he wished
she had kept and never returned the little butterfly net, for now,
when it had won a value it never before had known, it was his fate to
lose it. "And now," he said, "I hope to be sent to-morrow to join your
father in the field, and I wish to tell you that, whenever I go, I
shall first come to see what you may have to send to him. Will you--be
here, Miss Angela?"

For a moment--silence. She was thinking of her duty to her father, of
her implied promise, of all that Janet had told her, and so thinking
could not for the moment answer--could not meet his earnest gaze. Dark
as it was she felt, rather than saw, the glow of his deep blue eyes.
She could not mistake the tenderness of his tone. She had so believed
in him. He seemed so far above the callow, vapid, empty-headed
youngsters the other girls were twittering about from morn till night.
She felt that she believed in him now, no matter what had been said or
who had said it. She felt that if he would but say it was all a
mistake--that no woman had crossed his threshold, all Camp Sandy might
swear to the truth of the story, and she would laugh at it. But how
could she ask such a thing of him? Her cheeks took fire at the
thought. It was he who broke the silence.

"Something has happened to break your faith in me, Miss Angela," said
he, with instant gravity. "I certainly had it--I _know_ I had it--not
a week ago"; and now he had dropped to a seat in the swaying hammock,
and with calm strength and will bent toward her and compelled her
attention. "I have a right to know, as matters stand. Will you tell
me, or must I wait until I see your father?" With that Neil Blakely
actually sought to take her hand. She whipped it behind her at the
instant. "Will you tell me?" he repeated, bending closer.

From down the line, dancing along the wooden veranda, came the sound
of swift footfalls--Kate Sanders hurrying back. Another moment and it
would be too late. The denial she longed to hear from his lips might
never be spoken. If spoken at all it must be here and now, yet how
cou