grown. The day of revolt had come at
last.

"Angela Wr-r-ren!" rolled Aunt Janet. "D'you mean you're going to
_see_ him?--speak to him?"

"I'm going to see him and--thank him, Aunt Janet." And now the girl
had turned and faced the astounded woman at the door. "You may spare
yourself any words upon the subject."

The captain was seated in loneliness and mental perturbation just
where Angela had left him, but no longer pretending to read. His back
was toward the southern end of the row. He had not even seen the cause
of the impromptu reception at the Sanders's. He read what was taking
place when Angela began to lose her voice, to stumble over her words;
and, peering at her under his bushy eyebrows, he saw that the face he
loved was flushing, that her young bosom was swiftly rising and
falling, the beautiful brown eyes wandering from the page. Even before
the glad voices from below came ringing to his ears, he read in his
daughter's face the tumult in her guileless heart, and then she
suddenly caught herself and hurried back to the words that seemed
swimming in space before her. But the effort was vain. Rising quickly,
and with brave effort steadying her voice, she said, "I'll run and
dress now, father, dear," and was gone, leaving him to face the
problem thrust upon him. Had he known that Janet, too, had heard from
the covert of the screened and shaded window of the little parlor, and
then that she had followed, he would have shouted for his German
"striker" and sent a mandate to his sister that she could not fail to
understand. He did not know that she had been with Angela until he
heard her footstep and saw her face at the hall doorway. She had not
even to roll her r's before the story was told.

Two days now he had lived in much distress of mind. Before quitting
the post Major Plume had laboriously gone the rounds, saying good-by
to every officer and lady. Two officers he had asked to see
alone--the captain and first lieutenant of Troop "C." Janet knew of
this, and should have known it meant amende and reconciliation,
perhaps revelation, but because her brother saw fit to sit and ponder,
she saw fit to cling unflinchingly to her preconceived ideas and to
act according to them. With Graham she was exceeding wroth for daring
to defend such persons as Lieutenant Blakely and "that Indian squaw."
It was akin to opposing weak-minded theories to positive knowledge of
facts. She had seen with her own eyes the ignorant, b