y line and well within the post.

"I want to have a _real_ talk with you, Sandy," she said, as he swung
her to the ground in front of their old quarters, where still they lived
while fitting up the new.

"You'll have to do it all, 'Cil, if it's Canteen you're hitting at," was
the answer, as he led the way up the broad steps; then stopped suddenly,
his young face darkening.

A slender, soldierly form had suddenly issued from the hallway at the
sound of voices, and there stood Blenke, hand at cap visor, the mournful
eyes in mingled depth of respect and appeal, fixed upon his young
superior. It was plain to see that Lieutenant Ray little relished the
sight. Blenke's desk and duties had been confined to the floor below.
Blenke had no occupation or right on the upper deck. Mechanically the
subaltern returned the salute, but there were both suspicion and
displeasure in his voice as, almost sharply, he inquired:

"What is it, Blenke? Why are you here?"

"By accident, sir," was the prompt reply, subordination and sorrow
mingling in tone, as mournful as the mournful eyes. "I was leaving when
I thought my name was called--that Mrs. Ray had called me, and I turned
back. There seems to be no one here--yet the door was wide open."

"I cannot imagine who could have called you--or why," answered Ray
coldly, never relaxing his odd scrutiny of those dark, reproachful eyes.
"But, first call has sounded. I won't keep you."

Blenke saluted. One quick glance he shot at the flushing face of his
friend and teacher, as though to say, "Plead for me"; then lithe and
quick he went bounding down the steps, Priscilla looking after him. Ray
pushed on into the dismantled hallway--into the parlor where rugs and
carpets were rolled and heaped and curtains stripped from the rods. He
passed through into the little room where stood his father's desk and
bookcase, "the den" now doubly lonely and forlorn. He passed swiftly
through the dining-room and into the rear hallway, where wide open stood
the door to the basement stairway. It proved nothing, however, that that
door was unbolted and ajar. In the work of packing and moving the men
had been going and coming all the afternoon. Sandy came again to the
front and followed Priscilla to the second story. Mother was not in her
room, the room that soon in all probability would be hers--the girl-wife
of his father's old friend--the girl-wife whose name Sandy Ray had
ceased to whisper even to himself. He tu