l of all the love affairs at Fort Blizzard. Beverley
Fortescue might be reckoned as a neutral, being himself in the toils of
Sally Harlow, who was Anita's age. Then, Kettle and the After-Clap could
be reckoned upon as auxiliaries--Broussard swore at himself for not
remembering the After-Clap's existence that afternoon; Anita was
ridiculously fond of the little chap.

But Colonel Fortescue would be a hard nut to crack--Broussard threw the
stump of his cigar into the fire and thought all fathers of adorable
daughters highly undesirable persons. After long and hard thinking
Broussard concluded to begin at once an earnest and devoted courtship of
Colonel Fortescue as the best way to win Anita.

"Because I'll have to court the old fellow anyhow, cuss him!" was
Broussard's inner belief. "Anita will expect any man she marries to be
as much in love with the Colonel as she is--so here goes!"

The very next morning Broussard began his open attentions to the Colonel
and his secret wooing of Anita. He had plenty of opportunities for both.
It was easy enough to see Anita every day. Often they rode together in
the gay riding parties that were among the constant amusements of the
young things at the post. Then, there was the weekly dance in the great
ball-room and many little dances and dinners, and Broussard always
contrived to be with Anita the best part of the evening. He was always
willing to sing and Anita was always ready to play the violin obligatos
for him. Broussard developed wonderful knowledge of song birds and
entirely abandoned game chickens, and was astonishingly regular in his
attendance at the chapel, which induced Anita to think him a model of
Christian piety. If Broussard had been a conceited man he would have
seen that Anita's heart was his long before he asked for it; but being a
modest fellow and thinking Anita was but a little lower than the angels,
Broussard paid her the delicate and tender court which women love so well.

The regimen of love and leisure did wonders for Broussard. His thin face
filled up, his color returned, he was soon able to dance and ride and
shoot with the best of his comrades. He did not forget the man in the
military prison or the wife that watched and waited and prayed and hoped.
But there was reason to hope: Lawrence was, from the beginning, a model
prisoner, and the chaplain, who had lost, in the course of years, some of
his confidence in repentance, began once more to be