us off, Mrs. Paige?"

"When do you go? Colonel Arran said nothing about going."

"Oh, I expect we'll be on our way before very long. We are not in
the best of shape yet; that's not to be expected. But there's a
sad lack of cavalry in Washington, and they may want us to go
whether we're ready or not. They sent off a regiment that had
neither arms nor uniforms and couldn't even keep step, the other
day. I've an idea we are going pretty soon." He took Ailsa's
offered hand, looked at her a little earnestly, smiled in
self-satisfaction, and went his way.

Later in the week he came back for a few moments; and all through
the week he continued to come back for a few moments whenever he
had an hour's leave.

And every time he took his leave his smile became less nervous and
more confident.

She was very unhappy; devotion to Dr. Benton's class helped;
devotion to Celia in her brief visits to Brooklyn helped, too;
devotion to others, to prayer, all helped as long as it was
devotion of some sort.

And now this young, blue-eyed, blonde-haired fellow was on the edge
of offering to devote himself to her. She knew it, wondered
whether this was her refuge from care. And when he did, at last,
she was quietly prepared to answer.

"Captain Hallam," she said slowly, "I _do_ like you. I don't know
whether I could ever learn to love you. I am not very happy; it
might influence my judgment. If you are willing to wait until I
know more about myself----"

Oh, he _would_ wait! Certainly. Meanwhile would she wear his
ring--not exactly an engagement--unless she was willing--but----

She hesitated. Lonelier than she had ever been in all her life, no
longer self-sufficient, wistfully hopeless, needing to devote
herself absolutely to something or somebody, she hesitated. But
that evening when Hallam came with his ring she could not bring
herself to accept what she now seemed to be most deeply in need
of--the warm, eager, complacent affection that he laid at her feet.
She was not yet able--could not; and the desolate memories of
Berkley set the wound aching anew. . . . No, she could promise
nothing to this young fellow--nothing yet. . . . Perhaps, in the
future--as time passed--she might venture to wear his ring, and see
what happened to her. But she would not promise--she would not
talk of marrying him. . . . And cried herself to sleep over the
memory of Berkley, and his vileness, and his heartless wickedness,
and h