piness from her dear hand. But you are her
sister, and what are epaulets compared with what she will give me? You
shall put them on, dear. Come, then you will be sure I bear no malice."

Rose, faint at heart, consented in silence, and fastened on the
epaulets. "Yes, Camille!" she cried, with sudden terror, "think of
glory, now; nothing but glory."

"No one thinks of it more. But to-day how can I think of it, how can I
give her a rival? To-day I am all love. Rose, no man ever loved a human
creature as I love Josephine. Your mother is well, dear? All are well
at Beaurepaire? Oh, where is she all this time? in the house?" He was
moving quickly towards the house; but Rose instinctively put out her
hand to stop him. He recoiled a little and winced.

"What is the matter?" cried she.

"Nothing, dear girl; you put your hand on my wound, that is all. What is
that noise in the tree? Anybody listening to us?"

"I'll see," said Rose, with all a woman's wit, and whipped hastily
round to hinder Camille from going. She found Josephine white as death,
apparently fainting, and clutching at the tree convulsively with her
nails. Such was the intensity of the situation that she left her beloved
sister in that piteous state, and even hoped she would faint dead away,
and so hear no more. She came back white, and told Camille it was only a
bird got into the tree. "And to think you should be wounded," said she,
to divert his attention from the tree.

"Yes," said he, "and it is rather inflamed, and has worried me all the
way. You need not go telling Josephine, though. They wanted me to stop
and lay up at Bayonne. How could I? And again at Paris. How could I?
They said, 'You will die.'--'Not before I get to Beaurepaire,' said I.
I could bear the motion of a horse no longer, so at the nearest town I
asked for a carriage. Would you believe it? both his carriages were
OUT AT A WEDDING. I could not wait till they came back. I had waited an
eternity. I came on foot. I dragged my self along; the body was weak,
but the heart was strong. A little way from here my wound seemed
inclined to open. I pressed it together tight with my hand; you see I
could not afford to lose any more blood, and so struggled on. 'Die?'
said I, 'not before Beaurepaire.' And, O Rose! now I could be content to
die--at her feet; for I am happy. Oh! I am happy beyond words to utter.
What I have gone through! But I kept my word, and this is Beaurepaire.
Hurrah!" and his pale c