ps, and is thankful for the
health and elasticity returning to him. He has just had the obnoxious
beard removed, too; and freshly shaved, except where his blond mustache
shades the short upper lip, with returning color and very bright, clear
eyes, the young major of staff is a most presentable-looking youth as he
stops a moment to rest at the top of the third flight. His undress
uniform is decidedly becoming, and all the more interesting because of
the sling that carries his wounded arm. And now, after a moment's
breathing-spell, he walks slowly along the carpeted corridor, and turns
into the hallway leading to his own room. Along this he goes some twenty
paces or more, when there comes quickly into view from a side gallery
the figure of a tall, slight, and graceful girl. She has descended some
little flight of stairs, for he could hear the patter of her slippered
feet, and the swish of her skirts before she appeared. Now, with rapid
step she is coming straight towards him, carrying some little glass
phials in her hand. The glare of the afternoon sun is blazing in the
street, and at the window behind her. Against this glare she is revealed
only _en silhouette_. Of her features the young soldier can see nothing.
On the contrary, as he is facing the light, Major Abbot realizes that
every line of his countenance is open to her gaze. Before he has time to
congratulate himself that recent shaving and the new straps have made
him more presentable, he is astonished to see the darkly-outlined figure
halt short: he sees the slender hands fly up to her face in sudden panic
or shock; crash go the phials in fragments on the floor, and the young
lady, staggering against the wall, is going too--some stifled
exclamation on her lips.

Abbot is quick, even when crippled. He springs to her side just in time
to save. He throws his left arm around her, and has to hug her close to
prevent her slipping through his clasp--a dead weight--to the floor. She
has fainted away, he sees at a glance, and, looking about him, he finds
a little alcove close at hand; he knows it well, for there on the sofa
he has spent several restful hours since his arrival. Thither he
promptly bears her; gently lays her down; quickly opens the window to
give her air; then steps across the hall for aid. Not a soul is in
sight. His own room is but a few paces away, and thither he hastens;
returns speedily with a goblet of ice-water in his hand, and a slender
flask of col