oul, as Isabel had cared for Morris Winslow. And if
he won her--would he, could he go away?

He used to wonder later on how much was pure patriotism and how much a
desire to stand well with Alice Royall. She was proudly patriotic and
had stirred his blood many a time with her wishes and desires for the
country. Grandmamma Royall had laughed a little at her vehemence, and
said it was fortunate she was not a boy.

"I should enlist at once. Or what would be better yet, I would beg
brother Morris to fit out a war ship, and look up the men to command it,
and go in _any_ capacity. I should not wait for a high-up appointment."

When Cary confessed his step first to her, she caught his hands in hers
so soft and delicate.

"I knew you were the stuff out of which heroes were made!" she cried
exultantly. "Oh, Cary, I shall pray for you day and night, and you will
come back crowned with honors."

"If I come back----"

"You will. Take my word for your guerdon. I can't tell you _how_ I know
it, but I am sure you will return. I can see you and the future----"

She paused, flushed with excitement, her eyes intense, her rosy lips
tremulous, and looked, indeed, as if she might be inspired.

So she met him again at the garden gate for a last good-by. Young people
who had been well brought up did not play at love-making in those days,
though they might be warm friends. A girl seldom gave or received
caresses until the elders had signified assent. An engagement was quite
a solemn thing, not lightly to be entered into. And even to himself Cary
seemed very young. All his instincts were those of a gentleman, and in
his father he had had an example of the most punctilious honor.

They walked up and down a few moments. He pressed tender kisses on her
fair hand, about which there always seemed to cling the odor of roses.
And then he tore himself away with a passionate sorrow that his father,
the nearest in human ties of love, could not bid him Godspeed.

The next morning Doris wondered what had happened. There was a
loneliness in the very air, as there had been when Uncle Leverett died.
The sky was overcast, not exactly promising a storm, but soft and
penetrative, as if presaging sorrow.

Oh, yes, she remembered now. She dressed herself and went quietly
downstairs.

"You may as well come and have your breakfast," exclaimed Miss
Recompense. "Your uncle sent down word that he had a headache and begged
not to be disturbed. He was up a