Miriam, a young lady ran up with
an important air, as though about to create a sensation. "I have a
message for you both," she said, fixing her eyes on mine as though she
sought something in them. "I visit the prisoners frequently, you know,
and day before yesterday Captain Steadman requested me to beg you to
call, that he will not take a refusal, but entreated you to come, if it
were only once." The fates must be against me; I had almost forgotten
his existence, and having received the same message frequently from
another, I thoughtlessly said, "You mean _Colonel_, do you not?"
Fortunately Miriam asked the same question at the instant that I was
beginning to believe I had done something very foolish. The lady looked
at me with her calm, scrutinizing, disagreeable smile--a smile that had
all the unpleasant insinuations eyes and lips can convey, a smile that
looked like "I have your secret--you can't deceive _me_"--and said with
her piercing gaze, "No, _not_ the Colonel. He was very ill that day
(did you know it?) and could not see us. This was _really_ the
Captain." "He is very kind," I stammered, and suggested to Miriam that
we had better pass on. The lady was still eyeing me inquisitively.
Decidedly, this is unpleasant to have the reputation of being engaged
to a man that every girl is crazy to win! If one only cared for him, it
would not be so unpleasant; but under the circumstances,--_ah ca!_ why
don't they make him over to the young lady whose father openly avows he
would be charmed to have him for a son-in-law? This report has cost me
more than one impertinent stare. The young ladies think it a very
enviable position. Let some of them usurp it, then!

So the young lady, not having finished her examination, proposed to
accompany us part of the way. As a recompense, we were regaled with
charming little anecdotes about herself, and her visits. How she had
sent a delightful little custard to the Colonel (here was a side glance
at my demure face) and had carried an autographic album in her last
visit, and had insisted on their inscribing their names, and writing a
verse or so. "How interesting!" was my mental comment. "Can a man
respect a woman who thrusts him her album, begging for a compliment the
first time they meet? What fools they must think us, if they take such
as these for specimens of the genus!"

Did we know Captain Lanier? Know him, no! but how vividly his face
comes before me when I look back to that gran