wrong. Who was this person, daring to assume what would or
would not be natural for her to do?

"Very well; I believe you. And now that I know the truth, I will tell
you why I come here: you have asked me several times. I too love you,
Miss Duke."

Gardis had risen. "You?" she said--"you?"

"Yes, I; I too."

He was standing also, and they gazed at each other a moment in silence.

"I will never marry you," said the girl at last--"never! never! You do
not, can not, understand the hearts of Southern women, sir."

"I have not asked you to marry me, Miss Duke," said the young soldier
composedly; "and the hearts of Southern women are much like those of
other women, I presume." Then, as the girl opened the door to escape,
"You may go away if you like, Gardis," he said, "but I shall love you
all the same, dear."

She disappeared, and in a few moments Cousin Copeland re-entered, with
apologies for his lengthened absence. "I found several other documents I
thought you might like to see," he said eagerly. "They will occupy the
remainder of our evening delightfully."

They did. But Gardis did not return; neither did she appear at the
breakfast-table the next morning. Captain Newell rode back to the city
without seeing her.

Not long afterward Cousin Copeland received a formal letter from a city
lawyer. The warehouse had found a tenant, and he, the lawyer, acting for
the agent, Captain Newell, had the honor to inclose the first
installment of rent-money, and remained an obedient servant, and so
forth. Cousin Copeland was exultant. Gardis said to herself, "He is
taking advantage of our poverty," and, going to her room, she sat down
to plan some way of release. "I might be a governess," she thought. But
no one at the South wanted a governess now, and how could she go North?
She was not aware how old-fashioned were her little accomplishments--her
music, her embroidery, her ideas of literature, her prim drawings, and
even her deportment. No one made courtesies at the North any more, save
perhaps in the Lancers. As to chemistry, trigonometry, physiology, and
geology, the ordinary studies of a Northern girl, she knew hardly more
than their names. "We might sell the place," she thought at last, "and
go away somewhere and live in the woods."

This, indeed, seemed the only way open to her. The house was an actual
fact; it was there; it was also her own. A few days later an
advertisement appeared in the city newspaper: "For sale,