e who had 'listed in the cavalry and disappeared--deserted, maybe--at
Carquinez, had eluded search, pursuit, inquiry of every kind, and, all
ignorant, probably, of the commission obtained for him, had, still
secretly, as though realizing his danger, followed her to Manila.

This then must have been the tall stranger who called himself an old
friend and would give no name, for it was to Foster, in answer to his
most urgent plea,--perhaps touched by his devoted love for her lovely
daughter,--that Mrs. Ray had given that little vignette photograph long
months before. There, on the back, was the date in her mother's hand,
"Fort Averill, New Mexico, February 15, 1898." Well did Marion remember
how he had begged her to write her name beneath the picture, and how,
for some reason she herself could not describe, she had shrunk from so
doing. There had been probably half a dozen pictures of Foster about
their quarters at Averill,--photographs in evening dress, in ranch rig,
in winter garb, in tennis costume,--but only one had he of Maidie, and
that not of her giving.

Now, what could his coming mean? What madness prompted this stealth and
secrecy? If innocent of wilful desertion, his proper course was to have
reported without delay to the military authorities at San Francisco and
told the cause of his disappearance or detention. But he had evidently
done nothing of the kind. They would surely have heard of it, and now he
was here, still virtually in hiding and possibly in disguise, and one
unguarded word of hers might land him a prisoner, a war-time deserter,
within the walls of the gloomy carcel in Old Manila.

Sandy she had to tell, and he was overwhelmed with dismay, had galloped
to Paco to see his colonel and get leave for "urgent personal and family
reasons," as he was to say, to spend forty-eight hours in and about
Manila. If a possible thing, Sandy was to trail and find poor Foster,
induce him to surrender himself at once, to plead illness,
inexperience,--anything,--and throw himself on the mercy of the
authorities. Sandy would be back by nine unless something utterly
unforeseen detained him at East Paco. Meantime what else could she
do?--what could she plan to rescue that reckless, luckless,
hare-brained, handsome fellow from the plight into which his misguided,
wasted passion had plunged him?

From the veranda the clink of glass and china, the low hum of merry
chat, the sound of half-smothered laughter, fell upon the