nize him, but so did Ray
and Trooper Mellen, and Connelly, fetched over from the north side to
make assurance doubly sure. It was Sackett-Murray, gambler, horse-thief,
house-robber, deserter, biter, murderer, and double-dyed traitor. He had
fled to the insurgents in dread of discovery and death at the hands of
Benton's comrades.

And perhaps it was just as well. Foster knew of his hapless end before
he took steamer homeward; knew, too, of Stuyvesant's wound,
and--possibly it had something to do with his departure--of the
disposition made of that fortunately wounded officer. Miss Ray, it
seems, was regularly on duty now, with other Red Cross nurses, and
Stuyvesant went to the "First Reserve" and stayed there a whole week,
and even Dr. Wells came and smiled on him, and Miss Porter beamed, and
still he was not happy--for Maidie came not. She was busy as she could
be at the farther end of the other wards.

And so Stuyvesant grew impatient of nursing, declared he was well, and
still was far from happy, for at that time Foster was still hovering
about the premises, and Stuyvesant could see only one possible
explanation for that. They moved him back to his breezy quarters at
Malate. But presently a trap was sprung, mainly through Mrs. Brent's
complicity, for once or twice a week it was Maidie's custom to go to her
old friend's roof for rest and tea. And one evening, seems to me it was
Valentine's Day, just before sunset, they were in the veranda,--the
colonel and his kindly wife,--while Maid Marion the Second was in her
own room donning a dainty gown for change from the Red Cross uniform,
when a carriage whirled up to the entrance underneath, and Mrs. Brent,
leaning over the rail, smiled on its sole occupant and nodded
reassuringly.

Stuyvesant came up slowly, looking not too robust, and said it was
awfully good of Mrs. Brent to take pity on his loneliness and have him
round to tea. Other nice women, younger, more attractive personally than
Mrs. Brent, had likewise bidden him to tea just so soon as he felt able,
but Stuyvesant swore to himself he couldn't be able and wouldn't if he
could. Yet when Mrs. Brent said "Come," he went, though never hoping to
see Marion, whom he believed to be engrossed in duties at the First
Reserve, and on the verge of announcement of her engagement to "that
young man Foster."

Presently Brent said if Stuyvesant had no objection he'd take his trap
and drive over _Intra muros_ and get the news