the colonel and his wife, who were
receiving. She and Kate Sumter had been classmates--roommates--at
Vassar, and Kate, born and reared in the army, had never been quite
content until her friend could come to visit the regiment--her father's
home.

A winsome pair they were, these two "sweet girl graduates" of the June
gone by, while the regiment was stirring up the Sioux on the way to the
Big Horn and Yellowstone. Everybody had lavish welcome for them, and to
Miriam Arnold the month at Fort Cushing had been quite a dream of
delight, until there came a strange and sudden missive from her father,
bidding her break off a visit that was to have lasted until February,
_and_ all relations with Lieutenant Robert Ray Lanier.

Up to this moment these relations had been delightful, yet indefinite.
For reasons of his own Mr. Lanier had made no avowal of his love to her,
even though he had disclosed it to every one else. He was a frank,
fearless, out-and-out young soldier, a prime favorite with most of his
fellows. Bob had his enemies--frank men generally have. He could hardly
believe the evidence of his ears when, just after sunset roll-call, he
had confidently approached the colonel with his request and had received
the colonel's curt reply. Time and again during the recent campaign the
veteran soldier now in command had shown marked liking for this
energetic young officer. Then came the march to the settlements, and
sudden, unaccountable change. Twice or thrice within the past ten days
he had shown singular coldness and disfavor; to-night strong and sudden
dislike, and Lanier, amazed and stung, could only salute and turn away.

Everybody by half past ten had heard of it, and most men marvelled.
Nobody at eleven o'clock was very much surprised when, in the midst of
the lovely Lorelei waltz of Keler Bela, a group of young maids, matrons,
and officers near the doorway opened out, as it were, and Bob Lanier,
officer-of-the-guard, came gracefully gliding and circling down the
room, Miriam Arnold's radiant, happy face looking up into his. It was a
joy to watch them dance together, but not to watch the colonel's face
when he caught sight of them. Except Lanier, every officer present was
in full uniform, without his sabre. Lanier was in the undress uniform of
the guard, but with the sabre--not the long, curved, clumsy,
steel-scabbarded weapon then used by the cavalry, but a light, Prussian
hussar sword that he had evidently borrowed fo