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"Good-day, sir," she said, with forced severity, but as I smiled apologetically and moved my rein, she broke down under new temptation and, as the wagon moved away, twittered after me unseen,--"Good-bye, Mr. Smith."

"Who?" I cried. "What! You don't mean to say--was that Lieutenant Ferry?"

"We've got a letter for you from her!" exclaimed Camille.

A sweet color was I. "Yes, that's what I said; Cockerel. Isn't your last name Cockerel?"

Turn away thine eyes, maiden passing fair. O maiden passing fair, turn away thine eyes!

"He told you?--Ah! you're only guessing," I said, and saw that I was helping her to guess more correctly.

"She must have pumped others before she pumped you, eh?" There was confession in his good humor. "But tell me; did she not see also this other trap, for this man and his father, and try to save them out of it?--oh, if you don't want--never mind." He laid a leg over the front of his saddle and sat thinking. So I see him to-day: his chestnut locks, his goodly limbs and shoulders, the graceful boots, cut-away jacket, faded sash, straight sword, and that look of care on his features which intensified the charm of their spiritual cleanness; behind him his band of picked heroes, and for background the June sky. Whenever I smell dewy corn-fields smitten with the sun that picture comes back to me.

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