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

He admitted that by the true religionist's standard it was not honest, but reminded me that Ned Ferry--in his blindness--was only a poor romanticist. The despatch was addressed to Lieutenant Edgard Ferry-Durand.

"Thass thess when she arrove!" It was fascinating to watch the animal's cunning play across his face. The fiddle's tune changed and the dance quickened.

"Good-morning," he responded, tardily and grimly. "Well, you air in a hurry."

"Never mind, we must have a long talk. At present there is a verbal message for me; what is it?"

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