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

"I tell her as a friend," he said, "she'll get one into Fortress Monroe yet!"

My heart beat wildly and I wanted to ask if it was on my account; but I was too pusillanimous a coward, and when I feebly tried to look into her eyes she would not let me, which convinced me that she lacked candor. A dance ended. Gold-laced fellows came and sat on the veranda rail wiping wrists and brows with over-tasked handkerchiefs, and explaining the small mishaps of the floor. Two promenaders mentioned the hour. I gasped my amazement and extended my hand. "Good-bye."

"And so here you are in this awful fix."

"I--I believe it yet! You are Charlotte Oliver!"

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