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

"That's a lie," he pleasantly remarked, and lay back, enjoying my silent wrath. "Send him, General," he added, "he's your man."

The flap fell again and my panic was turned into a joy qualified only by a reduced esteem for my general as a judge of character.

"Ferry's scouts. What command is yours, gentlemen?"

Dolt that I was, I would have drawn her close, but she put me off with an outstretched arm and forbidden smile. "No!--No! this is a matter of life and death."

The reply came slowly. "No; her husband is quite another man; this man's wife has been dead for years. No, Charlotte Oliver lives in--hark!"

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