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"Why, hardly, if I'm behindhand now. Is it so fine as that?"

Old Dismukes rose. "Good-night. Shall I send this boy that Yankee's horse?"

"They were neither of them present, Lieutenant; that hand was Miss Coralie Rothvelt's."

I looked him squarely in the eyes and began to burn. At every new unfolding of his confidence I had let my own vanity, pride, self-love be more and more flattered, and here at length was getting ready to esteem him less for showing such lack of reserve as to use me as an escape-valve for his pent-up thoughts, when all at once I fancied I saw what he was trying to do. I believed he had guessed my temptations of the night and was making use of himself to warn me how to fight them. "I understand," said I, humbly.

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