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But, after all, fortune was merciful, and I was gone; the Major had summoned me--his brother had come. I went circuitously and alone. As I started, some fellow writhing on the grass cried, "Charlie Tol--oh, this is better than a tcharade!" and a flash of divination enlightened me. While I went I burned with shame, rage and nervous exhaustion; the name Scott Gholson had gasped in my ear was the name of her in the curtained wagon, and I cursed the day in which I had heard of Charlotte Oliver.

For an hour or so the world seemed to have taken me for its center as smoothly as a sleeping top. Only after a good seven miles did my meditations begin to reveal any bitter in the sweet; but it was in recalling for the twentieth time the last sight of Camille, that I heard myself say, I know not whether softly or loudly,

"I think you know Lieutenant Durand?" asked the General, with a quizzical eye.

"I see."

"I was so anxious about you," she replied, with feeling, and then broke into a quizzical laugh.

"They're going down into the woods together!"

"Oh!--don't you wish you knew! Why, to myself, for instance. Come! duty calls."

He spurted a pint to reply, "Fishe's batt'ry."

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