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"Well, say; maybe you'll tell us who this is we're about to meet up with."

I caught my breath in rapture and rode away. She was there yet when I looked back--once--and again--and again. And when I looked a last time still she had not moved. Oh, Camille, Camille! to this day I see you standing there in pink-edged white, pure, silent, motionless, a summer-evening cloud; while I, my body clad in its unstained--only because unused--new uniform, and my soul tricked out in the foolhardiness and vanity of a boy's innocence, rode forth into the night and into the talons of overmastering temptation.

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

"Hmm; Charlotte Oliver. Are you sure you have the name just right?"

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

I knew it at a glance. "It's Oliver's," I said.

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