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"Well,--yes,--he--he is,--with some."

"Has he a taste for fiction?" I asked, with a depreciative smirk.

"Harry," replied the Major, from his table full of documents, "don't you know that any man who's got a woman wrapped round his finger has also got her wrapped round his throat?"

"Guess I'm the first Yankee y' ever caught, ain't I?" His smile was superior, but congratulatory.

"Oh, no, not too warm."

"Is this the conservatory?" playfully whispered Miss Rothvelt; and if a hot, damp air, motionless, and heavy with the sleeping breath of countless growths could make it so, a conservatory it was. Every slightest turn had to be alertly chosen, and the tangle of branches and vines made going by the stars nearly impossible. The undergrowth crowded us into single file. We scarcely exchanged another word until our horses came abreast in the creek and stopped to drink. Conditions beyond were much the same until near the end of our détour, when my horse swerved abruptly and the buzz of a rattlesnake sounded almost under foot. The mare swerved, too, and hurried forward to my horse's side.

"It's twenty miles off; why are you not with it? What are you doing here?"

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