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"We've got a letter for you from her!" exclaimed Camille.

A sweet color was I. "Yes, that's what I said; Cockerel. Isn't your last name Cockerel?"

We're going to get married, but don't tell pa--"

My eyes rested in Camille's and hers in mine. A musical license gave us the courage. At the last note our gaze did not sink but took on more glow, while out of the forest behind us a distant echo answered the last measure of the strain. Then our eyes slowly fell; and however it may have seemed to her, to me it was as if the vanished strains were not only or chiefly of bugle and echo, but as though our two hearts had called and answered in that melodious unison.

"I tell her as a friend," he said, "she'll get one into Fortress Monroe yet!"

"Oh! that-a-way."

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