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The aide-de-camp laughed like a rustic and vanished. "Smith," said the Major, "your eyes are--"

My thanks were few and awkward, for there still hung to the missive a basting thread, and it was as warm as a nestling bird. I bent low--everybody was emotional in those days--kissed the fragrant thing, thrust it into my bosom, and blushed worse than Camille.

"No," I rejoined, "the first step would be the last."

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An instant his superb eye resented, but then he pleasantly did my bidding. "Suits me well; rather chance it with you than with those I've just left."

"Yes." She stooped low under the interlacing boughs and plunged with me into the double darkness.

"Why, I keep the plain road, don't I?"

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