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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.

We listened again. "They've gone the wrong way," I said, still savage.

At the door the Colonel gave me a last look. "Good-night, Legs."

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

"But, eh!" I exclaimed, "how could ever such as she mistake him for--"

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