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"Would I not tell my dream, as nice young men in the Bible always did?"

"Good-bye, New Orleans soldier-boy," she said, gaily, and as I raised my cap she gave herself a fetching air and added, "I'll wager I know your name."

Camille, the youngest, whispered to her, whereupon she beckoned. "Oh!--oh, do come here!--Mr. Smith, I am the sister of Major Harper. You're from New Orleans? Does your mother live in Apollo Street?"

"Doesn't a good story revive the poetry of our actual lives?" He wiped the rim of his cap with a handkerchief of yellow silk enriched at one corner with needlework.

"Now, here is another matter of much more importance." He showed, but retained, another envelope. "Behind the house where you're to find Miss Rothvelt there's a road into Cole's Creek bottom. The house you're to stop at to-night, say from twelve o'clock till three or half-past, is on that road, about five miles from Wiggins, from Clifton and from Fayette. I'm sending you there expecting the people in that house will rob you if you give them half a chance."

I found but one white figure under the dim veranda eaves. "Miss Camille?"

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