But before an opportunity occurred, Claudia opened the subject herself.

"I think he might rouse himself," she said to her mother. They were trying on the gown in which Claudia was to be married two days later, and she spoke with a pin between her teeth as she re-adjusted a plait. "He may be as wretched as he chooses to be, I don't deny him the right, but there's no reason why he should make everybody about him unhappy. I declare," she added, with sudden anger, "one might as well be married with a corpse in the house!"

"Claudia Bryce!" exclaimed the horrified mother. "How can you talk so? The poor

"Don't pity him," broke in Claudia. "I really cannot bear it. And what would you have me do? I am civil enough, or as civil as need be to a man who regards every one about him as so many stocks and stones. I even told him I was sorry for his disappointment, and hoped he would be able to set out before long in search of his wife, which I do indeed. What more can I say? Or why should we go moping about over the loss of this girl, whom we never visited when she was here? The gloom of the house is something awful, and I am heartily sick of sopping my bread in the waters of affliction."

"You don't mean what you say, or you never would talk in such a heartless way," Mrs. Bryce replied. "How can he be cheerful, poor young man! And if you have anything against the girl you ought to forget it, now that we don't know whether she is living or dead."

"What should I have against her?" said Claudia, with a stare. "We never ex

changed a dozen words. But it's my belief that they left because they didn't care to stay and learn the truth. However, it's nothing to us. But it's not particularly cheerful for me." Her head was turned over her shoulder, but though she spoke carelessly there was a break in her voice which touched the mother's heart. She determined to speak to Captain Elyot, to urge him to bear up under his trouble,at least until after Claudia had gone. was hard that her wedding should be

It

It was the evening of the same day, when they sat before the fire, Claudia and her mother, in the quiet half hour before tea. Miss Bryce had been hemming her wedding veil and the soft cloud of tulle overflowed her lap as Captain Elyot turned away from the window-where he had made a pretense of reading Jomini's "Waterloo"-and came to the fire.

"Captain Elyot," said Claudia, in a quiet, even voice, breaking the stillness of the room, "I am going to be married tomorrow."

"I wish you much joy, Miss Claudia." But there was no joy in the voice uttering the words.

"You'll come in with the others? I believe we have asked everybody."

There came back to her with a flash of remembrance that other time in this same room, when he had come to ask them to his wedding and she had scorned his invitation. She had not even excused herself or offered conventional good wishes. The firelight glowed in her face as she waited for his reply. Would he, too, scorn her asking? She little knew how lightly the whole matter had rested on his mind. It had been everything to her and nothing to

him.

"I should be a skeleton at the feast," he said. Then he rose abruptly, forgetting the presence of these two, and bowed his head upon his hands as he leaned upon the mantel.

"But you ought not to be," Claudia said hastily, crumpling the lace in her arms. "There is no reason why you should make yourself miserable- -"and every one else, she desired to add but did not. "Claudia," her mother whispered, warningly.

"Let me speak," said Claudia aloud. "Every one is afraid to say it, but I dare tell him the truth. Why should he make himself wretched and every one about him uncomfortable over he knows not what? If he had any real grief —

Captain Elyot had raised his head. His cheek was scarlet as though she had struck it with her hand. Then it turned deathly white.

"If I had any real grief, as you call it, I hope I should bear it like a man," he said, steadily. "It is the suspense "—and his

voice shook for a moment-"which has made me so forgetful of what is due to others. I did not mean to force my trouble upon you. You should not have taken me in. Now I will go away." And he moved toward the door as though he would go at

once.

"What do you mean? Go away! You poor boy, where would you go? And tonight! You shall do nothing of the kind. Claudia, how could you? But indeed she did not mean to reproach you. We only thought it might be well if you would rouse yourself. That was it, wasn't it, Claudia ? We were speaking of it to-day." Mrs. Bryce had run around from her place in the corner to catch the young man's hand in both of her fat white ones. But when she looked to Claudia for some response to her appeal, she found the girl had left the room. Nothing remained but the veil which had dropped out of her hands and trailed after her along the floor.

"Yes, I will go," repeated Captain Elyot, more calmly.

"Indeed, you shall not think of it." But Mrs. Bryce's voice was weak, her manner absent. She was vexed with Claudia and her heart was divided. Had she been wise in bringing this young man here-causing her own family to be ill at ease in order to comfort him? And had she lessened his sorrow, after all? In his present state of mind, one place was much like another. Was it not her duty to let him go if he would ?

He felt her hesitation.

"You see I am right," he said. "Don't let me make another mistake. I ought to have gone before. But I shall never forget that you took me in-when I was homeless," he added, under his breath.

"But-it seems so ungracious."

"It is I who have been ungracious." "Perhaps until after the wedding," Mrs. Bryce went on, following out her own thoughts. She was ashamed to consent to this inhospitable proceeding and yet she realized all at once that his absence would be an immeasurable relief. "But where would you go?"

"I could easily find a place. Lawton would take me in until I could do better." "And you would promise to come back ?"

"What's this? The major opened the door upon an astonishing tableau. "Ah, Polly, Polly," he said, with a twinkle in his eye.

There was danger of her comfortable plans being set aside after all. And what if the major should learn of Claudia's outbreak? But Captain Elyot allowed her statement of the case to pass. It was true enough, and the major did not persist.

"Well, well, as you please," he said, rubbing his hands thoughtfully. "You're welcome to stay or to come back when the bustle is over. We'll have something better than a welcome for you by that time. There'll be a mail in by the last of the week, and then, Elyot, if you hear nothing you shall go. We'll give him marching orders, wont we, Polly? But sit down, man, and take a cup of tea; time enough to look up quarters after that— if you will go."

"Do," urged Mrs. Bryce, though she hoped in her heart he would refuse. Claudia's entrance after the tea-tray might set them by the ears again.

"Thanks, but I will not wait. And if I do not appear to-morrow will you believe that Miss Bryce has my hearty congratulations? I fear, as you say, that I am not equal to offering them in person."

Mrs. Bryce hastened to reply and cover his departure with a cloak of words lest some other reference to Claudia should bring out the immediate cause of this hasty move. What would her husband say if he knew that Claudia had fairly driven their guest from the house? Her own conscience was not without its qualms as she followed him to the door.

"You will not mind Claudia's foolish speech?" she said, anxiously. "Her nerves are not as strong as usual, and indeed there is a good deal to try one at such a time, and after all the anxiety she has been through."

"On the contrary, I am grateful for her frankness. I begin to see that I have given occasion for it."

"No, no, I will not allow that. But you will come back ? ”

"Like black care? You are too kind. I'm afraid I shall. Good-night." And he was gone.

CHAPTER XXVI.

66 WHY, MAN, THE MAIL'S IN!"

AND SO it came about that Claudia's wedding was a shade less lugubrious than it had seemed likely to be to that much betroubled young woman, though it was by no means a joyous affair, the only person thoroughly happy and satisfied in the assembly—at least of those most nearly concerned-being the bridegroom, whom some subtle and to him incomprehensible influence withheld from all expressions of joy. Although Captain Elyot had taken himself away, his shadow, perhaps, still lingered.

For he did not appear at the wedding. He sat alone through all the long afternoon in the room of a friend, as friends go,-one of the men whose boundaries had been made by circumstances to touch his own without their inner selves coming in contact. In this log hut-for it was hardly more he sat, smoking a pipe which was anything but a pipe of peace to him. It was one of those days in early winter when a sudden thaw unlocks the scarcely frozen streams and scatters the snow like hoar-frost under the sun. Some fascination drew him to the open window in time to see the weddingguests disperse and the wedded couple repair to the house which was to be their home. They two alone-till death did them part. The words of the marriage covenant floated through his mind. No, nothing in life could separate Blossom from him. More than that, he even went beyond the words of the prayerbook. She was his, living or dying; even death could not come between true hearts. But he bowed his head upon his arms and groaned aloud. How he hungered for the sight of her face! The warm west wind sweeping over the open prairie touched his forehead as it had done that spring morning only a few short months back, when they two had walked the same path to the same door, -they two, but one. He recalled her shy trembling as she crossed the threshold. The door closed after them, shutting out the dropping rain, shutting out the curious world. Oh, the bliss of that moment when he took her in his arms!

He was roused from a reverie akin to delirium by the grinding of a step on the bare. floor. At such a time every comer is a

messenger. He started up, his heart striking great blows, like a hammer in a heavy hand. But it was only the young captain whose quarters he had invaded.

"Hullo, Elyot, you don't mean to say you've sat here the blessed afternoon long! Why, man, the mail's in!" His hands were full of letters and papers.

Captain Elyot staggered to his feet. Death itself could hardly have painted a more ghastly face than his as he tried to speak. Then as the blood rushed back to the surface, the words came with it.

"Do you know-did you hear my name?" Oh, what an agony of anxiety was in the question!

"'Pon my word, I didn't. I never heard another name but my own. But I'll run back and ask.” And the kind-hearted fellow, who knew, as did everybody at the post, of Captain Elyot's suspense, threw down his own unopened letters. But he was too late. Captain Elyot had gone.

He was pushing with fierce strength through the little crowd of disappointed seekers still lingering about the chaplain, who held half a dozen unclaimed missives in his hand. When, at last, breathless and panting, he stood face to face with this man, who held for him life or death at the moment, he was speechless. They all stood back; the humblest of them knew his trouble and respected it; while the chaplain turned the letters over unsteadily in his hand.

66

Elyot-Elyot; there must be some mistake, Captain; I don't find your name.”

The crowd closed upon him, and a sudden darkness seemed to fill the room-a whirling darkness in which he reeled. Some one laid a detaining hand upon his own; but he wrenched himself free, and struck out instinctively for the open air and solitude in which he might hide his hurt. The major's wife overtook him walking straight away, he knew not where. It had run through the garrison, like fire in grass, that no news had come of Elyot's wife, and the kind, blundering woman had put her own letters by unread to search him out.

"Dear, dear, but this is dreadful! Still, it will be better next time. It must be better next time. We should not have placed so much reliance upon this one mail. As if there were never to be another! And yet I am convinced there are letters waiting for you somewhere, if we could only get them."

"Thanks; but I will not trouble you." The captain stood up very straight, and re

for her to go by.

vacant eyes, too weak or indifferent to look

She burst into tears.

"Don't talk to me about trouble, you poor boy! Are we not all one family here? Come home with me, and we'll see what can be done. Your letters may have gone to Fort Wallace. In that case we'll soon hear of them. Or I may have some news for you. There are my own letters to read, and the newspapers. We have forgotten the newspapers. There must be something."

Her own faint hopes gained strength with this last suggestion, as some dim recollection of the "personal " column came to her mind. Might not Blossom, ignorant of her husband's locality, resort to this method of communicating with him?

She took him by the arm and turned him about as though he had been a child. More than one friend saw and eluded them as they retraced their steps. No one wished to meet the man fresh from his disappointment. But Mrs. Bryce's tongue ran on.

"The major 'll have heard of it by this time, and we'll hold him to his promise. For he said if nothing came by this mail you should go in search of your wife, though how you ever are to find her I cannot see. And you no more fit to set out on such a journey than -than Blossom herself!" And, indeed, the strength he had gained in his long, rough ride had been dragged away from him by these anxious weeks. He looked worn and broken.

She led him into her parlor and seated him in the most comfortable chair it contained. Then she bustled about and poured out a glass of wine.

"There, drink that, while I look over my letters." And she tore the first open in haste. "But I forgot; where are the newspapers?" He had swallowed the wine at a draught and lay back in the chair, the quiet of utter hopelessness upon him. But at her quick tone and a shower of newspapers, he sat up and began to turn

It will at least take up his mind, thought Mrs. Bryce, as she ran down the first page

of her letter.

"And be sure that the 'personals' do not escape you," she added aloud, but without raising her eyes from the sheet before her. "I have known very respectable people to communicate with their friends in that way,"-though Mrs. Bryce's knowledge, it must be owned, was by report rather than actual.

were

Mechanically turning over the papers, still inclosed in their wrappers, Captain Elyot paid very little heed to this advice, which had hardly reached his understanding, until something in the address of one, struck his eye. His perceptions dulled by the blow he had received, but a strange thrill ran through his veins at sight of this address,-Mrs. Bryce's name, written in an odd, heavy hand, a chirography regular, yet without elegance, such as any illiterate person of methodical habits might acquire by years of enforced use. All at once he seized upon the resemblance which had puzzled him. It was not unlike the hand in which Mrs. Stubbs had been accustomed formerly to remind her patrons of their indebtedness to her.

A

Mrs. Bryce, lost in her letter, had entirely forgotten her companion. She had settled herself comfortably to the deciphering of its fourth and most illegible page, when a sound, like a shuddering groan, reached her ears, recalling her to the present. Captain Elyot's head had fallen forward upon his breast. The man was unconscious. scream brought Jinny from the kitchen, and hastened the steps of the major, just entering the house. Some one took the open newspaper from the loosened fingers, and then they saw that a heavy black line had been drawn about one column,-the column of deaths,-and they read, with a shock of surprise and sorrow which no words can tell:

"October 17th, Blossom, wife of Captain Robert Elyot, U. S. A. Aged eighteen."