It never once entered his mind that she could possibly care for him.  She had been so cool, so careless, and seemed so unconcerned on the night of their parting, that he thought she must be glad that he was away and had ceased to annoy her.

Yet her face, as he remembered it that night, lying gazing into the fire, half asleep and half awake, was lovely, and she was blameless.  To him, she was a goddess to be worshipped, one incapable of wrong.  If she had rejected him, it was right.  If she had loved the lieutenant, it was perfectly right; yet he could not crush her image out of his heart.  It was indelibly stamped there, and had become a part of his existence.

The bleak northeast wind swept through the woods and howled about the rude shanty, rattling the boards and causing the sentries to shiver, as they drew their cloaks about their shoulders.  Fernando felt almost comfortable in this retreat, and the fire burned low, still giving out a generous heat.

Two officers from another company came to their quarters, and the last Fernando remembered was hearing them talking of the disposition of the troops and the probability of meeting the enemy and sharing the glory which Lewis and Allen had won but three days before.

Their voices were low and indistinct and finally became mingled with his dreams of the past, forming a mass of events, sights and sounds which at first had no meaning.  At last the scene changed.  The officers ceased talking, the firelight disappeared, and his dreaming fancy, which had been struggling with these realities, was freed to take what course it chose.

He was once more on the sands of Mariana.  He saw the great white stone house on the hill and the form of Morgianna descending toward the seashore.  He knew he had been gone for years, was conscious that their parting had been unpleasant, and yet her appearance seemed to inspire his heart with hope.  The sun’s golden rays fell upon the bright, fairy-like being as, with a glad smile she hastened toward him.

“You have come at last,” she said, with a happy smile.  “I have waited so long, oh, so long, that I feared you would never come.”

“Morgianna!” he cried, starting forward and clasping her in his arms.  “Are you pleased to see me?”

“I am happy, Fernando, oh, so happy——­”

Then he was partially awakened by some one throwing logs of wood on the fire, and he had an indistinct impression of hearing a soldier say: 

“It’s four o’clock and has begun to snow a little.  We’ll have it cold as blazes by morning.”

As the fire roared, and the wind whistled about their miserable barracks, he sank away into dreamland again.  He had hardly been sufficiently awakened to break the thread of his dreams.  His mind however was disturbed by the entrance of the officer, and though he wooed back the gentle dream, it had lost much of its charm and brightness.

He saw Morgianna no longer wreathed in sweet smiles; her face was expressive of distress and agony.  The joy and sunlight had given place to sorrow and gloom.  What had occasioned this change?