“Won’t it, though!” demanded Dick with fervor.  “Laura, it seems to me that I must be dreaming.  I can scarcely realize my great good fortune.”

“Nor can I,” replied Laura softly.  “You have always been my boy knight, Dick.”

As they stepped inside and approached their nearest friends, Belle murmured in Greg’s ear: 

“Look at the electric glow that comes from the third finger of Laura’s left hand.  Now, do you comprehend, booby, what a fatal mistake you would have made, had I allowed you to tag them around to the cliff?”

“Well, I’m jiggered!” gasped Cadet Holmes.  “Which means that I’m petrified with delight.”

“Get practical, then,” chided Belle.  “Take me forward to them, and we’ll have the happiness of being the first to congratulate the newest arrivals in paradise!”

Two minutes later, the leader of the orchestra swung his baton.  As the music pealed forth, Dick Prescott knew, for the first time in his life, the full meaning of the dance in Cullum Hall.

There were many other newly betrothed couples on the floor that happy night of the graduation ball.  The air was fragrant with flowers, but there was more—–­the atmosphere of new-found happiness on all sides.

Outside, in the shadow of the moonless night, a stoop-shouldered figure prowled in the near vicinity of Cullum Hall.  This was Jordan, intent on guessing when would be the most favorable moment for sending in the message that should call Prescott out to his doom.

One of the watchmen, a soldier, in the quartermaster’s department, belted, and with a revolver hanging therefrom in its holster, passed by and noted Jordan.

“Are you waiting for anyone, sir?” asked the watchman, halting a moment, though only in mild curiosity.

“I’m going to send a message in, after the music stops, for my cousin,” replied Jordan, who knew that he must give some account of himself.

“Your cousin?  A cadet?” asked the watchman.

“Oh, yes.  Mr. Atterbury, of the first class,” responded Jordan, giving the name of his former roommate at a venture.

“Very good, sir,” replied the watchman, and passed on.

Mr. Atterbury, however, at that very moment, chanced to be standing on the further side of a tree not far distant, and with him were two other first classmen.

“Who is that fellow?” queried Atterbury in a low whisper.  “I’ve seen him around here before this, and his voice sounds mighty familiar.”

The passing watchman heard the question, so he answered:  “He says he is your cousin, sir!”

“He is not my cousin,” replied Atterbury with strange sternness.  “And, since the fellow is here in disguise, it ought to be our business to ask him some questions.  Come on, fellows!”

Atterbury strode out of the shadow, followed just a second later by “Durry” and “Doug.”

The prowler’s first instinct was to run, but he dare not; that would proclaim guilt.