“Then he is less likely to get them,” said the captain, shortly, for, except the post commander, he well knew that no officer could order it to be done.  He was angry at the major for interfering.  They were old associates, and had entered service almost at the same time, but his friend had the better luck in promotion and was now his battalion commander.  Rayner made an excuse of stopping to speak with the officer of the day, and the major went on without him.  He was a quiet old soldier:  he wanted no disturbance with his troubled friend, and, like a sensible man, he turned the matter over to their common superior, in a very few words, before the arrival of the general audience.  It was this that had caused the colonel to turn quietly to Rayner and say, in the most matter-of-fact way,—­

“Oh, Captain Rayner, I presume Mr. Hayne will need three or four men to help him get his quarters in shape.  I suppose you have already thought to send them?”

And Rayner flushed, and stammered, “They have not gone yet, sir; but I had—­thought of it.”

Later, when the sergeant sent the required detail he reported to the captain in the company office in five minutes:  “The lieutenant’s compliments and thanks, but he does not need the men.”

The dinner at the colonel’s, quiet as it was and with only eight at table, was an affair of almost momentous importance to Mr. Hayne.  It was the first thing of the kind he had attended in five years; and though he well knew for knew that it was intended by the cavalry commander more especially as a recognition of the services rendered their suffering men, he could not but rejoice in the courtesy and tact with which he was received and entertained.  The colonel’s wife, the adjutant’s, and those of two captains away with the field battalion, were the four ladies who were there to greet him when, escorted by Mr. Blake, he made his appearance.  How long—­how very long—­it seemed to him since he had sat in the presence of refined and attractive women and listened to their gay and animated chat!  They seemed all such good friends, they made him so thoroughly at home, and they showed so much tact and ease, that never once did it seem apparent that they knew of his trouble in his own regiment; and yet there was no actual avoidance of matters in which the Riflers were generally interested.  It was mainly of his brief visit to the East, however, that they made him talk,—­of the operas and theatres he had attended, the pictures he had seen, the music that was most popular; and when dinner was over their hostess led him to her piano, and he played and sang for them again and again.  His voice was soft and sweet, and, though it was uncultivated, he sang with expression and grace, playing with more skill but less feeling and effect than he sang.  Music and books had been the solace of lonely years, and he could easily see that he had pleased them with his songs.  He went home to the dreary rookery out on Prairie Avenue