lips that gave me such joy and comfort as those you spoke so hurriedly and without premeditation.  Only those who know anything of what my past has been could form any idea of the emotion with which I heard you.  If I could not have seen you to say how—­how I thanked you, I would have had to write.  This explains what I said awhile ago:  I owe you more pleasure than I can ever give.  But one thing was certain:  I could not bear the idea that you should not be told, and by me, how grateful your words were to me,—­how grateful I was to you.  Again, may God bless you!”

And now he turned abruptly away, awaiting no answer, reseated himself at the piano and retouched the keys.  But, though she sat motionless and speechless, she knew that he had been trembling so violently and that his hands were still so tremulous he could play no more.  It was some minutes that they sat thus, neither speaking; and as he regained his self-control and began to attempt some simple little melodies, Mrs. Waldron returned: 

“How very domestic you look, young people!  Shall we light the lamps?”

“I’ve stayed too long already,” said Miss Travers, springing to her feet.  “Kate does not know I’m out, and will be wondering what has become of her sister.”  She laughed nervously.  “Thank you so much for the music, Mr. Hayne!—­Forgive my running off so suddenly; won’t you, Mrs. Waldron?” she asked, pleadingly, as she put her hand in hers; and as her hostess reassured her she bent and kissed the girl’s flushed cheek.  Mr. Hayne was still standing patiently by the centre-table.  Once more she turned, and caught his eye, flushed, half hesitated, then held out her hand with quick impulse: 

“Good-evening, Mr. Hayne.  I shall hope to hear you play again.”

And, with pulses throbbing, and cheeks that still burned, she ran quickly down the line to Captain Rayner’s quarters, and was up-stairs and in her room in another minute.

This was an interview she would find it hard to tell to Kate.  But told it was, partially, and she was sitting now, late at night, hearing through her closed door her sister’s unmusical lamentations,—­hearing still ringing in her ears the reproaches heaped upon her when that sister was quietly told that she and Mr. Hayne had met twice.  And now she was sitting there, true to herself and her resolution, telling Mr. Van Antwerp all about it.  Can one conjecture the sensations with which he received and read that letter?

Mr. Hayne, too, was having a wakeful night.  He had gone to Mrs. Waldron’s to pay a dinner-call, with the result just told.  He had one or two other visits to make among the cavalry households in garrison, but, after a few moments’ chat with Mrs. Waldron, he decided that he preferred going home.  Sam had to call three times before Mr. Hayne obeyed the summons to dinner that evening.  The sun was going down behind the great range to the southwest, and the trumpets were pealing “retreat”