not come for a long hour, and when it did come it was very brief, but Chester received another message, and went forward to find his colonel sitting in a little grove with the cavalryman, while the orderly held their horses a short space away.  Armitage had gone forward to his advance, and Chester showed no surprise at the sight of the sergeant seated side by side with the colonel and in confidential converse with him.  There was a quaint, sly twinkle in Maynard’s eyes as he greeted his old friend.

“Chester,” said he, “I want you to be better acquainted with my step-son, Mr. Renwick.  He has an apology to make to you.”

The tall soldier had risen the instant he caught sight of the newcomer, and even at the half-playful tone of the colonel would relax in no degree his soldierly sense of the proprieties.  He stood erect and held his hand at the salute, only very slowly lowering it to take the one so frankly extended him by the captain, who, however, was grave and quiet.

“I have suspected as much since daybreak,” he said; “and no man is gladder to know it is you than I am.”

“You would have known it before, sir, had I had the faintest idea of the danger in which my foolhardiness had involved my sister.  The colonel has told you of my story.  I have told him and Captain Armitage what led to my mad freak at Sibley; and, while I have much to make amends for, I want to apologize for the blow I gave you that night on the terrace.  I was far more scared than you were, sir.”

“I think we can afford to forgive him, Chester.  He knocked us both out,” said the colonel.

Chester bowed gravely.  “That was the easiest part of the affair to forgive,” he said, “and it is hardly for me, I presume, to be the only one to blame the sergeant for the trouble that has involved us all, especially your household, colonel.”

“It was expensive masquerading, to say the least,” replied the colonel; “but he never realized the consequences until Armitage told him to-day.  You must hear his story in brief, Chester.  It is needful that three or four of us know it, so that some may be left to set things right at Sibley.  God grant us all safe return!” he added, piously, and with deep emotion.  “I can far better appreciate our home and happiness than I could a month ago.  Now, Renwick, tell the captain what you have told us.”

And briefly it was told:  how in his youthful fury he had sworn never again to set foot within the door of the father and mother who had so wronged the poor girl he loved with boyish fervor; how he called down the vengeance of heaven upon them in his frenzy and distress; how he had sworn never again to set eyes on their faces.  “May God strike me dead if ever I return to this roof until she is avenged!  May He deal with you as you have dealt with her!” was the curse that flew from his wild lips, and with that he left them, stunned.  He went West, was soon penniless, and, caring not what he did, seeking