“But now I turn to you.  What have I been,—­what am I,—­to have won such love as yours?  May God in heaven forgive me for my past!  All too late I hate and despise the man I have been,—­the man whom you loved.  One last act of justice remains.  If I died without it you would mourn me faithfully, tenderly, lovingly, for years, but if I tell the truth you will see the utter unworthiness of the man, and your love will turn to contempt.  It is hard to do this, knowing that in doing it I kill the only genuine regret and dry the only tear that would bless my memory; but it is the one sacrifice I can make to complete my self-humiliation, and it is the one thing that is left me that will free you.  It will sting at first, but, like the surgeon’s knife, its cut is mercy.  Nina, the very night I came to you on the bluffs, the very night you perilled your honor to have that parting interview, I went to you with a lie on my lips.  I had told her we were nothing to each other,—­you and I. More than that, I was seeking her love; I hoped I could win her; and had she loved me I would have turned from you to make her my wife.  Nina, I loved Alice Renwick.  Good-by.  Don’t mourn for me after this.”

XX.

They were having a family conclave at Sablon.  The furlough granted Sergeant McLeod on account of wound received in action with hostile Indians would soon expire, and the question was, should he ask an extension, apply for a discharge, or go back and rejoin his troop?  It was a matter on which there was much diversity of opinion.  Mrs. Maynard should naturally be permitted first choice, and to her wish there was every reason for according deep and tender consideration.  No words can tell of the rapture of that reunion with her long-lost son.  It was a scene over which the colonel could never ponder without deep emotion.  The telegrams and letters by which he carefully prepared her for Frederick’s coming were all insufficient.  She knew well that her boy must have greatly changed and matured, but when this tall, bronzed, bearded, stalwart man sprang from the old red omnibus and threw his one serviceable arm around her trembling form, the mother was utterly overcome.  Alice left them alone together a full hour before even she intruded, and little by little, as the days went by and Mrs. Maynard realized that it was really her Fred who was whistling about, the cottage or booming trooper songs in his great basso profundo, and glorying in his regiment and the cavalry life he had led, a wonderful content and joy shone in her handsome face.  It was not until the colonel announced that it was about time for them to think of going back to Sibley that the cloud came.  Fred said he couldn’t go.