Even Mrs. Maynard could not but see the pride and comfort this letter gave her son.  Her own longing was to have him established in some business in the East; but he said frankly he had no taste for it, and would only pine for the old life in the saddle.  There were other reasons, too, said he, why he felt that he could not go back to New York, and his voice trembled, and Mrs. Maynard said no more.  It was the sole allusion he had made to the old, old sorrow, but it was plain that the recovery was incomplete.  The colonel and the doctor at Sibley believed that Fred could be carried past the medical board by a little management, and everything began to look as though he would have his way.  All they were waiting for, said the colonel, was to hear from Armitage.  He was still at Fort Russell with the head-quarters and several troops of the ——­th Cavalry:  his wound was too severe for him to travel farther for weeks to come, but he could write, and he had been consulted.  They were sitting under the broad piazza at Sablon, looking out at the lovely, placid lake, and talking it over among themselves.

“I have always leaned on Armitage ever since I first came to the regiment and found him adjutant,” said the colonel.  “I always found his judgment clear; but since our last experience I have begun to look upon him as infallible.”

Alice Renwick’s face took on a flood of crimson as she sat there by her brother’s side, silent and attentive.  Only within the week that followed their return—­the colonel’s and her brother’s—­had the story of the strange complication been revealed to them.  Twice had she heard from Fred’s lips the story of Frank Armitage’s greeting that frosty morning at the springs.  Time and again had she made her mother go over the colonel’s account of the confidence and faith he had expressed in there being a simple explanation of the whole mystery, and of his indignant refusal to attach one moment’s suspicion to her.  Shocked, stunned, outraged as she felt at the mere fact that such a story had gained an instant’s credence in garrison circles, she was overwhelmed by the weight of circumstantial evidence that had been arrayed against her.  Only little by little did her mother reveal it to her.  Only after several days did Fred repeat the story of his night adventure and his theft of her picture, of his narrow escape, and of his subsequent visit to the cottage.  Only gradually had her mother revealed to her the circumstances of Jerrold’s wager with Sloat, and the direful consequences; of his double absences the very nights on which Fred had made his visits; of the suspicions that resulted, the accusations, and his refusal to explain and clear her name.  Mrs. Maynard felt vaguely relieved to see how slight an impression the young man had made on her daughter’s heart.  Alice seemed but little surprised to hear of the engagement to Nina Beaubien, of her rush to his rescue, and their romantic parting.  The tragedy of his death hushed