he presented an interesting, soldierly figure, his face still retaining a bit of the boy about it, his blue eyes bright with expectancy.  That afternoon he had half decided not to go at all, the glamour of such events having long before grown dim, but the peculiar attraction of this night proved too strong; not thus easily could he erase from memory the haunting witchery of a face.  Beyond doubt, when again viewed amid the conventionalities, much of its imagined charm would vanish; yet he would see her once more, although no longer looking forward to drawing a prize.

The dance was already in full swing, the exciting preliminaries having been largely forgotten in the exuberance of motion, when he finally pushed his way through the idle loungers gathered about the door, and gained entrance to the hall.  Many glanced curiously at him, attracted by the glitter of his uniform, but he recognized none among them, and therefore passed steadily toward the musicians’ stand, where there appeared to be a few unoccupied chairs.

The scene was one of color and action.  The rapid, pulsating music, the swiftly whirling figures, the quivering drapery overhead, the bright youthful faces, the glow of numerous lamps, together with the ceaseless voices and merry shuffling of feet, all combined to create a scene sufficiently picturesque.  It was altogether different from what he had anticipated.  He watched the speeding figures, striving in vain to distinguish the particular one whose charms had lured him thither.  He looked upon fair faces in plenty, flushed cheeks and glowing eyes skurried past him, with swirling skirts and flashes of neatly turned ankles, as these enthusiastic maids and matrons from hill and prairie strove to make amends for long abstinence.  But among them all he was unable to distinguish the wood-nymph whose girlish frankness and grace had left so deep an impression on his memory.  Yet surely she must be present, for, to his understanding, this whole gay festival was in her honor.  Directly across the room he caught sight of the Reverend Mr. Wynkoop conversing with a lady of somewhat rounded charms, and picked his way in their direction.

The missionary, who had yet scarcely recovered from the shock of Moffat’s impulsive speech, and who, in truth, had been hiding an agonized heart behind a smiling face, was only too delighted at any excuse which would enable him to approach Miss Spencer, and press aside those cavaliers who were monopolizing her attention.  The handicap of not being able to dance he felt to be heavy, and he greeted the lieutenant with unusual heartiness of manner.

“Why, most assuredly, my dear sir, most assuredly,” he said.  “Mrs. Herndon, permit me to make you acquainted with Lieutenant Brant, of the Seventh Cavalry.”

The two, thus introduced, bowed, and exchanged a few words, while Mr. Wynkoop busied himself in peering about the room, making a great pretence at searching out the lady guest, who, in very truth, had scarcely been absent from his sight during the entire evening.