“And yet you are ready to put your neck into the noose for the fifth time?”

“I desire to say, it will be but the fourth, Major Duncan,” said the Quartermaster positively; then, instantly changing the expression of his face to one of boyish rapture, he added, “But this Mabel Dunham is a rara avis! Our Scotch lassies are fair and pleasant; but it must be owned these colonials are of surpassing comeliness.”

“You will do well to recollect your commission and blood, Davy.  I believe all four of your wives —­ "

“I wish my dear Lundie, ye’d be more accurate in yer arithmetic.  Three times one make three.”

“All three, then, were what might be termed gentlewomen?”

“That’s just it, Major.  Three were gentlewomen, as you say, and the connections were suitable.”

“And the fourth being the daughter of my father’s gardener, the connection was unsuitable.  But have you no fear that marrying the child of a non-commissioned officer, who is in the same corps with yourself, will have the effect to lessen your consequence in the regiment?”

“That’s just been my weakness through life, Major Duncan; for I’ve always married without regard to consequences.  Every man has his besetting sin, and matrimony, I fear, is mine.  And now that we have discussed what may be called the principles of the connection, I will just ask if you did me the favor to speak to the Sergeant on the trifling affair?”

“I did, David; and am sorry to say, for your hopes, that I see no great chance of your succeeding.”

“Not succeeding!  An officer, and a quartermaster in the bargain, and not succeed with a sergeant’s daughter!”

“It’s just that, Davy.”

“And why not, Lundie?  Will ye have the goodness to answer just that?”

“The girl is betrothed.  Hand plighted, word passed, love pledged, —­ no, hang me if I believe that either; but she is betrothed.”

“Well, that’s an obstacle, it must be avowed, Major, though it counts for little if the heart is free.”

“Quite true; and I think it probable the heart is free in this case; for the intended husband appears to be the choice of the father rather than of the daughter.”

“And who may it be, Major?” asked the Quartermaster, who viewed the whole matter with the philosophy and coolness acquired by use.  “I do not recollect any plausible suitor that is likely to stand in my way.”

“No, you are the only plausible suitor on the frontier, Davy.  The happy man is Pathfinder.”

“Pathfinder, Major Duncan!”

“No more, nor any less, David Muir.  Pathfinder is the man; but it may relieve your jealousy a little to know that, in my judgment at least, it is a match of the father’s rather than of the daughter’s seeking.”

“I thought as much!” exclaimed the Quartermaster, drawing a long breath, like one who felt relieved; “it’s quite impossible that with my experience in human nature — "