“There is Major Parr—­ and Captain Simpson—­ oh, and yonder minces my macaroni Ensign!” cried Lois, as the brown column swung straight into the ford, every rifle lifted, powder-horn and cartouche-box high swinging and glittering in the sun.

I turned to look for Lana; and first caught sight of the handsome wench, Dolly Glenn.  And, following her restless gaze, I saw that Boyd had come up to the rifle-platform to join Lana, and that they stood together at a little distance from us.  Also, I noticed that Lana’s hand was resting an his arm.  In sharp contrast to the excited, cheering soldiery thronging the platform, the attitude of these two seemed dull and spiritless; and Boyd looked more frequently at her than on the stirring pageant below; and once, under cover of the movement and tumult, I saw her pale cheek press for a moment against his green fringed shoulder cape—­ lightly—­ only for one brief moment.  Yonder was no coquetry, no caprice of audacity.  There was a heart there as heavy as the cheek was pale.  It was love and nothing less—­ the pitiful devotion of a lass in love whose lover marches on the morrow.  Lord—­ Lord!  Had we but known!

As I stood beside Lois, I could not refrain from glancing toward them at moments, not meaning to spy, yet somehow held fascinated and troubled by what I had seen; for it seemed plain to me that if there was love there, little of happiness flavored it.  Also, whenever I looked at them always I saw Dolly Glenn watching Boyd out of her darkly beautiful and hostile eyes.

And afterward, when our big riflemen marched on to the parade below, and we all hastened down, and the whole fort was a hubbub of cries and cheers and the jolly voices of friends greeting friends—­ even then I could scarce keep my eyes from these two and from the Glenn girl.  And I was glad when a large, fat dame came a-waddling, who proved to be Mrs. Sabin; and she had a cold and baleful eye for Boyd, which his gay spirits and airy blandishments neither softened nor abated.

Lois made me known to her very innocently and discreetly, and I made her my best manners; but to my mortification, the disdain in her gaze increased, as did her stiffness with Boyd and her chilling hauteur.  Lord!  Here was no friend to men—­ at least, no friend to young men!  That I comprehended in a trice; and my chagrin was nothing mended as I caught a sly glance from the merry and slightly malicious eyes of Boyd.

“Her husband is a fussy fat-head and she’s a basalisk,” he whispered.  “I thought she’d bite my head of when the ladies came on under my protection.”

She was more square and heavily solid than fat, like a squat block-house; and as I stole another glance at her I wondered how she was to mount the ladder and get her through the trap above.  And by heaven!  When the moment came to try it, she could not.  She attempted it thrice; and the third effort hung her there, wedged in, squeaking like a fat doe-rabbit—­ and Boyd and I, stifling with laughter, now pushing, now tugging at her fat ankles.  And finally got her out upon the ladder platform, crimson and speechless in her fury; and we lingered not, but fled together, not daring to face the lady at whose pudgy and nether limbs we had pulled so heartily.