Meantime, the subject of this conversation sat at her window looking out into the warm, fragrant, starlit night.  The words of Maynard, the passionate resentment of her cousin toward the young captain merely added to the heavy burden of experience which had been crowded into the past few weeks.  “Oh,” she sighed longingly, “if I could only see Allan Scoville!  He is so strong, unselfish and restful.  I could tell him everything.  He would know just how weary and depressed I am, nor would he want me to do what I can’t, what I’m not ready for.  Oh, what a blessed thing it would be to have a friend near who wasn’t always exacting or expecting or passionately urging something or other.  I wouldn’t need urging in his case, and would even know his hand would be the first to restrain me for my own good.  Where is he now?  Oh, he’d be here if my thoughts could bring him, yet my two lovers would be eager to take his life.  Lovers indeed!  Well, it’s a strange, tangled up world that I’m learning about.”

Meantime Zany, bursting with her secret, was unable to tell any one, and not yet sure she wished to tell.  For one at her point of civilization her motives were a little complex and sophisticated.  In a vicarious way she felt not a little the elation of many a high-born dame that two men were about to fight over her young mistress, regarding it as an undeniable compliment.  She was also inclined to indulge the cynical thought that it might save Miss Lou, Scoville, Chunk—­indeed, all in whom she was interested—­further trouble if, as she phrased it, “Dat ar young cap’n gib Mad Whately he way onst too of’un.  He des natchelly bawn ter mek folks trouble en I reck’n we git on wid he spook bettah ner hesef.”

Whately would not have relished his supper if he had divined the thoughts of his waitress.  As it was, he had little appetite for it and paid his respects chiefly to his uncle’s decanter.  He felt no need of false courage, but was irritated and depressed over the general aspect of affairs, and here was an easy way of raising his spirits.  By the time he was ready to dispense with Zany’s services he was so affected by his potations that his aunt, who had appeared on the scene, hastened his retirement.  He told the sergeant of the guard to have him called at daybreak and was soon asleep.

The indomitable housekeeper, Mrs. Baron, kept the girl busy until everything was put away and the dining-room in perfect order.  Meantime Zany concluded that she had better tell Miss Lou.  Her young mistress might blame her severely if she did not, and keeping such a secret over night would also be a species of torture.

When she was dismissed she watched her opportunity, whisked up to Miss Lou’s room, and was glad to find the girl still awake.

“Oh, Miss Lou,” she whispered breathlessly, “I des got de orfulest, quarest news, en I darsn’t kep hit eny longer.  Marse cap’n en Mad Whately gwine ter fight ‘bout you fo’ sun-up.”