“To repent of my sins.”

“You would have to confess at a convent.  Why not imagine me a venerable father, dozing after a good dinner, and make your first essay at the confessional?”

“You tax my imagination too greatly.  So I should have to confess; therefore no convent for me.”

“Of course not.  I should protest against it at the very altar, and in the teeth of the Pope himself.  Can’t you repent of your sins in some other way?”

“I suppose I shall have to.”

“They would be a queer lot of little peccadilloes.  I should like to set them all under a microscope.”

“I would rather that your glass should be a goblet brimmed from Lethe.”

“There is no Lethe for me, Miss Marian, so far as you are concerned.”

“Come, tell me the news from the seat of war,” she said, abruptly.

“This luxurious arm-chair is not a seat of war.”

“Papa has been telling me how Southern girls make all the men enlist.”

“I’ll enlist to-morrow, if you ask me to.”

“Oh, no.  You might be shot, and then you would haunt me all my life.”

“May I not haunt you anyway?” said Lane, resolutely, for he had determined not to let this opportunity pass.  She was alone, and he would confirm the hope which her manner for months had inspired.  “Come, Miss Marian,” he continued, springing to his feet and approaching her side, his dark eyes full of fire and entreaty; “you cannot have misunderstood me.  You know that while not a soldier I am also not a carpet-knight and have not idled in ladies’ bowers.  I have worked hard and dreamed of you.  I am willing to do all that a man can to win you.  Cowardice has not kept me from the war, but you.  If it would please you I would put on the blue and shoulder a musket to-morrow.  If you will permit more discretion and time, I can soon obtain a commission as an officer.  But before I fight other battles, I wish to win the supreme victory of my life.  Whatever orders I may take from others, you shall ever be my superior officer.  You have seen this a long time; a woman of your mind could not help it.  I have tried to hope with all a lover’s fondness that you gave me glimpses of your heart also, but of this nothing would satisfy a man of my nature but absolute assurance.”

He stood proudly yet humbly before her, speaking with strong, impassioned, fluent utterance, for he was a man who had both the power and the habit of expression.

She listened with something like dismay.  Her heart, instead of kindling, grew only more heavy and remorseful.  Her whole nature shrunk, while pity and compunction wrung tears from her eyes.  This was real life in very truth.  Here was a man ready to give up safe, luxurious existence, a career already successful, and face death for her.  She knew him well enough to be sure that if he could wear her colors he would march away with the first regiment that would receive him.  He was not a man to be