e had not been permitted to get the thing
over. No second opportunity came of itself, nor could Peyton, who
found his ingenuity for once quite paralyzed, force one. Supper was
announced, and was partaken of by Harry, in fidgety abstraction; by
Elizabeth, in expectant but outwardly placid silence; by Miss Sally,
in futile smiling attempts to make something out of her last
conversational chances with the handsome officer; and by Mr.
Valentine, in sedulous attention to his appetite, which still had the
vigor of youth.

Almost as soon as the ladies had gone from the dining-room, Peyton
rose and left the octogenarian in sole possession. In the parlor Harry
found no one but Molly, who was lighting the candles.

"What, Molly?" said he, feeling more and more nervous, and thinking to
retain, by constant use of his voice, a good command of it for the
dreaded interview. "The ladies not here? They left Mr. Valentine and
me at the supper-table."

"They are walking in the garden, sir. Miss Elizabeth likes to take the
air every evening."

"'Tis a chill air she takes this evening, I'm thinking," he said,
standing before the fire and holding out his hands over the crackling
logs.

"A chill night for your journey," replied Molly. "I should think you'd
wait for day, to travel."

Peyton, unobservant of the wistful sigh by which the maid's speech was
accompanied, replied, "Nay, for me, 'tis safest travelling at night. I
must go through dangerous country to reach our lines."

"It mayn't be as cold to-morrow night," persisted Molly.

"My wound is well enough for me to go now."

"'Twill be better still to-morrow."

But Peyton, deep in his own preoccupation, neither deduced aught from
the drift of her remarks nor saw the tender glances which attended
them. While he was making some insignificant answer, the maid, in
moving the candelabrum on the spinet, accidentally brushed therefrom
his hat, which had been lying on it. She picked it up, in great
confusion, and asked his pardon.

"'Twas my fault in laying it there," said he, receiving it from her.
"I'm careless with my things. I make no doubt, since I've been here,
I've more than once given your mistress cause to wish me elsewhere."

"La, sir," said Molly, "I don't think--_any_ one would wish you
elsewhere!" Whereupon she left the room, abashed at her own audacity.

"The devil!" thought Peyton. "I should feel better if some one did
wish me elsewhere."

As he continued gazing i