rother said impulsively, as they rose from
the table.

"Certainly, Dick, if you wish it."

There was no holding back for urging. No mock modesty. No foolishness in
her answer. It was straight, affectionate, responsive, open hearted,
generous--just like his own sweet little sister Polly when he had asked
of her a favor.

And then, he blushed to find himself staring at her in a sort of dreamy
reverie. He hoped her music would not spoil the impression her
personality had made. This had happened once in his life. He could never
talk to the girl again, after he had heard her sing. The memory of it
was a nightmare.

He watched her tune the guitar with a sense of silly dread. The tuning
finished, she turned to her brother and asked with a smile:

"And what shall I sing, Sir Richard?"

"The one I love best--'Fairy Bells.'"

When the first line with its sweet accompaniment floated out from the
porch on the balmy air of the June evening, the Lieutenant's fears had
vanished. Never had he heard a song whose trembling melody so found his
inmost soul. It set the Fairy Bells ringing in the deep woods of his
far-away Mississippi home. He could see the fairy ringing them--her
beautiful hair streaming in the moonlight, a smile on her lips, the joy
and beauty of eternal youth in every movement of her exquisite form.

When the last note had died softly away, he leaned close and before he
knew what he was doing, whispered:

"Glorious, Miss Sarah!"

"You like it very much?" she asked.

"It's divine."

"My favorite, too."

All night the "Fairy Bells" rang in his heart. For the first time in
life, he failed to sleep. He listened entranced until dawn.

VIII

LOVE

In the swift weeks which followed, life blossomed with new and wonderful
meaning.

In the stern years on the plains, the young officer had known but one
motive of action--duty. He was an exile from home and its comforts,
friends and the haunts of civilized man for his country's sake. He had
come to plant her flag on the farthest frontier and push it farther
against all corners.

In the struggle against the snows of winter and the pestilence of the
summer wilderness, he had fought Nature with the dogged determination of
the soldier. Snow meant winter quarters, the spring marching and
fighting. The hills were breastworks. The night brought dreams of
strategy and surprise. The grass and flowers were symbols of a nation's
wealth and the prophecy of war.