criminal act which, as the culmination of a
long series of follies, must inevitably have brought him to ruin if he
had not chosen to end his life at the war.

Nobody was surprised when the society columns of the newspapers hinted of
a coming engagement between the daughter of a well-known soldier and the
son of a banker, who came together under romantic circumstances, not
unconnected with a regrettable accident.

Later, there was a definite announcement: "An engagement has been
arranged between Miss Dundas, daughter of Colonel Herbert Dundas, and
Vivian Ormsby, eldest son of William Ormsby, the well-known banker."

Letters poured in on every side. Polly Ocklebourne drove over to
congratulate Dora in person, and found the affianced bride looking very
pale, and by no means happy. Dora hastened to explain that the engagement
would be a long one, possibly two years at least--and they laughed at
her. The girl had given her consent grudgingly, in half-hearted fashion,
with the stipulation that she might possibly withdraw from it. Her father
coaxed it out of her. But, when people came around and talked of the
wedding, and abused her for treating poor Ormsby shabbily by insisting on
an engagement of quite unfashionable and absurd length, the thought of
what she had done began to terrify her. She knew perfectly well that she
did not care for her lover; that, under certain circumstances, she almost
hated him. But there was no one she liked better, nor was there any
prospect of her dead heart coming to life again at all. And, in the
meantime, Ormsby was constantly by her side.

One morning, Ormsby drove up in his automobile, to propose an engagement
for the evening to Dora. His _fiancee_, however, had gone out for a walk,
and he was forced to content himself by leaving a message with her
father. The two men were chatting together in the library, when a servant
entered with a telegram. "For Miss Dundas, sir," was the explanation.

"I suppose I'd better open it," murmured the colonel, as he slit the
envelope.

He read the message, frowned, swore an oath, turned it over, then read it
again, with a look of blank amazement, whilst Ormsby watched.

"Bad news?"

"Read."

Ormsby took the slip between his fingers. His pale face hardened, and his
teeth ground together. His surprise was expressed in a smothered cry of
rage.

"It can't be!" he gasped. "Alive? Then, the story of his death was a lie.
His heroic death was a sham."