th no one, and sent them off wondering and greatly excited,
there came running up to the carriage a telegraph messenger boy, who
handed her a despatch.

"I was going up to the avenue, mum," he explained, "but I seen you
here."

Nina's face paled as she tore it open and read the curt lines:

"Come to me, here. Your help needed instantly."

She sprang from the carriage. "Tell mother I have gone over to see some
Fort friends,--not to wait," she called to the coachman, well knowing he
would understand that she meant the ladies with whom she had been so
recently talking. Like a frightened deer she sped around the corner,
hailed the driver of a cab, lounging with his fellows along the walk,
ordered him to drive with all speed to Summit Avenue, and with beating
heart decided on her plan. Her glorious eyes were flashing: the native
courage and fierce determination of her race were working in her woman's
heart. She well knew that imminent danger threatened him. She had dared
everything for love of his mere presence, his sweet caress. What would
she not dare to save him, if save she could? He had not been true to
her. She knew, and knew well, that, whether sought or not, Alice Renwick
had been winning him from her, that he was wavering, that he had been
cold and negligent; but with all her soul and strength she loved him,
and believed him grand and brave and fine as he was beautiful. Now--now
was her opportunity. He needed her. His commission, his honor, depended
on her. He had intimated as much the night before,--had told her of the
accusations and suspicions that attached to him,--but made no mention of
the photograph. He had said that though nothing could drag from him a
word that would compromise _her_, _she_ might be called upon to stand
'twixt him and ruin; and now perhaps the hour had come. She could free,
exonerate, glorify him, and in doing so claim him for her own. Who,
after this, could stand 'twixt her and him? He loved her, though he
_had_ been cold; and she--? Had he bidden her bow her dusky head to
earth and kiss the print of his heel, she would have obeyed could she
but feel sure that her reward would be a simple touch of his hand, an
assurance that no other woman could find a moment's place in his love.
Verily, he had been doing desperate wooing in the long winter, for the
very depths of her nature were all athrob with love for him. And now he
could no longer plead that poverty withheld his offer of his hand.