a
touch of her odd roguishness.

"That was the grandest thing a woman ever did," said Alfred, in a
low tone.

"Oh, no, I only ran fast."

"I would have given the world to have seen you, but I was lying on
the bench wishing I were dead. I did not have strength to look out
of a porthole. Oh! that horrible time! I can never forget it. I lie
awake at night and hear the yelling and shooting. Then I dream of
running over the burning roofs and it all comes back so vividly I
can almost feel the flames and smell the burnt wood. Then I wake up
and think of that awful moment when you were carried into the
blockhouse white, and, as I thought, dead."

"But I wasn't. And I think it best for us to forget that horrible
siege. It is past. It is a miracle that any one was spared. Ebenezer
says we should not grieve for those who are gone; they were heroic;
they saved the Fort. He says too, that we shall never again be
troubled by Indians. Therefore let us forget and be happy. I have
forgotten Miller. You can afford to do the same."

"Yes, I forgive him." Then, after a long silence, Alfred continued,
"Will you go down to the old sycamore?"

Down the winding path they went. Coming to a steep place in the
rocky bank Alfred jumped down and then turned to help Betty. But she
avoided his gaze, pretended to not see his outstretched hands, and
leaped lightly down beside him. He looked at her with perplexity and
anxiety in his eyes. Before he could speak she ran on ahead of him
and climbed down the bank to the pool. He followed slowly,
thoughtfully. The supreme moment had come. He knew it, and somehow
he did not feel the confidence the Colonel had inspired in him. It
had been easy for him to think of subduing this imperious young
lady; but when the time came to assert his will he found he could
not remember what he had intended to say, and his feelings were
divided between his love for her and the horrible fear that he
should lose her.

When he reached the sycamore tree he found her sitting behind it
with a cluster of yellow daisies in her lap. Alfred gazed at her,
conscious that all his hopes of happiness were dependent on the next
few words that would issue from her smiling lips. The little brown
hands, which were now rather nervously arranging the flowers, held
more than his life.

"Are they not sweet?" asked Betty, giving him a fleeting glance. "We
call them 'black-eyed Susans.' Could anything be lovelier than that
soft, dark brow