door and let in that flood of light? Impulsively the active girl flew up
the winding stairs to the third story, and some one suddenly withdrew
from the balcony rail, and an instant later, as Miss Folsom reached the
top, all became dark again. Mrs. Fletcher's door had unquestionably been
open, and was now shut to. She must have been out there listening, and
gravely the young girl asked herself what it meant--Mrs. Fletcher's
agitation in the library that morning as she peered out at the major's
wagon; her absence from luncheon on account, as she pleaded, of not
desiring to appear when company was present; and now, despite her desire
to sleep, her vigil at the third-floor landing, where she was surely
listening to the sounds from below.

Pondering over the facts, Elinor Folsom slowly retraced her steps and
went downstairs. She reached the library none too soon. Old John's eyes
were closed, and he was slowly toppling, over come with sleep. The sound
of her cheery voice aroused him, and he started, guilty and crestfallen.

Burleigh's heavy face brightened visibly at her coming. He cared no more
for music than does a cat, but eagerly followed her across the broad
hall into the parlor when she suggested showing him the beautiful piano
papa had given her; and old John, blessing her, lurched for the sofa,
buried his hot head in a pillow, and was asleep in ten seconds. Major
Burleigh was alone with the lovely daughter of the veteran trader. He
was a man of the world; she an unsophisticated girl just out of
school--so said Burleigh, albeit a most charming one; and he, who had
monopolized her time the entire morning, bore down once more upon his
prize.

She had seated herself at the piano, and her long, taper fingers were
rippling over the keys. She knew full well he did not care what she
played, and as for herself she did not care just then to play at all.
She was thinking of his insinuation at Marshall Dean's expense. She was
still pondering over Mrs. Fletcher's stealthy scrutiny of the
quartermaster's team. On these two accounts, and no other, he was
possessed of certain interest in Elinor's dark-brown eyes, and they were
studying him coolly, searchingly, as he drew a chair near the piano
stool, and seated himself and met her look with a broad, encouraging
smile.

Trill and ripple, ripple and trill her white fingers raced over the
keyboard.

"I'm sure you know this waltz, major," she was saying. "They played it
beautifully