eeming with life, lights gleaming everywhere
and shadowy figures passing. Suddenly out of the darkness came a
company of soldiers who had just landed, marching through the streets
toward the camping ground and singing as they went.

The chorus, like a mighty breath of patriotism, filled her heart to
overflowing. It seemed as though she had heard it for the first time;
had never before felt its potency. All the tragedy of war swept before
her; all that inspiring, strange affection for country, kith and kin,
suddenly exalted her.

[Illustration]

Above the tramping of feet, the melody rose and fell on the distant
air, dying away as the figures vanished in the gloom. With its love of
native land, its expression of the unity of comradeship and ties
stronger than death, the song appeared to challenge an answer; and,
when the music ceased, and only the drum-beats still seemed to make
themselves heard, she raised her head without moving from her position
and looked at him to see if he understood. But though she glanced at
him, she hardly saw him. In her mind was another picture--the betrayed
garrison; the soldiers slain!--and the horror of it threw such a film
over her gaze that he became as a figure in some distressing dream.

An inkling of her meaning--the mute questioning of her eyes--the dread
evoked by that revolting vision of the past--were reflected in his
glance.

"Deceived you?" he began, and his voice, to her, sounded as from afar.
"How--what--"

"Must it be--could it be put into words?"

The deepest shadows dwelt in her eyes; shadows he could not penetrate,
although he still doggedly, yet apprehensively, regarded her! Watching
her, his brow grew darker.

"Why not?" he continued, stubbornly.

Why? The dimness that had obscured her vision lifted. Now she saw him
very plainly, indeed; tall and powerful; his face, harsh, intense, as
though by the vigor of physical and mental force he would override any
charge or imputation.

Why? She drew herself up, as he quickly searched her eyes, bright with
the passions that stirred her breast.

"You told me part of your story that day in the property wagon," she
began, repugnance, scorn and anger all mingling in her tones. "Why did
you not tell me the rest?"

His glance, too, flashed. Would he still profess not to understand
her? His lips parted; he spoke with an effort.

"The rest?" he said, his brow lowering.

"Yes," she answered quickly; "the stain upon your n