"

"I know it, but it must be done. I must take my chances."

"And your chances mean this alternative--either that my girl's
reputation shall be ruined all over the country--all through the Army,
where she is known and loved--or else that her heart must be broken.
This is what it means, Mr. Cowles. This is what you have brought to my
family."

"Yes," I said to him, slowly, "this is what I have brought."

"Then which do you choose, sir?" he demanded of me.

"I choose to break her heart!" I answered. "Because that is the truth,
and that is right. I only know one way to ride, and that is straight."

He smiled at me coldly in his frosty beard. "That sounds well from you!"
he said bitterly. "Ellen!" he raised his voice. "Ellen, I say, come here
at once!"

It was my ear which first heard the rustling of her footsteps at the
edge of the thicket as she approached. She came before us slowly,
halting, leaning on her crutch. A soft flush shone through the brown
upon her cheeks.

I shall not forget in all my life the picture of her as she stood.
Neither shall I forget the change which came across her face as she saw
us sitting there silent, cold, staring at her. Then, lovable in her
rags, beautiful in her savagery, the gentleness of generations of
culture in all her mien in spite of her rude surroundings, she stepped
up and laid her hand upon her father's shoulder, one finger half
pointing at the ragged scroll of hide which lay upon the ground before
us. I loved her--ah, how I loved her then!

"I signed that, father," she said gently. "I was going to sign it,
little by little, a letter each week. We were engaged--nothing more. But
here or anywhere, some time, I intend to marry Mr. Cowles. This I have
promised of my own free will. He has been both man and gentleman,
father. I love him."

I heard the groan which came from his throat. She sprang back. "What is
it?" she said. The old fire of her disposition again broke out.

"What!" she cried. "You object? Listen, I will sign my name now--I will
finish it--give me--give me--" She sought about on the ground for
something which would leave a mark. "I say I have not been his, but will
be, father--as I like, when I like--now, this very night if I
choose--forever! He has done everything for me--I trust him--I know he
is a man of honor, that he--" Her voice broke as she looked at my face.

"But what--what _is_ it?" she demanded, brokenly, in her own eyes
something of the horro