he was a keen judge of character, and
she could not but note the reticence and evident embarrassment of the
young adjutant at Russell--a courteous and high-minded fellow--whenever
she mentioned Ray's name.

Failing in his effort to extract information from Sergeant Wolf, Gleason
changed his methods. He began worrying him, restricting his movements in
various ways, and hampering him with corrections and suggestions. One
day a bandsman, who was excellent as a clarionet- and violin-player,
took his discharge-papers on expiration of term of service, and the
bandmaster appeared at the adjutant's office with Sergeant Wolf to
announce that the sergeant was even a better musician than the
discharged man, and was desirous of giving up his "lance" rank and
entering the band. Colonel Whaling and his adjutant were delighted to
make a temporary transfer to meet the case and to write to Mr. Billings
for regimental sanction. All too late, Gleason heard of and tried to
stop it. It took Wolf out of his control and compelled him to resort to
watching him. He had so palpably given it to be understood that _he_ was
the sweet singer who had entranced the garrison in his midnight
serenades that Gleason now felt he could not go to the adjutant and tell
him that Wolf was the man, and that he must pen him up at night. Indeed,
he rather wanted to have more of the serenading. He sniffed a scandal,
and in his resentment at Mrs. Truscott's evident avoidance of him and
Miss Sanford's serene indifference, he was beginning to feel that he
could welcome anything that would besmirch their names or cloud their
domestic peace. From his soldier servant he learned that Wolf spent
hours in writing letters, most of which he burned or tore up; that he
held himself aloof from the bandsmen, and was trying to get a little
room to himself. Every night when he was officer of the day, and
occasionally when he was not, Gleason patrolled that back fence in
search of Wolf, and one night he was rewarded. He sprang suddenly from
his hiding-place, and the soldier turned and ran like a deer, distancing
Gleason in no time; but in his flight he had dropped a letter. Gleason
could hardly believe his eyes when he saw it lying there upon the
ground. It bore no superscription, but in three minutes the lieutenant
had rushed to his quarters, locked the doors, and shut himself up with
his prize. The family next door was startled by the shout of triumph and
delight with which he rea