ound the
square--or what is the Bostonian equivalent therefor--and surprised Miss
Winthrop with a call. He told her what he had not told his mother, that
Colonel Raymond that morning received a telegram from Washington saying
that on the following Tuesday they must be in readiness to start.

"We have been good friends always, Viva," he said; "but you have been
something more to me than that. I did not mean to make so sudden an
avowal, but soldiers have no time to call their own just now, and every
hour has been given up to duty with the regiment. Now this sharp summons
comes and I must go. If I return, shall we--" (he had almost said,
"shall we fulfil our manifest destiny, and make our parents happy?" but
had sense enough to realize that she was entitled to a far more personal
proposition). He broke off nervously.

"You have always been so dear to me, Viva. Will you be my wife?"

She was sitting on the sofa, nervously twisting the cords of a fan in
and out among her slender white fingers. Her eyes were downcast and her
cheeks suffused. For an instant she looked up and a question seemed
trembling on her lips. She was a truthful woman and no coward. There was
something she was entitled to know, something the heart within her
craved to know, yet she knew not how to ask, or, if she did, was too
proud to frame the words, to plead for that thing of all others which a
woman prizes and glories in, yet will never knowingly beg of any
man--his honest and outspoken love. She looked down again, silent.

His tone softened and his voice quivered a little as he bent over her.

"Has any one else won away the heart of my little girl-love?" he asked.
"We were sweethearts so long, Viva; but have you learned to care for
some other?"

"No. It--it is not that."

"Then cannot you find a little love for me left over from the childish
days? You were so loyal to me then, Viva--and it would make our home
people so happy."

"I suppose it might--them."

"Then promise me, dear; I go so soon, and--"

She interrupted him now, impetuously. Looking straight up into his eyes,
she spoke in low, vehement tone, rapidly, almost angrily.

"On this condition, Paul; on this condition. You ask me to be your wife
and--and I suppose it is what is expected of us--what you have expected
all along, and are entitled to an answer now. Promise me this, if ever
you have a thought for another woman, if ever you feel in your heart
that perhaps another girl wou