on. Royce went to
Mrs. Eliot, and begged her influence; Mrs. Eliot sent Honor to the old
lady, and the invitation came.

"If he could avoid wearing his uniform--" suggested Mrs. Eliot to
Adelaide, a little nervously.

"But he has nothing else with him, I fear," answered Adelaide.

It turned out, however, that the lieutenant had a full evening-suit in
his valise, with white tie and white gloves also. Royce surveyed these
habiliments and their owner with wonder. He himself, coming from New
York, with all the baggage he wanted, had only a black coat. His costume
must be necessarily of the composite order; but the composite order was
well known at Ellerby.

Allison was the belle of the ball. He danced charmingly, and murmured
the most delightful things to all his partners in rapid succession. He
was the only man in full evening-dress present, and the pink flush on
his cheeks, and his tall, slender figure swaying around in the waltz,
were long remembered in Ellerby. Honor was there in a white muslin which
had been several times washed and repaired; there was no flow to her
drapery, and she looked awkward. She was pale and silent. Mrs.
Kellinger, clothed to the chin and wrists, with no pronounced color
about her, was the one noticeable woman present. Royce did not dance. He
found the rooms hot and the people tiresome; he was in a fever to be
off. Stephen sat on the piazza, and looked in through the window. At one
o'clock it was over. Allison had danced every dance. He went back to the
inn with his pockets stuffed with gloves, withered rose-buds, knots of
ribbon, and even, it was whispered, a lock of golden hair. The next
hour, in the deep darkness, the troops started.

At five minutes before eleven the next morning, Stephen was bringing his
algebra-lesson to a close, when a distant clatter in the gorge was
heard, a tramping sound; men were running out of the mill opposite and
gazing curiously up the road. Honor was at the window in a flash,
Stephen beside her. The troops were returning. They had laid hands upon
a mountain-wagon and marched upon each side of it like a guard of honor.
Royce sat in the wagon, his face hidden in his hands.

"Where is Mr. Allison?" said Honor, and her voice was but a whisper. She
stood back of the curtain, trembling violently.

Royce did not look up as the procession passed the library; without a
word Wainwright and Honor went out, locked the door behind them, and
followed the wagon toward