fact that it was growing dark, a search of
the prison room and cells was ordered while the prisoners stood in line
in front awaiting the usual evening inspection. There was no one to tell
just who started it or how, but, all on a sudden, while many of the
guard were aiding in the search inside, the whole array of prisoners,
regular and volunteer, old and young, except those few in irons, made a
sudden and simultaneous dash for liberty, scattering in every direction.
Some had already been recaptured, but at least twenty-five were still at
large, and the post adjutant, telephoning for Ray, briefly added that
there was every evidence that his quarters had been robbed.

All this Stuyvesant heard with an absorbing interest, wondering whether
it might not be possible to make it a plea or pretext on which to
present himself to Mrs. Ray, and then ask to be presented to her
daughter. A second time he ascended the stairs and, sauntering by,
peered in at the parlor-door. Yes, there sat the charming matron looking
so winsome and kind as she smiled upon her circle of visitors, but,
alas, they were four in number and all officers of rank in the regular
service, and Stuyvesant's shyness again overcame him.

Moreover, his brief glance into the brightly lighted apartment, all
decorated as it was with flags and flowers, revealed Miss Ray seated
near the window with two young cavalrymen in devoted attendance--all
three apparently so absorbed in their chat that he, lonely and wistful,
escaped observation entirely until, just as he passed from view, her
lovely dark eyes were for an instant quickly raised, and though he knew
it not, she saw him, and saw too that he was wandering aimlessly about,
but, quick as woman's intuition, her eyes returned to the face of the
eager young trooper by her side, for Stuyvesant turned for one more
longing glance before descending, defeated, to the office floor.

It was his last opportunity, and fate seemed utterly against him, for
when on the following evening his general went to call upon Mrs. Ray and
took his handsome and hopeful aide, "The ladies are out," said the
bell-boy. They were dining at the adjutant-general's.

In desperation, Stuyvesant went over to a florist's on Post Street,
bought a box of superb roses, and sent them with his card to Miss Ray,
expressing deep regret that he had been denied opportunity to thank her
in person for her kindness to him the night of the fire. He wanted to
say th