the table.

"I had thought it best to say nothing to you about it, Miriam dear,"
said Mrs. Sumter gently. "You had so many worries."

"But Mrs. Sumter! Captain!" interrupted Miriam, wild-eyed. "Do you mean
Colonel Button accused Mr. _Lanier_ of those letters?"

[Illustration: "BUT DO YOU MEAN COLONEL BUTTON ACCUSED MR. LANIER OF
THOSE LETTERS?"]

"That was the backbone of his grievance against Lanier," said Sumter
gravely, and intently studying her face. "Why?"

"And he didn't--deny it? Didn't--tell what he knew?"

"Denied it, yes, but refused to tell what he knew--said it came in such
a way he could not tell. Why, Miriam, what do _you_ know?"

For a moment it looked as though she were on the verge of hysterical
breakdown. Kate sprang to her side and threw an arm around her, but with
gallant effort she regained self-control.

"I know _just_ who wrote those wicked stories, and I told Mr. Lanier;
and I know--and I'm ashamed I ever _had_ to know--who first told them."

XIII

Stannard had been summoned to Omaha, much to Button's curiosity and
disquiet. Mrs. Stannard, left temporarily widowed, was none the less
radiant. A romance was unfolding right under her roof, and the heart of
the woman was glad. Her patient was sitting up in spick and span uniform
and a sunshiny parlor. Plainly furnished as were the frontier quarters
of that day and generation, the room looked very bright and cosey this
crisp December evening. Christmas had come and gone with but faint
celebration, as compared with former years. There had been several
callers, masculine and regimental, during the earlier afternoon, but now
they were off for stables. There had been an influx of army wives and
daughters, to wish Bob Lanier many happy returns, for this was his
birthday. Shrewd woman, with all her gentle kindliness and tact, was
Mrs. Stannard. She had sent word to all her cronies of the interesting
event and suggested a call. More significance, therefore, would be
attached to a neglect to an acceptance of the hint. Perhaps this is how
it happened that just about four P.M., when most people were gone, Mrs.
Sumter came quietly, cheerily, convoying her two girls, and presently
Bob Lanier was smiling into the eyes of Miriam Arnold, whose hand he
took last and clung to longest of the three.

Not since the night of the fire had he set eyes on her. Not since the
night of the dance had he spoken with her, and he was startled to see
the change.