She sat with back toward me, her head bent upon one
hand. I was still studying the figure in uncertainty when a door,
evidently leading into the hall, opened and a man entered. He was in
Confederate field uniform, the insignia on his collar that of a
major,--a tall, broad-shouldered man, with abundant hair and an
aggressive expression. The woman glanced up, but he closed the door,
shutting out a jangle of voices, before speaking.
"What was it? You sent for me?"
She rose to her feet, and came a step forward,--my heart leapt into my
throat, my fingers gripped the rail.
"Yes," she said quietly, looking into his face, "I have decided I cannot
do it."
"Decided! What now?" and his surprise was beyond question. "Why, what
does all this mean? No one has sought to coerce or drive you; this was
your own choice. Surely you have had ample time in which to consider!"
"Oh, yes," wearily, her hand pressing back her hair, "but--but I really
never understood myself until to-night; I am not sure I do even now."
"A girlish whim," he broke in impatiently. "Why, daughter, this is
foolish, impossible; all arrangements are made, and even now they are
toasting the captain in the dining-room. Under no other conditions could
he have got leave of absence, for his injuries are trivial.
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