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2
THE BATTALION.
lady, as she walked up the paved way
that led from the gate, and was near
enough to see and hear the interview
between the new arrival and his host
ess.
Thomasville had long been a de
lightful winter resort for people weary
of the excessive oold of the Northen
cities; but the hotels were crowded
so late in the year as this, and many
were entertained in houses opened for
boarders both in the town and in the
country around.
He had himself been glad to find
so agreeable a residence as that of
fered by the country home of the
widow Busac, a broad-piazzaed villa
of the old Southern type; and it was
a pleasure to know that among the
guests—‘there were few at present be
sides himself—was to be a young lady
of such an attractive appearance.
The widow met her new guest with
an evident air of complacency. She
had been apprised of her expected ar
rival a few days before; and the ar
rangements made by letter bad been
mutually satisfactory.
“Mrs. Sinclair, I presume?” she
murmured. “Come in; I am glad to
see you. The servants will bring in
your trunks. I trust you have had
a pleasant journey.”
“Delightful!” was the reply. “The
air grows softer and softer the farther
south one travels, and it is simply ex
quisite to see wild flowers along the
road at this time of the year. I left
snow behind me at homie.”
Her voice was to Marchmont’s ear
not so soft as that of many a South
ern girl he had known. But it was
wonderfully clear, and by the rich
ness of its tone he divined at once
that she sang deliciously. He began
toi hope ardently that she was one of
those independent young girls of
whom there are many nowadays, who
are not all afraid to travel alone, es
pecially at the somewhat mature age
of twenty-five. The widow Busac, it
is true, had called her, if his ears
were not mistaken, “Mrs.” Sinclair.
But then that might be a mistake of
hers. It was too tantalizing to look
forward to living in the same house
with a person so lovely and to' think
that she was perhaps a married
woman.
The very next remark, however, of
the hostess, as the two walked up the
steps, elicited a reply which com
pletely disconcerted the young man.
“Where is your husband, Mrs. Sin
clair?” asked the widow.
The quizzical smile, which stole to
the lips of the new-comer, and played
awhile there as she spoke, was some
thing Marcbmont could not help ob
serving, but utterly failed to compre
hend. It brightened the sweetness of
her expression, but did not seem at all
compatible with her words. These
were:
“Oh! Charley, he’s in the isle of
Luzon, fighting for his country.”
“Good heavens!” thought March-
mont. “How little distressed she
seems to be at the idea of his danger
or at the thought of his distance from
her! But, however that may be, my
cake is dough: she’s a married
woman after all, and I must not, yes,
must not fall in love with her.”
Meantime the two had vanished
within the house. Miarchmont read
on one of the trunks as they were
carried in the name, “Kate Sinclair,
West Newton, Mass.” This and the
statement she had made to their host
ess constituted all the information he
had so far been able to' obtain about
one whose mere presence had stirred