When they had proceeded a short distance, they paused under a huge oak tree, which stood immediately on the roadside, and Charley threw himself on the grass at its foot, and resting the elbow which supported his head on its mossy root, exclaimed—

‘And so, Walter, you are going to be a soldier?’

‘Yes,’ replied Walter, seating himself beside him, ‘so it seems; my aunt Emeline writes, you see, that my great uncle, Horace Maynard, who has charitably undertaken my education, that I might not disgrace the family by my ignorance, has procured me an appointment to the West Point Military Academy.’

‘Well,’ pursued Charley, without noticing the slightly ironical tone in which a part of his friend's reply was delivered, ‘I should not have thought of your being a soldier. You are brave and ambitious enough, to be sure, but I do not think you have the reckless daring and love of adventure one naturally associates with the members of the military profession. In my mind, I had decided upon the law for both of us, and I think, Walter, that you have some qualities which peculiarly fit you for the legal calling; I though, too, that the law was your choice.’

‘Beggars should not and certainly cannot be choosers,’ replied Walter, bitterly. ‘You forget, Charley, that I am an orphan, and poor; that my father and grandfather spent their lives in squandering the princely estate their ancestors had accumulated, leaving me an old name and an empty purse; that I am dependent upon my aunts, who have reared me, and upon my great-uncle, who, purely from family pride, has charged himself with my education, and am compelled to submit to their direction. This military scheme has enabled uncle Horace, with his usual address, “to kill two birds with one stone.” I will go to the academy as a kind of pensioner, to be snubbed and jeered at by the wealthy cadets, and therefore my expenses will be to him inconsiderable, while I will be obtaining a good education and an honorable profession; and if I contrive to get through with credit, I will doubtless get a lieutenantcy in the army, which will pay about as well as a third-rate clerkship in some mercantile establishment and keep me cooped up in a marine fortress, or banished to the wild frontier during the whole of my natural life, like some unfortunate state prisoner or political exile.’

‘You paint a gloomy picture of it,’ said Charley. ‘If you object to the scheme, Walter, oppose it at once. If you are young, you have a right to be heard in a matter of such importance to yourself. If you prefer some other calling, my father will, I know, lend you any amount of money necessary to pursue it for my sake.’

‘Oh, no,’ replied Walter, quickly; ‘I could not think of such a thing. It is too humiliating to be in debt. I find it bitter enough to be under obligations to those from whom I have a right to expect favors, ever to consent to accept them from those upon whom I have no claim. Besides, the plan you propose is rather too uncertain. It would take a large sum to enable me to graduate in law or medicine, and then I might not succeed. Or if I should ultimately succeed, either profession would not be immediately self-supporting, while that which uncle Horace has chosen for me will be. And if the military profession is not lucrative, it is certainly very honorable, and in my case very sure. You know the army is almost universally chosen for the younger son of the British nobility, and is patronized by the first families in Virginia.’

‘Very true,’ was the response, ‘I dare say that with your pride, the glory will quite outweigh the hardships of a soldier's life. You know that all the big men of history were soldiers. Who knows, Walter, but that you may be another Cæsar, or Napoleon, leading powerful armies, and dazzling the world with your skillfully planned campaigns and brilliant victories.’

‘Nonsense!’ said Walter, laughing. ‘Promotion is rather slow in our army; and even if I possessed the talents of a Cæsar, or a Napoleon, I would scarcely have an opportunity to display them. Don't you know that Mr. Reed told us, only this afternoon in our history class, that so far as human foresight could penetrate, America seemed doomed to years, perhaps centuries, of unbroken peace; that the Monroe doctrine, which had become the established policy of our government, would secure us forever against entanglements with foreign nations, while the extent, the wealth and power of our country would enable us to control our feebler neighbors on this continent.’

‘Yes,’ observed Charley; ‘but have you forgotten what we were pleased to term the idiosyncracy of Mr. Reed's French friend, Monsieur Bossieux who visited him last year? He declared, you know, that the American people were treading on a volcano; that the vast extent of our territory, and the wide diversity of opinion and interest between the people of its different sections, would inevitably lead to disruption and revolution; and he boldly predicted that the sectional animosities, so apparent to a foreigner, would show their bitter fruits in intestine war before the present generation should be gathered to their fathers.’

‘Pshaw!’ exclaimed young Maynard contemptuously, ‘what does a Frenchman know about American politics? However, we can pardon his error if his opinion of government is founded on French history, and his views of human nature are derived from the contemplation of the French character. But we Americans are made of firmer material, It would be ridiculous to compare the glorious republic established by our worthy revolutionary forefathers to the monstrous abortion brought forth amid the fearful throes of the horrible and fruitless revolution of France, and it is no less ridiculous to compare their sons, who are charged with the maintenance and honor of our government, to the ignorant and frenzied rabble who attempted the same experiment in M. Bossieux's country, and failed. He saw with a Frenchman's eye, and judged with a Frenchman's judgment—superficially. The Presidential election was going on and he was misled by the violence of party excitement; the election is now over, and see how profoundly quiet the country is.’

‘Yes,’ said Charley, ‘and very probably if he is in America now he has already changed his mind. What is that beautiful figure, Walter, of the famous Druid's stone which is so perfectly poised that it may be rocked to its very centre by the touch of an infant's finger, yet the combined strength of an army of strong men cannot overthrow its equilibrium—how appropriate it is to our government!’

Thus discoursed these sage philosophers and profound politicians of seventeen and when they had done discussing the affairs of the nation, they returned again to their own, and took up the subject of Walter's future prospects in his newly chosen profession. Naturally enough, their favorite heroes among the military characters of history were brought up, their campaigns and battles gone over, and their relative merits diicussed until the two youths grew quite enthusiastic in praise of a military career. Charley declared that the martial spirit was fully aroused in him, and that he felt quite as belligerent as old Dick Jones, who said that after going to Pole Green to muster and drinking a quart or so of mean whiskey, he was fighting the battle of Yorktown over for four days. In the ardor of the moment he determined to accompany his friend to West Point, if his father would give his consent to it, and be a soldier too.

Just at this juncture, their attention was attracted by the tramping of hoofs behind them, and looking in that direction they saw a beautiful apparition emerging from the deep shade of the dark green foliage. It was that of a dainty, fairy-like, girlish figure sitting gracefully upon a small white pony. By her side, on a larger horse of dark color, rode a large, homely and awkward boy, to whose linen roundabout, a pretty timid-looking little fellow, who was riding behind him, clung nervously as he urged the horse to a brisk gallop to keep up with the rapid pace of the little lady's white palfrey. A negro groom, much encumbered with satchels and carpet-bags, brought up the rear of the cavalcade.

‘It is Nellie and Bernard Gardiner going home, and Bob Harrison is going with them,’ said Charley.

The two boys had arisen on the approach of the party, but absorbed in watching Nellie's splendid horsemanship, and looking at her pretty face and figure they had forgotten to move aside, and stood in a position to slightly obstruct the road.

‘Get out of the way, fellows,’ cried Robert Harrison rudely and imperiously, bearing down upon them.

Monday morning found the whole school, composed of about a dozen boarders and twice as many day scholars, assembled in the girls' school-room to discuss the subject of the contemplated fete, and arrange the programme of the evening.

Bob Harrison, whose native impudence stood him in need of many a better quality usually considered essential to success among men, had contrived to make himself chairman of the meeting; and seated in a large arm-chair upon the estrade, with an air of dignity and self-importance very disproportionate to the occasion, one pen thrust in the mass of whitish-yellow hair behind his ear, and another awkwardly suspended between his thumb and fore-finger, cut a most ridiculous figure. Charley Foster, at no great distance, with a dry smile of quiet amusement on his counteuance, was slyly making a sketch of him in his Latin exercise book, for the benefit of Walter Maynard, who was the only one of Mr. Reed's pupils absent on this interesting occasion.

After having brought the meeting to order, the chairman proposed that the roll should be called, and that each one in answering to his name should mention the sum he or she desired to contribute to the proposed ball, said name and sum to be immediately recorded by the secretary. To this proposition no objection was made and he proceeded with the measure. When Charley's name was called, he answered promptly, and named five dollars as the amount of his contribution. At this announcement, the august chairman elevated his heavy eye-brows, and glancing significantly around the room, with a supercilious smile, said something in an audible whisper to the secretary about ‘not expecting blood out of a turnip.’

Charley's fine face flushed, and his merry eyes emitted an angry flash, but it was but momentary; the scene struck him as so ludicrous that involuntarily he burst into a laugh of derision, in which the whole school, except Nellie Gardiner, joined. She was too ashamed and indignant at her cousin's conduct to feel like merriment; and fixing her beautiful eyes earnestly on his countenance, said in her soft, sweet voice:

‘Cousin Robert, how can you be so rude?’

Totally unabashed by this demonstration, and maintaining unmoved his imposing dignity, the chairman called the meeting to order, and went on calling the roll. Everything now went on quietly until Walter Maynard's name was called, when some officious body called out, ‘Absent.’

‘Aha!’ exclaimed Mr. Harrison, with a knowing look, ‘we all understand the gentleman.’

Thoroughly aroused at this indignity offered to his friend, Charley sprang to his feet, and said hastily: ‘Walter is preparing his Greek for recitation; it was inconvenient for him to be present, and he commissioned me to act for him. Write five dollars opposite his name; I will hand it in with mine, to the secretary, at the close of the meeting.’

After this, nothing occurred to mar the general harmony, and Mrs. Reed coming in soon after to assist in their deliberations, everything was satisfactorily adjusted.

The fourth of July arrived in due season, though, to Mr. Reed's impatient pupils, old Time seemed to halt on this stage of his journey. The school exercises for that term were completed, the trying examinations were over, and the delightful bustle of preparation for the fete, which had afforded so many charming episodes to the young ladies and gentlemen of the academy, was ended.

As for Nellie, herself, it was impossible to discover, from her manners and conduct, which one of her numerous admirers, if any, had received her heart's election, for though too pure and dignified to condescend to coquetry, yet the kindness of her nature, and the politeness of her manners, led to such an equal distribution of her favors, that each one was left in doubt whether he was not the favored one.

This being the condition of affairs, when Mrs. Gardiner, Nellie and Bernard, Bob Harrison, and some others among their intimate friends, proposed, several weeks after the party, to visit the Virginia Springs, Charley determined to accompany them; and with his usual generosity, invited Walter to go with him. Knowing that his friend's whole soul was enlisted in his suit with Miss Gardiner, and determined to supplant him, if possible, Walter accepted the invitation and submitted to have his expenses paid by his rival that he might bask in the smiles of his mistress.

At the springs new triumphs awaited the Hanover belle, as Nellie was termed. Scores of lovers were added to her train, and so closely was she besieged by their attentions, that it was only by the utmost assiduity that her old friends could sometimes secure her hand for a dance, or her company for a promenade. Yet, the rarity of this pleasure so enhanced its delight, that the party found the time pass rapidly and pleasantly, till the chilly air of September made a longer stay among the mountains undesirable, and hastened their departure for their homes.

In the whirl and excitement of the public life at the watering places, but little opportunity had offered for private love-making, and the relations sustained between our young friends had therefore remained in statu quo. But a few days after their return, Walter, who was then at Poplar Lodge, received a communication from the War Department, summoning him to repair immediately to Washington to receive his commission and he assigned to duty. As his absence would doubtless be a long one, and his location probably very distant, he resolved to see Miss Gardiner before setting out on his journey, and confess his love and tender her the offer of his hand. With this view, he arrayed himself in his most befitting costume, and mounting his horse, set off for Fairfield, Nellie's home.

When he arrived, the servant who met him at the door, replied to his inquiry whether his young mistress was in, by saying that she was at home, but not in the house. She had been walking in the garden, and was now sitting in the honey-suckle arbor. Thinking that this was a most suitable place for the purpose he had in view, Walter declined entering the house, and resolved to join her there. The location of the honey-suckle arbor was well known to him, as he had often sat there with the ladies, it being a favorite resort of the Gardiners and their guests. So, walking leisurely, with his usual noiseless tread, he threaded the labyrinth of walks leading through a wilderness of shrubbery to his lady's bower.

In the trepidation of his spirits, he had forgotten to inquire whether she was alone, and on nearing the arbor, was struck with surprise at seeing some one with her. But it was not simply disappointment at finding the opportunity he had desired for his declaration postponed that rooted him breathless to the spot. Nellie's companion was his most dreaded rival, Charley Foster: and he saw, at a glance, that the tones which were trembling on his lips were then being breathed into her willing ear by a voice whose witchery he had reason to dread. And the hand which he would have given worlds to call his own, was at that moment trembling in the warm clasp of his rival, who bending forward, with his eloquent eyes fixed on the maiden's face, was saying, in a deep voice, tremulous with emotion:

‘I know that it is great presumption on my part. I am not and can never be worthy of you, but all that I am, and all that I have, the whole homage of my heart, the devotion and service of my life, I lay at your feet; Nellie, will you accept them?’

The girl's red lips, slightly parted, were quivering nervously, and the long silken lashes of her downcast eyes swept her cheeks, crimson with blushes; but calming her trepidation,

The Fort was situated in a wild and picturesque country, abounding in game, and affording many charming prospects; and when their military duties would permit, Walter and Charley amused themselves by hunting among these vast wilds, or sketching such views as they considered very fine. They saw but little of Lieutenant Harrison, except on parade and at the mess-table, for his leisure hours were mostly passed at the public houses of Luray, a thriving little village a few miles from Fort Alexander.

Being constantly with Walter, and having his mind and heart always full of one subject, Charley spoke frequently of Nellie and of the relation between them; but to his surprise he soon saw, in spite of his friend's self-command, that it was a most unpleasant theme, that it always left him impatient, gloomy and morose. Slowly the truth dawned upon him; but when at last his mind had conceived a well-defined suspicion, he was soon enabled, by close observation and various experiments, to confirm it beyond a doubt. The discovery gave him intense pain; and he ceased to speak on a theme, which being so unpleasant to his friend, was no longer a pleasant one to him, at least in their intercourse.

Walter was very glad when Charley ceased to speak to him of his love and his hopes, for reminding him, as it did, of his own disappointment and mortification, it nearly maddened him. He did not for a moment suspect the cause of his silence on the subject; he only knew that he had strenuously avoided the topic, and he thought that his friend had attributed his conduct to the indifference with which he professed to regard such matters. Indeed, he seemed to have become quite a cynic—criticised the follies and frailties of the fair sex unmercifully, and ridiculed the idea of love as absurd and preposterous; while at the moment, disappointed passion was consuming his very vitals; when crushed affections were sounding through his soul a wail of woe ever audible to him above the call of duty or the voice of pleasure; and when jealousy, with its poisonous fangs, fastened deeply in his heart, was fast eating out all that was noble and good in his nature. His disposition was not naturally a good one, and his early training had tended rather to aggravate than improve it; but in his long and intimate intercourse with Charley Foster, he could not fail to imbibe some good from a character so overflowing with all that was noble and generous. He could not be misanthropical with such a lovely specimen of manhood always before him, continually exciting his admiration, commanding his respect, and challenging his emulation. The natural bias of his mind to intrigue and chicanery, was temporarily overcome by the influence of a character so eminently honest and ingenuous as young Foster's; and his natural moroseness was, in a great measure, dispelled by the broad beams of love and good-nature which were constantly being radiated from Charley's warm heart and cheerful countenance. At least, such was the influence which his friend had exercised over him while their friendship and mutual love was unimpaired—but alas, upon that friendship, so warm and long, so sincere, jealousy, cruel as the grave, had now intruded. Only the noblest natures can forgive and continue to love a successful rival, and Walter's was far from being a noble nature. Charley soon perceived a great change in him, and noted with pain that Maynard's manner's, always so cordial and unconstrained to him, were beginning now to wear for him the same restraint and reserve that marked them with others; that the few fitful gleams of the olden kindness and confidence, were alternately obscured by coldness, or by a peevish impatience very hard to bear with. Knowing and pitying the cause of the change, he endeavored to overcome Walter's ill-feeling by increasing kindness and cordiality on his part; but when he found his efforts unavailing, and saw that they only increased the evil they were designed to remedy, he became offended in turn, and desisted from them. Thus, without any formal disagreement, the two were becoming gradually more and more alienated from each other:—Charley, whose affections were very ardent, felt and regretted the estrangement acutely, the more so as at the fort they were almost entirely cut off from any other society. And what added to his chagrin greatly, was the circumstance that Walter, while voluntarily renouncing his friendship, was beginning to court that of Bob Harrison.

In a few moments the servant returned with the visitors. They were both dressed in black, and closely veiled; but the gait and the outlines of the figure of one of them showed her to be an elderly woman; while the easy carriage, elastic step and pliant grace of the elegantly rounded figure of the other, bespoke for her youth and beauty, even without a glance at the features so closely concealed by the envious veil.

When he had seen his visitors seated, Charley addressed some commonplace remark, the first that offered itself, about the weather or the season, to the elder lady.

‘She speaks no English,’ said the young lady, in a peculiarly rich, soft voice, and with a strong but interesting foreign accent, at the same time lifting her veil and disclosing a strikingly beautiful face, lighted up by a pair of the most magnificent black eyes our young friend had ever seen.

‘But you do, I am pleased to observe, Mademoiselle, said Lieut. Foster, with a bow and smile.

‘Yes,’ she replied, ‘I speak your language with tolerable ease and correctness, but not as fluently as I speak the French, and Italian tongues; and if Monsieur prefers, I will state my petition in either of those languages—for we are come as petitioners.’

Charley hastened to assure her that, from the specimen he had heard of it, her English would much better bear experimenting with than his French, and that he was so unfortunate as to have no knowledge of the Italian. He also expressed an interest in learning what had procured him the honor of an interview with Mademoiselle, and assured her that it would give him great pleasure to serve her.

‘We are relatives of Victor Le Brun, the private in your company, who has just been sentenced to suffer a cruel and ignominious punishment,’ said the girl, ‘and having often heard him speak of your clemency and kindness, we have come, Monsieur, to beg that you will exert your influence in procuring a commutation of his sentence.’

This was said in a voice so plaintive, and at the same time she fixed her fine eyes on his face with a look so melancholy and so wistful, that Charley felt his compassion greatly excited.

After a little pause, Lieut. Foster told her, in the gentlest terms, and with the mildest manner he could, that he feared his intercession would be of no avail, as Le Brun had so often abused the clemency shown him, that the officers were now persuaded that nothing but the strictest measures would meet his case.

‘I know that he is wayward and intractable,’ she replied, ‘but he has some good left in him still, which, if properly cultivated, may yet make him a useful man. I know him well enough to feel assured that harshness, so far from subduing, will only exasperate him and make him desperate. If be suffers his sentence, Monsieur, it will be the ruin of him. He will desert, and leading a wandering, vagabond life, will be forever lost to me. Listen,’ she said, growing excited and enforcing her language with a number of graceful and impassioned gestures, ‘and I will tell a little story which must excite your compassion:

‘My father was a Frenchman and an artist, and early in life left his native city of Paris to study art among the works of the great masters in Rome. There he married my mother, and there they lived very happily during the first ten years of my life. My father's paintings began to be much admired, and his studio was frequently visited by strangers sojourning in Rome. At length, an American gentleman, a merchant of New York, persuaded him to remove to that city, promising him a lucrative patronage there. We removed to America, and by the kind efforts of our patron, my father at once received a large number of orders for paintings, which being satisfactorily executed, led to his being established among the artists of New York. Still, his gains were small, though larger than in Italy; for art is not very lucrative, Monsieur, either in Italy or America; in the former country the people have nothing to pay, and in the latter they have but little appreciation for its beauties; so when he died, two years ago, he left us almost penniless. My mother had died shortly after our arrival in America, and our kind benefactor was also dead; but his daughter aided me by procuring me a number of pupils to whom I gave lessons in music, painting, Italian and French. This lady, my father's sister,’ pointing to her companion, managed our little household, and we would have been very comfortable and happy but for one thing. Victor had always possessed a wayward disposition, and an ungovernable temper, and by association with the wild, bad youths of the city, contracted many vicious habits, which grieved us greatly. And, at length, Monsieur, about a year after my father's death, he was sent to the House of Correction for a term of twelve months. At the end of that time he was released, and the very day after his arrival in New York, meeting with a recruiting officer, he enlisted in the United States army. As soon as we learned his destination, my aunt and myself sold our little effects in New York and removed to Luray, to be near him, that we might have him as much as possible under our influence. He is fond of a military life, only he finds the discipline rather strict, and here he seems happier and better than I ever knew him. He has a passionate admiration for you, Monsieur, and if you will only save him from this cruel degradation, you will be able to command him ever afterward. But if he suffers this punishment he will be lost forever. O, save him,’ she cried, ‘he is my only brother, all that is left me in this world to love and care for. Save him, for the love of the Holy Virgin—pardon me, Monsieur I forgot that you are a protestant—but pardon him, for the sake of the Almighty God, upon whose name we all call, and from whose mercy we all hope for pardon.’

At this crisis, the elder woman, perceiving from the manner and accent of her niece, that the case was an extreme one, fell to weeping, and falling on her knees before Lieut. Foster, besought him in doleful accents to pardonner and sauver son pauvre neveu, ce garcon matheureux qui etait orphelin, et qui n' avait pas d'amis.

Charley raised her up, and begging her to be seated, promised to do his utmost to obtain a pardon for Le Brun, or at least a commutation of his sentence.

By exerting himself to the utmost, and with great difficulty, our young friend was able to make good his promise to Le Brun's relatives, and relieve the anxiety and distress of his interesting sister. At his request she had given him her address, that he might be able to report to her from day to day the progress he was making in his suit, and several times he found it convenient to call on her in Luray, and report in person. She and her aunt were occupying two rooms in a small cottage, in the suburbs of the village, and though their lodgings were but poorly furnished, yet the genius and tastes of Mademoiselle Le Brun had been able to impart to them an air of refinement and even elegance. The aunt had found employment in doing fine needle work for the wealthier villagers, and Mademoiselle was giving music lessons and painting miniatures for a livelihood. Charley desired that she would paint two miniatures of himself, one for his mother and the other for Nellie, thinking, by paying her liberally, to assist so noble a girl in her struggle with the world. Although she had hitherto refused to paint gentlemen, yet she consented to accommodate him, in view of his kindness to her brother, and as soon as Victor's case was satisfactorily disposed of the sittings commenced.

Mademoiselle was an accomplished artist, and while she sat at her work with her white fingers glancing in the sunlight as she rapidly and gracefully plied the brush, and her fine eyes, alternately veiled by her long, dark lashes, or raised to his face with all their midnight splendor beaming full upon him in a scrutinizing gaze, she talked to Charley, in her soft Italian accent and her pretty French vivacity, of Italy and Rome—of the bright skies and balmy air of the one, and the magnificent ruins of the other. She had spent days with her father in the galleries of the Vatican, gazing with rapture on the sublime works of old masters gathered there, and hours with him sitting amid the ruins of the Coliseum, or wandering by the Tibee, talking of the mighty past and sighing over the sad present of the ‘Queen of the World’—the ‘Niobe of Nations.’ Possessed of a fine memory and rare descriptive powers, her sketches of the scenes of her childhood were extremely interesting to our enthusiastic young Virginian.

As, in the course of her brilliant conversation, without pedantry and always with rare adaptation, he heard her alternately quote Virgil, Tasso, Racine and Shakspeare, each in the original, and saw her at will, lay down the pencil to take up the lyre, Lieutenant Foster thought that he had never seen a woman so briiliant and accomplished; and he marvelled at the strange Providence which had made this noble gifted creature the sister of Victor Le Brun, and placed her, poor and friendless, among the comparatively half civilized population of Luray, out in the backwoods.

Cut off from all other female society, he found that of Mademoiselle Le Brun doubly charming; and had his nature been less stable and faithful, and his love for Nellie Gardiner less firmly interwoven with his childhood's happy memories, we fear that the little Virginia maiden, though beautiful and noble-hearted, with her slight knowledge of the world, and her slender stock of boarding-school accomplishments, would have been supplanted by the interesting Italian. As it was, his heart remained faithful, though he admired Mademoiselle greatly. And by the time the miniatures were completed and dispatched to their destination, with a glowing description of the fair artist, he had prevailed on her to give him regular drawing lessons, and to permit him to exercise his rusty French by almost daily readings or conversations with her. Although in her gratitude she wished these favors to be rendered gratuitously, yet young Foster insisted on paying most liberally for her lessons, and besides, sent many presents of books and magazines to Mademoiselle's study-table, and of game to the cuisine of her aunt.

At length his frequent visits to the cottage of Luray began to be noticed, and were made the subject of remark at the mess table. Some of the officers, among others, Lieutenant Maynard, who had passed Miss Le Brun on the streets of Luray occasionally, but had not been able to judge of her beauty, as she always wore a veil abroad, professed to feel quite a curiosity to see a lady so charming as the fair Italian seemed to be, and requested Lieutenant Foster to introduce them at the cottage.

Now, often when he had felt the spell of her fascinations strongest upon him, Charley had wished that Walter could see Mademoiselle, and had speculated, whether if he could meet with her, her brilliant beauty and charming conversation might not be able to make him forget his unfortunate love for Nellie Gardiner. He felt confident that such would be the result of an acquaintance, and he had been several times on the point of inviting Lieutenant Maynard to accompany him to the cottage, but the growing coldness between them had hitherto prevented his doing so. Now, however, that Walter had himself proposed it, he eagerly accepted the proposal, and named an early day for the visit.

On the other hand, Walter's quick eye had already observed and had watched with delight Charley's growing intimacy with the Italian girl. Falsely presuming his gayety and good nature to betoken a shallow and fickle disposition, he had no doubt that Miss Le Brun, if but the half he had heard of her were true, would supplant Miss Gardiner in his rivals affections. Anxious to see how far he had been correctly informed as to that young lady's charms, and how far Lieutenant Foster had been influenced by them, he resolved on a visit with him to the cottage.

Desiring to have Mademoiselle impress Walter favorably, Charley, as soon as he had introduced him, led her to talk on those subjects about which he had observed her to be most enthusiastic, called for those songs which she sung best, and prevailed on her to exhibit her drawings to his friend. Pleased with the attentions and conversations of two gentlemen so polite and intelligent, the lady was even more affable and interesting than usual, and astonished Lieutenant Maynard by the grace of her manners and the brilliancy of her conversation. Delighted to find her so fascinating, he immediately judged from the impression her charms had made on him during one short interview—cold and calculating as he knew, his nature to be—that they must, during an intercourse of several months, have completely captivated the imagination and enthralled the heart of his ardent and susceptible friend. This conviction so pleased him, and Mademoiselle's conversation and music were so enlivening, that he became more animated and cheerful, more like the Walter Maynard of West Point, than Charley had seen him for a long time. Attributing this happy change in his friend entirely to pleasure in Miss Le Brun's society, Lieutenant Foster mentally congratulated himself on the success of his scheme, and thought, as he watched the animated play of their handsome features, and listened to the pleasant tones of their cheerful voices, what a fine couple they would make.

Thus mutually deceived, after a visit of several hours, the two friends left the cottage, pleased with each other, Mademoiselle, and all the world.

But Walter's complacency was a little disturbed when on calling at the cottage a few days after, partly with the desire of hearing Mademoiselle converse, and partly with the expectation of finding Charley there, he discovered the fair artist standing before her easel and giving the finishing touches to an exquisite painting representing the honey-suckle arbor at Fairfield, with Charley and Nellie seated in it, almost in the same position they had occupied on the evening of his last visit there.

At the sight of it he started and turned pale; but Mademoiselle, who stood with her back to him, and who, in the intense interest of her occupation had mistaken him for Lieutenant Foster, did not observe this. Without turning, while she lightly and skillfully retouched some of the vine tendrils straying around the figures, she asked, in a low, soft voice:

‘Does it please you, Lieutenant? I did not intend that you should see it again until it shouid be quite finished, but you have taken me by surprise; I did not expect you until to-morrow: However, you can tell whether the lady is right, at last. I have deepened the blush on the cheek, and lengthened the eye-lashes, as you suggested, but these daguerreotypes are such poor things to copy from, that I doubt whether I have succeeded. The arbor was a simple affair, and easily copied from your sketch, and your portrait, my aunt thinks, is excellent—but is the lady right?’ she repeated, turning towards him.

‘It could not be better,’ replied Walter, bowing gracefully, as her eye fell on him. ‘Permit me to congratulate you, Mademoiselle, on your perfect success, and to say that I have seldom seen a more beautiful picture.’

Mademoiselle started slightly at his address, and it was evident the surprise of his appearance was not altogether a very pleasant one. But she returned his greeting very politely, and replied to his observation by saying she deserved no credit for the picture, except for such manual skill as had been displayed in copying from the more perfect works of nature, which had made both Lieutenant Foster and his companion very fair.

‘This is a little secret between your friend and myself,’ she said, pointing to the picture. ‘He entreated me to let no one but my aunt see it while I was painting it, and I had obeyed his request until you surprised me.’

‘Do not let that trouble you,’ said Walter. ‘It will make no difference at all with Lieutenant Foster. I am well known to the lady, and an old friend of his, and have long been acquainted with the relations existing between them.’

‘They are betrothed?’ she said, interrogatively, fixing her eyes enquiringly on his countenance.

He replied in the affirmative.

‘And she is very beautiful,’ she repeated, in the same manner.

‘As beautiful as you have represented her, Mademoiselle—even more so, since the look of life and the changing expression of the original, cannot be transferred to canvass by any degree of art.’

With the eyes of the company upon him, and the stimulant of the wine within him, Harrison refused to retract.

‘Then liar, poltroon, slanderer, and meddler, take that,’ said Charley slapping him in the face.

Lieut. Harrison was furious. He would take an insult from no living man. Foster should answer for it with his life. If he recognized the ‘code of honor,’ he would not deny him the satisfaction due a gentleman.

Lieut. Foster replied that he was ready and willing to accommodate him in any manner. He could be found at his quarters at all times.

The challenge was sent, and accepted by Foster, and time, place and weapons agreed upon.

Bob Harrison chose the Doctor from Luray, a boon companion of his, for his second, and Charley selected Walter Maynard. The seconds were to meet the next morning for the arrangement of some preliminaries.

At an early hour the next day, business for the garrison called Lieut. Foster away from the fort, and he did not return until the middle of the afternoon. On his return, he did not go to his own quarters, but entered Lieut. Maynard's, with a view to learning the result of the interview between him and Dr. Smith. But finding Walter asleep, or apparently asleep, he did not disturb him; and intending to call in again in a few hours, he laid off his sword and pistol on a table under the open window, and set off for Luray to settle some little bills he owed there, in preparation for the approaching duel.

But Walter was not asleep, though he was trying to quiet his conscience by the temporary oblivion of sleep. He knew that Bob Harrison's wrath had subsided, and that the simplest interference on his part would induce the poor cowardly fellow to apologize to Lieut. Foster, and on the other hand, that Charley, who had never remained angry twenty-four hours in his life, would be satisfied with an apology from Harrison, and with the fright he had given him. The laws of honor forbade that a proposition for an amicable adjustment should emanate immediately from the principals, but such a suggestion might be made with propriety by the seconds; and Dr. Smith had delicately hinted, during the interview of the morning, that such an adjustment was possible; but Walter had pretended not to understand his drift, and had gone on with the arrangements for the meeting. This duel was the very thing he most desired. If Charley should be killed, he thought there would be no obstacle to his suit with Miss Gardiner; and if, on the other hand, Lieut. Harrison should fall by the hand of his cousin's betrothed, he thought that Nellie would never marry one whom she must regard as the murderer of her relative; while, if neither should fall, the circumstance of their having met in mortal combat would so incense Nellie's family against her lover, that he believed the opposition to their union would be greater than she would dare incur.

In the meantime, the affair of the contemplated duel had spread through the garrison, and had excited a great deal of interest among the men. Lieut. Harrison was universally detested by them, while Lieut. Foster was almost idolized, and there was but one wish expressed as to the issue. ‘But,’ said one of a group of men gathered in front of the barracks discussing the affair at the time when Lieut. Maynard was trying to forget it in his sleep, ‘suppose Lieut. Harrison should kill Lieut. Foster, what a shame and what a pity it would be.’ They all agreed that for such a noble man to fall by the hands of such a scoundrel would be a lamentable affair. ‘He,’ alluding to Lieut. Harrison, ‘has gone to Luray now,’ said one of the men, ‘to get drunk, and come back here cursing and striking with his sword the first man who comes in his way, like he always does. It would be a fine thing if he should fall in the river on his way back, and get drowned before he has a chance at the life of Lieut. Foster.

Victor Le Brun, who, in spite of his many faults and follies, still entertained an ardent affection and a profound respect for his noble sister, and who, therefore, must have been strongly interested in the duel between his officers, was standing near during this conversation, but he spoke not a word on the subject. Indeed, it had been observed, that since he had been informed of the difficulty between Lieutenants Foster and Harrison, and its occasion, he had been silent and moody. But there was a fierce look in his cold black eyes, and at this remark of his comrade, a dangerous fire flashed from them in a keen look of sudden intelligence, exultation and determination. However, he said nothing, except to mutter an oath, as he fell into line with a squad of men which the corporal was forming to go and relieve guard. In addition to the line of sentinels maintained around the outside of the fort, there was also an inner line kept up around the officers' quarters for the purpose of keeping order among the men; and Le Brun's post for the next hour was near Lieut. Maynard's window, through which he could see all over the apartment.

For some time after Charley had left the room, Walter had tossed about restlessly upon his hard, narrow camp bed, vainly courting ‘nature's sweet restorer,’ which is romantically supposed to come readily only at the wooing of the innocent. At length he fell into a dreamy, dozying state, half sleeping, half waking, which was disturbed by many unpleasant dreams of falling over a precipice, &c., and of having a gun aimed at his head; and starting up, he could have almost sworn that on opening his eyes he had seen a hand grasping a pistol vanish through the window. Shaking off the lethargy which oppressed him, and approaching the window, he looked out; but there was no one near except private Le Brun, who was leisurely walking his post, and who, of course, would not have permitted any one to approach the window. Finding his waking thoughts but little more pleasant than his dreams, he took up a book and tried to read; and becoming interested in its contents, he read until sunset, his usual hour for a walk.

Conducting from Fort Alexander to Luray, and performing in its curvings a semi-circle about five miles in extent, was a fine military road; and branching off from this road, at a distance of a quarter of a mile from the fort, was a narrow foot-path, leading through ravines and over precipices impassable except to pedestrians, by a much nearer route to the village. Passing out of the fort, Walter proceeded along this road for a mile or more; then retracing his steps to where the foot-path came into the road, he seated himself on a fragment of rock in the shadow of a large boulder on the side of the path next to the fort, and awaited the return of Lieut. Foster, who, he had learned, from a message left with his servant, was gone to Luray. It was almost dark when he saw a man approaching from the direction of the village, and presuming it to be Charley, he arose, and was about to accost him, when perceiving him, the man sprang into the bushes and ran off in the direction of the road leading to Luray. Supposing him to be one of the men from the garrison who had eluded the sentinels and gone down to the village without leave of absence, and who, of course, was anxious to avoid detection, the circumstance did not, at the time, impress him as at all singular or suspicious.

When he had waited twenty or thirty minutes longer, he was joined by Charley, who asked him how long it had been since Lieut. Harrison passed, and whether they had had any conversation about the meeting of the next morning.

Walter replied that he had seen nothing of Lieut. Harrison since dinner, and that he had supposed him to be in his quarters at the fort.