Almost just what Mr. Erskine had said.
"Were you ever there, sir?" Magnus asked.
"Oh, yes."
"Doesn't the place need angels?"
And now Mr. Wayne laughed.
"You have the best of me there," he said. "Yes, not a doubt of that, it does. And it is the very place that the white wings love to brighten if they can. But Mr. Kindred, if your particular angel is to live at San Carlos—or anywhere—and not break her heart; spread her white wings and fly away from earth and you together; you have got to fight the devil yourself; hand to hand, and wherever you find him. These earthly angels are not quite so robust as the old painters make out the heavenly to be."
"She is the very centre of my life!" cried Magnus. But Mr. Wayne sighed.
"It happened once," he said, "that a young graduate of West Point brought his three-months' bride not to San Carlos, but to Fortress Monroe. Of course, the 'pleasant fellows' of the garrison went to work to entertain him, and one of them told me this story:
"'We had a little supper party,' he said. 'Not very large, but correct and choice; and we kept it up pretty late; and X. Y. got more than he could manage gracefully. So some of the stronger heads among us set out to get him home. Late, as I said; servants asleep, lights out, and I guess we knocked and rang more than once. Then X. Y.'s young wife came down, candle in hand, to let him in. Poor girl—I did feel sorry for her when I saw her white face, as the candle flared out upon him.'"
There came up before Charlemagne Kindred, as his friend spoke, the vision of another face; so blanched, so stricken in its grief, and all for him. He bowed his head upon his hands.