Something strange in the colonel's manner, something constrained and distant in that of the adjutant, had occurred to him once or twice before, but he had given little thought to it. Now he felt that it could no longer be overlooked. Even Mrs. Turner, who knew that in the regiment from the colonel down almost everybody had a cordial word for Ray, and that now he was the idol of the hour,—even Mrs. Turner looked after the colonel in amaze and then quickly at Ray. A light flashed over her busy intellect. This was further confirmation of her theory. The colonel, too, had heard of Ray's devotions to Mrs. Truscott and was offended thereat.
But now the sunset call was sounding, the band marched away, and Ray and his fair companion stood watching Dandy, who was being led back to his paddock. A deep flush was on her cheek. She, too, had noted the colonel's cold and distant manner to Ray. She saw that he was stung by it, but was trying to give no sign so long as they were together. She had learned many things since her return from town. She and Mrs. Stannard knew all about the terrible affair of the morning, and fully understood Ray's presence at the house and Mrs. Truscott's agitation. They had recalled many of Gleason's bitter sneers and insinuations against Ray, and all three felt that, unknown to him, some covert influence was at work here at the post to do him injury, and that his loyal services this day in Mrs. Truscott's behalf had but intensified the hatred against him. It was agreed among them that not one word should be breathed of the affair, except what Mrs. Stannard should write to the major. Mrs. Truscott was sure that Jack would shoot Mr. Gleason on sight the moment he was informed, and Mrs. Stannard thought it quite probable. Miss Sanford was silent in this discussion, but all agreed that Ray must be warned that there was some plot against him. It was mysteriously whispered among the ladies about the garrison. Knowing this, and knowing that she could not well be the one to tell him, Marion Sanford, with her whole heart in her beautiful eyes, stood there by his side as the sun went down. She liked him for his frank, manly ways; she honored him for his loyalty; she respected him for the lack of certain traits which every one had been so careful to ascribe to him as habitual. She gloried in the daring, the self-sacrifice, the heroism of his conduct in the recent events on the campaign. She felt personal gratitude—deep and earnest—for his invaluable service to Grace—to them all—this day; and just because she could not give utterance to him of any one of these emotions, was it to be wondered at that, as he turned towards her again and caught the earnest look in her swimming eyes, Ray's heart gave one great bound?
"I want you to ride him some day, Miss Sanford. I cannot yet. Will you?" And his voice was low, and there was an odd tremor in it for Ray.
"Ride Dandy?" she said, after an instant's pause, "Mr. Ray. If he were my horse, after what he has done,—after such a deed,—do you think I would let any one use him?"
"That would rule me out, Miss Sanford," he answered, smiling.
"You?" She had clasped her hands. She was looking down nervously at the tip of her little boot. Her eyes were half suffused, her face flushing, then growing suddenly hot and cold by turns. She knew his eyes were glowing upon her. She knew there was no earthly excuse for such absurd sensations. She knew that it was highly unconventional to experience any such difficulty of expression where acquaintance had been so brief; but was there, after all, anything unwomanly in letting him see that she was proud of him,—of his friendship, his daring? Had not every other woman gushed over him and called him splendid and some of them "lovely," while she had never yet dared speak of it at all? He had simply laughed off their adulation; but he was not laughing now. She never saw such intensity in his face. Why! this very silence was dangerous, distracting. If she—she cared for him she could not be more nervous and shy. With sudden effort she looked up in his face.
"You? Why, Mr. Ray, I never think of one without the other. How could I tell you," she broke forth impulsively, "how simply splendid I thought you—both?"
And now, with flaming cheeks, she turned and ran into the house, leaving him all astir with delight at the gate.
And yet when he called that evening to inquire after Mrs. Truscott, and Marion, with Mrs. Stannard, received him in the parlor, she was all animation, self-possession, and mistress of the situation again. Even when Mrs. Stannard found means to leave them alone, Ray could find no pretext for diverting the talk into the delicious channel in which it flowed at sunset. Perhaps, after all, it was only the glow of departing day, like the throes of the dying dolphin lending hectic radiance to his colors, that so dazzlingly, bewilderingly, beautifully tinged the current of her words, and gave him glimpses of a heaven of hope his wildest dream had never pictured.
But Mr. Ray had still a stern duty for that night. Having disposed of Gleason during the afternoon, he had sent for the soldier Wolf, but was told he would be on pass until tattoo. Until he had sifted the matter to the bottom he would not know how to proceed with regard to Gleason. Charges of conduct unbecoming an officer and a gentleman, court-martial and publicity, were not to be thought of as involving her name in such a scandal. After what she had said of Wolf, his first theory—that it was all a forgery of Gleason's—was abandoned. He must see Wolf, obtain from him any similar letter he might have, clearly point out to him the madness of his conduct, and satisfy himself whether indeed Wolf might not be insane. Immediately after tattoo, therefore, he had again despatched his orderly for the bandsman, and in two minutes the latter appeared, knocked, and stood, cap in hand, within the door. Ray turned up the lamp and coolly surveyed his man. The two stood a moment confronting each other in silence. Wolf was very pale, and beads of sweat were starting on his brow, but the blue eyes never flinched. He had never served a day under the lieutenant's command, but he knew him well, as all soldiers know the various officers of their regiments: the verdict is rarely at fault. He knew there was no trifling with the man before him; he felt that no slight pretext had called him to his presence, and the instant he set eyes on him he knew his secret was in his hands.