"Married, or single?"
"Single. We are not much of a marrying class. Wren was the first. Was that before you went away, or after? We voted to send him a cradle; but he did not know how to take it. He thought we were fooling him, and got quite angry. No, we are not at all a marrying class, nor a dying class either, for that matter. There are not more than five or six dead, and twelve or fourteen married; we reckoned them up last class meeting."
"Vinal—what of him?"
"O, he's alive, and married, too."
Morton turned pale. "Married!—to whom?"
"Well, they say he's made a first-rate match. I don't know her myself. I'm not a party-going man; I never was, you know. I haven't been thrown in much with that kind of people. But they tell me he couldn't have done better."
"What's her name?" demanded Morton.
"Miss Leslie—Colonel Leslie's daughter. But what's the matter? Are you ill?"
"It's nothing," gasped Morton; "I had a fever in prison, and have never been quite well since. I grow dizzy, sometimes."
"You will grow dizzy, with a vengeance, if you drink wine in that way."