"A breach opened, and widened, between O'Donnell and me. She preferred him, you see, wherein she was wise.
"Then followed some words of mine for which I have always been sorry. I tried to make her believe he wasn't worthy of her, and all that. I didn't actually succeed, though she allowed him to think I did. I suppose at the time she really did half believe what I had insinuated.
"The young man stormed, pleaded, and raved. She seemed not to heed. One afternoon, on the parade ground, I rallied him harshly for some error in the drill which was really most immaterial. Then I sneered some beastly words at him. He clubbed his carbine and attacked me. I dodged and a glancing blow struck my shoulder and head. I was disabled for a year."
After a short wait, he went on:
"And I deserved what I received. By some miracle O'Donnell escaped capture. For some years he was in South America; then he came to California, went among the plains Indians east of here, and became a mighty sachem among them. When he was in Washington, on some delegation for the Indians, he came under attention of high officials of the United States Government. No word need be said of his work here, señora," with a laugh.
"What of the peasant maid, Captain? You are forgetting her."
"She read of O'Donnell's activities, it seems; and learned of my presence here through the same source, the newspaper. The man-of-war lately from England, which brought news of my father's death, together with my accession to his title and estates, carried a letter to me from her, inclosing another to O'Donnell. I delivered his letter in person. I told him I am glad his old love is waiting for him, and promised when I get home to have all disability removed, so he can return and claim his bride. O'Donnell and I parted on the terms of our old-time friendship."
"Why did not the girl write direct to O'Donnell himself?"
"She was sure of my address, but not of his."
"I am more than glad that your story has such a happy ending."