"You have sold out, Captain Andinnian. I--I have been so very sorry for the sad causes that induced the step. Believe me, you have had all along my very best sympathy."
Karl hardly knew what he answered. A few words of murmured thanks; nothing more.
"You are not well," returned the Colonel, regarding the slender form that looked thinner than of yore, very thin in its black attire. "This has told upon you."
"It has; very much. There are some trials that can never be made light in this life," Karl continued, speaking the thoughts that were ever uppermost in his mind. "This is one of them. I thank you for your sympathy, Colonel Cleeve."
"And that's true, unfortunately," cried the Colonel, warmly, in answer. "You don't know how you are regretted at Winchester by your brother officers."
With another warm handshake, the Colonel passed on. Karl walked back to his hotel. In traversing one of its upper passages, a young lady came out of a sitting-room to cross to an opposite chamber. Captain Andinnian took a step back to let her pass in front of him; she turned her head, and they met face to face.
"Lucy!"
"Karl!"
The salutation broke from each before they well knew where they were or what had happened, amidst a rush of bewildering excitement, of wild joy. They had, no doubt, as in duty bound, been trying to forget each other; this moment of unexpected meeting proved to each how foolish was the fallacy. A dim idea made itself heard within either breast that they ought, in that duty alluded to, to pass on and linger not: but we all know how vain and weak is the human heart. It was not possible: and they stood, hand locked within hand.
Only for an instant. Lucy, looking very weak and ill, withdrew her hand, and leaned back against the doorpost for support. Karl stood before her.