"Doan' you mind, Mr. Broussard," said Kettle, confidentially, "Miss 'Nita, she's jes' cipherin' on you all the time. She makes the Kun'l tell her all 'bout them songs you done sing him that night in the mountains, an' she and Miss Betty laffed fit ter kill when the Kun'l tell 'em he made you sing like the devil to keep him from groanin' over his ankle." For six mortal days, Broussard sought his chance to be alone with Anita, but that chance eluded him in a maddening manner. Either the Colonel or the After-Clap was perpetually in his way, and neither Beverley Fortescue nor Kettle, who were his open allies, nor Mrs. Fortescue, who was secretly on his side, could help him. Broussard, however, swore a mighty oath that he would have Anita's promise before the new year began. Late in the afternoon of the last day of the year, Broussard, who kept, from the officers' club, a pretty close watch on the Commanding Officer's house, saw Anita come out in her dark furs and the little black gown and hat in which she looked most charming, and take her way to the chapel. There was a back entrance, screened from the plaza by a stone wall and a projection of the chapel, and Broussard thought there could not be a better place for the words he meant to speak to Anita. He seized his cap and ran out, ignoring the jeers of his comrades, who had seen Anita pass and suspected Broussard's errand. In two minutes he had entered the little walled-in spot, and there, indeed, stood Anita. Within the chapel he could hear voices--the chaplain's voice directing some changes; Kettle and a couple of men moving seats and arranging things at the chaplain's directions. But as long as they remained in the chapel they mattered little to Broussard. Anita's cheeks hung out their red flags of welcome. "At last!" said Broussard, clasping her hand, "I have watched and waited for this chance!" In the little secluded spot, with a small, crescent moon stealing into the sunset sky and the happy stars shining down upon them, Broussard told Anita of his love. He knew not what words he spoke, for Love, the master magician, speaks a thousand languages, and is eloquent in all. Nor did Anita know what reply she made. After a deep and rapturous silence they returned to earth, only to find it still Heaven. "I love you better than anything on earth except my honor," said Broussard, holding Anita's little gloved hand in his. "Yes," answered Anita softly, "next your honor." "And I have loved you for a long time," Broussard continued, "for a whole year." In their brief, bright lives, a whole year seemed a long time. "But you were so young--last year you were but a child, and I was ashamed of myself for what I said to you the night of the music ride--it isn't right to speak words of love to a girl who is not yet a woman. Will you forgive me?" Anita's forgiveness shone in her eyes and smiled upon her scarlet mouth when Broussard laid his lips on hers.