It was a good half-mile down to the quarters, but already they could see through the darkness a tiny light, and they struggled on through the snow, almost falling in a drift, then up and on again. Neither spoke. The reaction was beginning to tell on Dorothy, and her strength was tested to the utmost. Much was yet to be done, however, and she bit her lips almost to the blood, lest she should give some sign of how she suffered. The snow muffled the sound of their coming, and while Sallie Tom knocked softly at the door, Dorothy leaned heavily against it. In a moment it was opened, and the men sprang forward to catch her, as she almost fell inside. “I’m all right,” she cried. “Shut the door quick. You have not a moment to lose. Are the horses ready?” Bobbie took her up in his arms, as if she were a little child, and put her in front of the fire. “Where is Dr. Miles?” he asked, hoarsely. “Didn’t you bring him? I have the license here in my pocket. We _must_ be married before I leave you. Don’t tell me!”—. The look on her face stopped him; and the reckless young soldier, who had faced death a hundred times without a quiver, turned away, lest she should see the bitter pain of this defeat. The two older men stood aside; this was too sacred even for them. Sallie Tom was outside, helping Peter Black with the horses, and only the sputtering of the logs broke the sorrowful stillness that fell upon them all. Presently Bobbie stooped over and kissed her. “I know all about it. We have been outwitted to-night; but I swear here, in the presence of you all, that, if it is not possible before, then on next Christmas night nothing but Almighty God himself shall keep me from claiming my wife! I shall keep this”—and he touched the license in his pocket—“whenever I come, will you be ready?” She nodded without speaking, and silently they each bent and kissed her good-bye, and through the stillness she heard the muffled sounds of their horses’ hoofs upon the snow, and upon her heart lay the despair of utter desolation. CHAPTER XI.