“Thank you,” said Hugh, as he seated himself in a chair pushed toward him by the major. “Well, I am glad to see you again, Stanton, I am indeed,” said the major. “I have been looking forward to a visit from you with the keenest pleasure.” “It is very good of you to say so,” answered Hugh, “but I am quite sure that I have reason to be congratulated more than yourself!” “As to that—ah!” exclaimed the major, hastily arising from a leather couch, where he had thrown himself, “Mr. Stanton, permit me.” Some one had entered the room through a side door directly back of Hugh’s chair. He arose and turned as the major spoke. “My daughter, Miss Marie, Mr. Stanton.” The girl appeared to be about eighteen years of age. She bowed rather coldly, and turned toward her father, asking, “How soon will you want me to sing, papa?” “Oh, ho!” laughed the major, “that was a little surprise I had in store for Mr. Stanton. You have robbed my program of part of its interest.” “I beg your pardon, papa,” said the girl, her lips parting in a sweet smile, “now that Mr. Stanton is advised of it, he will have ample time to prepare his nerves for the ordeal. You see, papa,” she went on, “Ethel Horton has invited me to go driving with her. We will not be gone long—perhaps an hour.” “All right, daughter, that will be soon enough,” replied the major. As the girl turned to go, Hugh noticed her wealth of bronzed hair. She was just budding into womanhood, and her soul shone out through her deep blue eyes, as if challenging one to doubt her. Hugh’s glance was half critical, although not the glance of personal interest. There was a time to come, however, when he would wonder how it had been possible for him to look upon this girl with other than feelings of personal interest. Little did he dream, on that first evening at Major Hampton’s, of the great sorrow that was to come—a sorrow in which this light-hearted, innocent girl would awaken to a grief that could not be comforted—a grief that he, himself, was destined to share with her. “She is a wonderful girl,” said the major, after Marie had gone. “I doubt if her equal can be found in the Sunflower State.” “Very prepossessing,” replied Hugh. “Her face is a most intellectual one.” The major opened a fresh box of cigars. “Have a cigar, Stanton,” said he. “I feel in a humor to talk, and nothing aids more in conversation than smoking a good cigar.” After the cigars were lighted, the major returned to his former reclining position on the lounge. “My dear Stanton,” said he, “are you at all interested in politics?” “I can’t say that I am,” returned Hugh. “I usually vote, and that’s about all.”