“It was a mistake; a frightful mistake!” Wilkins stammered. His voice trembled, and he was much wrought up. “Yes, sir, I acknowledge it,” he added; “it was a frightful mistake. But it was, I hope, not irreparable.” Barlow lifted his hand as if he would strike the trooper in the face. “Is it what I pay you for, to make mistakes like that?” he demanded angrily. “Aye, it was a frightful mistake; and I’m afraid it will have serious consequences. In Heaven’s name, how did you do it?” “Well, the two letters were left on your table, sir, lying close together, and I was in a hurry. You had stepped out, and I thought I hadn’t time to search for you; and so I snatched up the two letters. I got them mixed, and threw to the girl the one that had in it the nugget of gold. But----” “Curse you for an idiot, Wilkins!” snarled Barlow. “I ought to pistol you for that.” “Of course, it wasn’t intentional, and----” “Well, keep your head closed about it!” Barlow snapped. “Don’t say anything; not a word to anybody.” He left Wilkins, and went on hurriedly and angrily. He had not recovered his temper when he reached the house where the girl had been lodged with Mrs. McGee, this particular house being a part of the cook room, for of the things which Mrs. McGee did one was to supervise the cooking at the fort. She met Barlow at the door. “Can I see her?” he said. “And how is she?” “A-cryin’ the two eyes out av her head. Bad cess to ye fer that, too! If I was a man, throoper er no throoper, I’d thrash ye fer that, so I would.” “I’ll just go in and see her.” He laughed, pushed past the portly form of Mrs. McGee, and then went along the hall until he came to a large room at its farther end. The girl was in this room, and had lighted the lamp. She stared at him with flushing face as he came in. “I don’t think I requested your presence,” she said coldly. “No, but Mrs. McGee told me you were pining for a little comforting, and so I thought I’d call, since I haven’t ceased to regard you in a favorable light, you know. It was only last week, I believe, that I offered you my hand and my heart.” She turned from him and walked toward the window, and looked out from it across the parade ground. As she did this his admiration of her sprang full-armed into being again. “Gad, what a girl!” he thought. “Isn’t she a queen? A man could feel proud to have her for his wife.” “I have come to apologize for what has perhaps seemed to you unnecessary harshness,” he said, in a voice wholly changed, for now it had a sincere ring, and his admiration looked from his eyes. “It was unnecessary,” she said. “What do you intend to do with me? I have done nothing, and Mr. Stevens has done nothing!” Barlow’s eyes hardened at that mention of Stevens. Yet when he spoke his voice was kind.