She seized Miss Langton's slender umbrella and, waving it over her curly little head, pirouetted again in triumphant gayety. The General was thoughtfully sipping his tea and studying her as she chattered and danced. When she paused a moment for breath he again held up his hand. "Colonel Armstrong went with Mr. Prime, did he?" "With every assurance that the prodigal should be produced forthwith and restored to the paternal bosom," declaimed Mrs. Garrison melodramatically, and would have ranted on, never noting the flush of pain and embarrassment that almost instantly appeared in the faces of Miss Lawrence and her dark-eyed Eastern cousin, nor seeing the warning in her husband's eyes, but at the moment the tent flap was thrown back and held open to admit a tall, gray-haired civilian whose silk hat was uplifted as he entered, in courteous recognition of the group, despite the distress that was betrayed in the pallor of his face and the instant glance of his dark eyes toward the slender girl, who stepped eagerly forward. Mrs. Garrison, turning quickly, saw, and with swift, agile movement, sprang to one side. The General slowly struggled up from his easy-chair. Reaching her father's side, Miss Prime laid her hand upon his arm, looking fondly and anxiously into his face. A soldierly, middle-aged officer, in dripping forage cap and rain coat, stepped quickly in and lowered the flap. "Did you find him, father?" was Miss Prime's low-toned, faltering question. "We found--the soldier referred to; Colonel Armstrong has been most kind; but--it wasn't your brother at all, my child." CHAPTER III.