"My God! In one case it is a woman's name; in the other I have promised on honor not to reveal it." "That ends it, then. You remain here in close arrest, and the charges against you will be pushed to the bitter end. I will write them this very hour." XVI. At ten o'clock that morning, shortly after a smiling interview with the ladies of Fort Sibley, in which, with infinite spirit and the most perfect self-control, Miss Beaubien had informed them that she had promised to lead with Mr. Jerrold, and, since he was in duress, she would lead with no one, and sent them off wondering and greatly excited, there came running up to the carriage a telegraph messenger boy, who handed her a despatch. "I was going up to the avenue, mum," he explained, "but I seen you here." Nina's face paled as she tore it open and read the curt lines: "Come to me, here. Your help needed instantly." She sprang from the carriage. "Tell mother I have gone over to see some Fort friends,--not to wait," she called to the coachman, well knowing he would understand that she meant the ladies with whom she had been so recently talking. Like a frightened deer she sped around the corner, hailed the driver of a cab, lounging with his fellows along the walk, ordered him to drive with all speed to Summit Avenue, and with beating heart decided on her plan. Her glorious eyes were flashing: the native courage and fierce determination of her race were working in her woman's heart. She well knew that imminent danger threatened him. She had dared everything for love of his mere presence, his sweet caress. What would she not dare to save him, if save she could? He had not been true to her. She knew, and knew well, that, whether sought or not, Alice Renwick had been winning him from her, that he was wavering, that he had been cold and negligent; but with all her soul and strength she loved him, and believed him grand and brave and fine as he was beautiful. Now--now was her opportunity. He needed her. His commission, his honor, depended on her. He had intimated as much the night before,--had told her of the accusations and suspicions that attached to him,--but made no mention of the photograph. He had said that though nothing could drag from him a word that would compromise _her_, _she_ might be called upon to stand 'twixt him and ruin; and now perhaps the hour had come. She could free, exonerate, glorify him, and in doing so claim him for her own. Who, after this, could stand 'twixt her and him? He loved her, though he _had_ been cold; and she--? Had he bidden her bow her dusky head to earth and kiss the print of his heel, she would have obeyed could she but feel sure that her reward would be a simple touch of his hand, an assurance that no other woman could find a moment's place in his love. Verily, he had been doing desperate wooing in the long winter, for the very depths of her nature were all athrob with love for him. And now he