"Yes, dear, of course I can, but not with honor. Having asked for these orders, I must obey them. I must not trifle with duty, dear Odalite," he answered, gravely. "Oh, Le, and there seems no real necessity for you to go!" "Honor, love," gently suggested the youth. "When do you leave us, and where are you going this time, Le?" "I leave on the second of January, to join my ship at the Brooklyn Navy Yard, to sail in a few days after for the Pacific coast." "Oh, I am so sorry! But I ought not to say so, Le. I ought not to say anything to make it harder to do your duty, and I will not." "Dearest Odalite, will you say something that will make it easy for me to do my duty? Will you say that you will correspond with me regularly while I am gone, as you did during my first voyage? And will you promise that when I return, three years hence, and leave the service--as I can with honor then--you will give me this dear hand of yours, which I cannot help feeling belongs to me only, and has belonged to me of right all the time? Say you will give me your hand, Odalite! Shall I go away happy in the knowledge that you are to be my wife on my return?" "Oh, yes! Yes, Le! With all my heart!" she impulsively answered. Then, catching her breath in a spasmodic way, as some painful thought sped like an arrow through her heart, she added, in a subdued tone: "But, Le, before anything of that sort is quite settled between us, I want you to talk with my mother about it." "But why? Aunt Elfrida will have no objection. She likes me. She liked our engagement, before any one came between us," said Le, growing uneasy and very thoughtful. "Yes, I know she loves you, Le, and liked our engagement. And, of course, all will be right! But, still, I would rather that you should speak to my mother," persisted the girl, with a dark foreshadowing of evil which she could not shake off. "Well, love, I will have a talk with Aunt Elfrida to-night," said Le, with a laugh. "No, no, not to-night. We shall be in the drawing room, engaged in some Christmas games for the children. Do not take her away from the family circle to-night. To-morrow will do quite as well. You can talk to her after breakfast," pleaded Odalite, with a shudder she could not control. "You are cold," said Le. "I have kept you out too long. Come, let us go home. I will speak to Aunt Elfrida in the morning." They turned and walked homeward under the moonlight, wintry sky, along the shore, then up the wooded hill, through the lawn and on to the house, the whole front of which was brilliantly lighted from within in honor of the holy, festive season. They entered, and threw off their wraps in the hall, just as the tea bell rang. A merry party assembled around the table, upon which every suitable Christmas dainty was spread.