THE freight engine had been loaned us by telegram from Colonel Carington, and we had found our Pullman car pulled up on an old rusty side-track that ran into a bed of wild flowers; on the front platform, half smothered by them, our two darkies were asleep. They wakened, however, to greet us with smiles of such expansive intimacy that I felt bound, when we were safely on the way, to put them _au courant_ of the situation. The solemnity and sympathy their faces at once assumed guaranteed their discretion; though I afterward heard the “conductor” adjuring the engineer from the front platform to “git up that thar burro-engine wif’m bacon-ham.” Whereupon the engineer sanded the track and blew “off brakes.” The long journey was rather distressing, however. The brave girls did not lose their spirits, but they kept to themselves, resting in the state-room, while Raoul and I sat on the rear platform and watched the dust eddy up from the long single track behind us. We had innumerable waits and sidings; where often the girls and I wandered into the woods after wild flowers, while Raoul stayed behind to pepper Mrs. Judge Pennoyer with telegrams. We were now by the highest mountains of the East; Roan Mountain still, though it was June, was rosy-robed about its shoulders with the laurel. The day wore on, and I could get no speech with Jeanie. I looked for my _dédommagement_ to the journey home. This I no longer dreaded; it was a rosy hope. But Jeanie was so timid, now--or I was bolder. In the evening we had a long wait for the night express, which rattled by our siding at a wood-and-water station. “Perhaps Mr. Bruce is on that train,” I laughed. “No,” said Raoul, gravely (he never had a sense of humor); “I am confident he is not.” “How do you know?” “I have had a telegram from Mrs. Judge Pennoyer.” “Is she his confidante?” “She says that he has suddenly decided to await your return in Knoxville.” “Await my return?” “Certainly--yours and Miss Jeanie’s. I conclude the Judge this morning wired him an answer that it was not Jeanie who was getting married.” I gasped. “Then it was not you, after all, he was chasing?” “Why, of course not.” “Why did you run away so?” Raoul looked at me as who should say, “Oh, these Northerners!” “Perhaps it wasn’t necessary,” he added, with that faint tinge of sarcasm which is akin to humor. “Is that your ring you wear upon your finger?” I know I started; and I felt myself blush. “It--it was given to me to wear,” I gasped. “Exactly--and by Miss Jeanie Bruce--and Mr. Kirk Bruce gave it to Miss Jeanie. Of course he thought--when he heard a Miss Bruce and a gentleman had gone off to get married----” “Kirk Bruce gave it to her?” I said. My mind works slowly at such times. “Certainly. Did she not tell you so?” “She said a gentleman gave it her----” “Well, he was the gentleman.” “Who had shot a schoolmate at boarding-school----” “Same man, I assure you.” “For being attentive to a young lady who----”