Mark promised to do so; he would have promised anything, even to taking a daily dose of picra for a month, if Mrs. Applegate would only have allowed him a few minutes' longer _tête-à-tête_ with his sweetheart, but it was not to be, and he was about to take his leave when Mrs. Applegate requested him to stay to tea, an invitation which he gladly accepted. The meal was rather a stiff and ceremonious affair, but Mark was supremely happy as he sat next to Edna. Mr. Heath, who had returned from his journey apparently not much improved in health, was rather mystified at the young officer's presence, and stared somewhat at his shoulder-straps. Mark noticed that the patrician had lost much of his old rigid pride, and looked fatigued and care-worn. He appeared to take but little interest in the momentous events of the day, and his one or two listless questions betrayed a remarkable ignorance of what was going on around him in relation to the war. After tea they withdrew to the parlors, with the exception of Mr. Heath, who retired to his room. Mrs. Applegate, complimenting Mark on his voice, requested him to favor her with "Angels ever bright and fair;" which the young fellow did, you may rest assured, to the very best of his ability, as he sang to Edna's accompaniment. Then other visitors came. First, the Rev. Spencer Abbott, somewhat amazed, and perhaps a little displeased at Mark's presence, but too well bred to show it; next, Bob Mumbie and his sister Ada, to whom Mark underwent an introduction--an embarrassing ceremony where all the parties have known each other from childhood, but tacitly agreed as they grew up to be as strangers. However, the ice was soon broken. The young rector was pleasant enough and had a batch of entirely new conundrums to offer. Bob Mumbie, though rather doltish, was a good-natured, amusing fellow, while Miss Ada chose to make herself unusually agreeable, succumbing, perhaps, to the potent fascination of the lieutenant's blue coat and gilt buttons. She was a rather pretty girl, with a clear brunette complexion; but strongly marked brows knit over brilliant black eyes, and disdainful lips, gave her an imperious expression. She attacked a sonata of Beethoven, but it was evidently beyond the capacity of her unpractised fingers, and it was a relief when her brother offered to treat the company to "The Old Folks at Home." Bob Mumbie's forte was Ethiopian minstrelsy, and he sang the simple lays of the plantation with all the pathos of a professional. Led on by the general applause, Bob followed it up with "Old Uncle Snow," then "Sally Come up," and concluded with a "Walk round," after the manner of the celebrated Mr. Bryant, to the intense amusement of Mrs. Applegate, whose capacious form shook with laughter, and of Edna, who enjoyed it scarcely less. All this was horridly unæsthetic, and Mark, the prig, only rewarded the performance with a condescending smile. Perhaps, was he jealous that his