“Hymn-books--marked words in them with pencil--and passed 'em on to me,” repeated Zaidee. “Like 'love,' 'dear,' 'precious,' 'sweet,' and 'blessed,'” she added, accenting each word with a push of her parasol on the carpet. “Sometimes a whole line outer Tate and Brady--and Solomon's Song, you know, and sich.” “I believe,” said the Colonel loftily, “that the--er--phrases of sacred psalmody lend themselves to the language of the affections. But in regard to the distinct promise of marriage--was there--er--no OTHER expression?” “Marriage Service in the prayer-book--lines and words outer that--all marked,” Zaidee replied. The Colonel nodded naturally and approvingly. “Very good. Were others cognizant of this? Were there any witnesses?” “Of course not,” said the girl. “Only me and him. It was generally at church-time--or prayer-meeting. Once, in passing the plate, he slipped one o' them peppermint lozenges with the letters stamped on it 'I love you' for me to take.” The Colonel coughed slightly. “And you have the lozenge?” “I ate it.” “Ah,” said the Colonel. After a pause he added delicately, “But were these attentions--er--confined to--er--sacred precincts? Did he meet you elsewhere?” “Useter pass our house on the road,” returned the girl, dropping into her monotonous recital, “and useter signal.” “Ah, signal?” repeated the Colonel approvingly. “Yes! He'd say 'Keerow,' and I'd say 'Keeree.' Suthing like a bird, you know.” Indeed, as she lifted her voice in imitation of the call, the Colonel thought it certainly very sweet and birdlike. At least as SHE gave it. With his remembrance of the grim deacon he had doubts as to the melodiousness of HIS utterance. He gravely made her repeat it. “And after that signal?” he added suggestively. “He'd pass on.” The Colonel again coughed slightly, and tapped his desk with his penholder. “Were there any endearments--er--caresses--er--such as taking your hand--er--clasping your waist?” he suggested, with a gallant yet respectful sweep of his white hand and bowing of his head; “er--slight pressure of your fingers in the changes of a dance--I mean,” he corrected himself, with an apologetic cough--“in the passing of the plate?” “No; he was not what you'd call 'fond,'” returned the girl. “Ah! Adoniram K. Hotchkiss was not 'fond' in the ordinary acceptance of the word,” noted the Colonel, with professional gravity. She lifted her disturbing eyes, and again absorbed his in her own. She also said “Yes,” although her eyes in their mysterious prescience of all he was thinking disclaimed the necessity of any answer at all. He smiled vacantly. There was a long pause. On which she slowly disengaged her parasol from the carpet pattern, and stood up. “I reckon that's about all,” she said.