"Oh, mercy!" says I, with a little scream. "He's enough to frighten one out of a year's growth!" "Don't be terrified," says a voice behind me, and I felt an arm a-stealing around my waist; "I am here to protect you." I looked up. My heart stopped beating. The stranger was tall, majestic, and the eyes that shone through his mask were blue as robin's eggs. He had on a black cloak, and the mask covered his whole face; but how could I mistake the princely bend of that head, the breadth of those majestic shoulders. He drew me back from the crowd. I forgot Cousin Dempster, E. E., and everything else, in the ecstasy of that sweet surprise. "You have forgotten the roses," he whispered, with a look of loving reproach. I felt for the bouquet Cousin Dempster had given me--it was gone. "I must have dropped them as I got out of the carriage," says I. "But when did you come?" I added, in a whisper, tremulous with bliss. "Oh, I came an hour ago, and in the usual way," was his sweet answer; "but, not seeing the flowers, I doubted." "Ah! how I prayed that you would grow weary of that miserable buffalo hunt, and return!" says I. He seemed just a little puzzled, but at last broke out: "Oh, it's all a grotesque farce. Why should wise men turn themselves into wild animals, if it is only in sport? I never enjoy such parties for themselves." "I am glad to hear you say that," says I; "and more glad that you have left off hunting with Phil Sheridan; he might have led you into some Indian camp filled with Modocs, who would have shot you for sport." "Sheridan," says he. "Oh, he doesn't stay in one place long enough to do much harm." "Exactly," says I; "but he works quickly. Still, you are here, safe and sound; why should we waste time over him?" "True enough," says he; "so take my arm, and let us promenade." I took his arm, and clasping both hands over it after a fashion I have seen prevalent among young girls when they walk out with their lovers by moonlight, moved proudly through that throng--very proudly--for I knew that long cloak covered imperial greatness that would have astonished that assembly, had they known as much as I fondly suspected. "Tell me," says I, in a soft whisper, "did you receive a valentine?" "Did I receive a valentine?" says he. "Why do you ask?" "Ah!" says I, "do not question me." "But I must. Tell me something about it." "It was original. It was poetry," says I. "Poetry--and yours! How can you doubt its effect?" "I do not doubt. Are you not by my side?" I whispered. He drew my hand under his loose sleeve, and pressed it tenderly--so tenderly, that I did not know when the handkerchief it held escaped from my grasp to his; but, directly after, I saw him thrust something white into his bosom. It was my very best handkerchief, embroidered with my name; but I said nothing--how could I?