“Mrs. Truesdale!” cried Ranson. “You are pouring coals of fire upon my head. And Miss Post! Indeed, this is too much honor. After the way I threatened and tried to frighten you last night I expected you to hang me, at least, instead of which you have, I trust, come to tea.” “Nothing of the sort,” said Mrs. Bolland, sternly. “These ladies insisted on my bringing them here to say how sorry they are that they talked so much and got you into this trouble. Understand, Mr. Ranson,” the colonel's wife added, with dignity, “that I am not here officially as Mrs. Bolland, but as a friend of these ladies.” “You are welcome in whatever form you take, Mrs. Bolland,” cried Ranson, “and, believe me, I am in no trouble--no trouble, I assure you. In fact, I am quite the most contented man in the world. Mrs. Bolland, in spite of the cloud, the temporary cloud which rests upon my fair name, I take great pride in announcing to you that this young lady has done me the honor to consent to become my wife. Her father, a very old and dear friend, has given his consent. And I take this occasion to tell you of my good fortune, both in your official capacity and as my friend.” There was a chorus of exclamations and congratulations in which Mrs. Bolland showed herself to be a true wife and a social diplomatist. In the post-trader's daughter she instantly recognized the heiress to the Ranson millions, and the daughter of a Senator who also was the chairman of the Senate Committee on Brevets and Promotions. She fell upon Miss Cahill's shoulder and kissed her on both cheeks. Turning eagerly upon Mrs. Truesdale, she said, “Alice, you can understand how I feel when I tell you that this child has always been to me like one of my own.” Carr took Ranson's hand and wrung it. Sergeant Clancey grew purple with pleasure and stole back to the veranda, where he whispered joyfully to a sentry. In another moment a passing private was seen racing delightedly toward the baseball field. At the same moment Lieutenants Crosby and Curtis and the regimental adjutant crossed the parade ground from the colonel's quarters and ran up the steps of Ranson's hut. The expressions of good-will, of smiling embarrassment and general satisfaction which Lieutenant Crosby observed on the countenances of those present seemed to give him a momentary check. “Oh,” he exclaimed, disappointedly, “someone has told you!” Ranson laughed and took the hand which Crosby held doubtfully toward him. “No one has told me,” he said. “I've been telling them.” “Then you haven't heard?” Crosby cried, delightedly. “That's good. I begged to be the first to let you know, because I felt so badly at having doubted you. You must let me congratulate you. You are free.” “Free?” smiled Ranson. “Yes, relieved from arrest,” Crosby cried, joyfully. He turned and took Ranson's sword from the hands of the adjutant. “And the colonel's let your troop have the band to give you a serenade.”