Major Welch was sitting on his veranda that afternoon about sunset when a rider came out of the woods far below, at a gallop, and continued to gallop all the way up the hill. There was something about a rapid gallop up hill and down that always bore Major Welch’s mind back to the war. As the horseman came nearer, Major Welch recognized Captain Allen. He remembered the advice Still had recently given him, always to have a pistol handy when he met Allen. He put the thought away from him with almost a flush of shame that it should even have crossed his mind. Should he meet a man at his own door, with a weapon? Not if he was shot down for it. So, as the rider approached, Major Welch walked down to meet him at the gate, just as Steve, dismounting, tied his horse. The young man’s face was pale, his manner constrained, and he was manifestly laboring under more emotion than he usually showed. Wondering what could be the object of his call, Major Welch met him gravely. Steve held out his hand and the Major took it formally. At any rate the mission was peaceful. “Major Welch, I have come to see you—” he began hesitatingly, his hat in his hand, and his face flushed. “Won’t you walk up on the veranda and sit down?” The Major did not mean to be outdone in civility. “Not until I have stated the object of my visit. Then, if you choose to invite me, I shall be very glad to accept.” He had recovered his composure. The Major was more mystified. “I have come this evening for a purpose which, perhaps, will—no doubt will—surprise you.” The Major looked affirmative, and wondered more and more what it could mean. “I have come to ask your permission to pay my addresses to your daughter.” If the Major was expecting to be surprised, he was more than surprised; he was dazed—he almost gasped. “What?” “I am not surprised that you are astonished.” The younger man, now that the ice was broken, was regaining his composure. “It is, however, no sudden impulse on my part.” How melodious his deep voice had grown! Major Welch was sensible of the charm growing upon him that he had seen exercised in the case of others. “I have loved your daughter”—(his voice suddenly sank to a pitch as full of reverence as of softness)—“a long time; perhaps not long in duration, but ever since I knew her. From that evening that I first met her here, I have loved her.” His glance stole toward the tree in which he had found Ruth that afternoon. “If I can obtain your consent, and shall find favor in her eyes, I shall be the happiest and most blessed of men.” He gave a deep sigh of relief. He stood suddenly before Major Welch a different being—modest and manly, not without recognition of his power, and yet not for a second presuming on it. Major Welch could not help being impressed by him. A wave of the old liking that he had had for him when he first met him came over him. “Does my daughter know of this?” he asked.