"Certainly not! It would be too dangerous. He shall have an escort," replied Maynard, emphatically. "No, no!" said Curtis, decisively. "I am safer to go unarmed and alone." "George!" protested Jennie, "you shall not go out there alone. Why don't you send the police?" Maynard here interposed. "Don't take on worry; I'll go with him myself." This last hour in Elsie's company was a mingled pain and pleasure to Curtis, for she was most charming. She laid aside all hauteur, all perversity, and gave herself unreservedly to her good friends. They were all at high tension, and the talk leaped from jest to protest, and back to laughter again, agile and inconsequent. The time and the place, the past and the future, counted for little to these four, for they were young and they were lovers. At last Jennie rose. "If you people are to rise at dawn you must go to sleep now. Good-night! Come, Elsie Bee Bee." Maynard followed Jennie into the hall with some jest, and Curtis seized the opportunity to delay Elsie. He offered his hand, and she laid hers therein with a motion of half-surrender. "Good-night, Captain. I appreciate your kindness more than I can say." "Don't try. I feel now that I have done nothing--nothing of what I should have done; but I didn't think you were to leave so soon. If I had known--" "You have done more than you realize. Once more, good-night!" "Good-night!" he said, in an unsteady voice; "and remember, you promised to write!" "I will keep my promise." She turned at the door. "Don't try to write around your red people. I believe I'd like to hear how you get on with them." "Defend me from mine enemies within the gates, and I'll work out my problem." "I'll do my best. Good-bye!" "No, not good-bye--just good-night!" For a moment he stood meditating a further word, then stepped into the hall. Elsie, midway on the stairs, had turned and was looking down at him with a face wherein the eyes were wistful and brows perplexed. She guiltily lowered her lashes and turned away, but that momentary pause--that subtle interplay of doubt and dream--had given the soldier a pleasure deeper than words. * * * * * Jennie was waiting at the door of the tiny room in which Elsie was to sleep, her face glowing with admiration and love. "Oh, you queenly girl!" she cried, with a convulsive clasp of her strong arms. "I can't get over the wonder of your being here in our little house. You ought to live always in a castle." Elsie smiled, but with tears in her eyes. "You're a dear, good girl. I never had a truer friend." "I wish you were poor!" said Jennie, as they entered the plain little room; "then you could come here as a missionary or something, and we could have you with us all the time. I hate to think of your going away to-morrow." "You must come and see me in Washington." "Oh no! That wouldn't do!" said Jennie, half alarmed. "It might spoil me for life out here. You must visit us again."