There was one for whom she pined--where was he? Night and day she thought of him. He was, indeed, her star--her only light. She was silent and patient; she uttered no complaint. She was content to wait for what the future might bring. That future seemed at present dark and uncertain, but she did not mourn. She wasted no time in useless repining; she was hopeful. Her reward came at last. One morning the camp heard with unspeakable joy notes of music. They were the welcome strains of a soul-inspiriting march played by an English band. The reinforcements had arrived. Coming up from the Grand Trunk Road the long lines could be seen. The white helmets and flashing bayonets of British troops marching to the assistance of their comrades, and pledged to reduce the stronghold of the saucy enemy. As the fresh troops marched in, the reception accorded them was enthusiastic in the extreme. The excitement was immense. Such cheering, such shaking of hands, such greetings. As the newly-arrived officers were moving towards the quarters assigned to them, a man suddenly rushed out of a tent, and seizing the hands of one of the officers, exclaimed, in an excited tone-- “God bless you, old fellow! This is an unexpected pleasure.” The man was Walter Gordon, the officer was Lieutenant Harper. The friends had met once again--met upon the battlefield. Their last meeting had been sad, their last parting still more sad. But, as they greeted each other now, each had an instinctive feeling that, after having escaped so many dangers, they met now only to part again when happier times had dawned. When Gordon could drag his friend away, he commenced to ply him with questions; but Harper interrupted him with an impatient gesture, and unable longer to restrain his feeling, exclaimed-- “Before I answer a single question, tell me if Haidee lives?” Walter smiled at his friend’s eagerness as he answered-- “Haidee lives.” “And is she well?” “Yes.” “Do you know where she is?” “Yes.” “Where?” “Here.” “This is joyful news.” “I am glad to hear you say so, Harper.” “Why?” “Because she is one of the most faithful and best of women. She has a small tent to herself, for she is the idol of the camp. Come, follow me.” Gordon pointed out Haidee’s dwelling to his friend, and then he left him; for he did not consider that he had any right to intrude himself upon their meeting. Harper advanced cautiously to the door of the tent. Haidee was reclining on an Indian mat; her eyes were closed, but she was not sleeping. She was dreaming a day-dream, in which Harper figured. “Haidee,” he called softly. “Haidee,” he repeated. She started to her feet like a startled fawn. She recognised the voice. With a cry of joy she sprang forward--her arms closed around his neck; and, as her head was pillowed on his breast, she murmured-- “Your slave is thankful and happy.” “Not slave, Haidee,” he answered, as he pushed back the beautiful hair and kissed her forehead, “but wife.”