Frances was surprised to find that she had slept into the middle of the afternoon. Major King had called an hour ago, with inquiries, the maid reported. There! that must be the major's ring again--she hoped she might know it by this time, indeed. In case it was the major, would miss-- Yes; miss would see him. Ask him to wait. The maid's ear was true; it was the major's ring. She came bounding upstairs to report on it, her breath short, her eyes big. "Oh, miss! I think something must 'a' happened to him, he looks all shook!" she said. "Nonsense!" said Frances, a little flutter of apprehension, indefinable, cold, passing through her nerves in spite of her bearing and calm face. Major King had remained standing, waiting her. He was handsome and trim in his uniform, dark-eyed, healthy-skinned, full of the vigor of his young manhood. The major's face was pale, his carriage stiff and severe. He appeared as if something might have happened to him, indeed, or to somebody in whom he was deeply concerned. Frances knew that her face was a picture of the worriment and straining of her past night, for it was a treacherous mirror of her soul. She smiled as she made a little pause in the reception-room door. Major King bowed, with formal, almost official, dignity. His hand was in the bosom of his coat, and he drew it forth with something white in it as she approached. "I'm dreadfully indolent to belong to a soldiering family, Major King," she said, offering her hand in greeting. "Permit me," said he, placing the folded white thing in her outstretched fingers. "What is it? Not--it isn't--" she stammered, something deeper than surprise, than foreboding, in her eyes and colorless cheeks. "Unmistakably yours," he said; "your name is stamped in it." "It must be," she owned, her spirits sinking low, her breath weak between her lips. "Thank you, Major King." The glove was soiled with earth-marks; it was wrinkled and drawn, as if it had come back to her through conflict and tragedy. She rolled it deliberately, in a compact little wad, her fingers as cold as her hope for the life of the man who had borne it away. She knew that Major King was waiting for a word; she was conscious of his stern eyes upon her face. But she did not speak. As far as Major King's part in it went, the matter was at an end. "Miss Landcraft, I am waiting." Major King spoke with imperious suggestion. She started, and looked toward him quickly, a question in her eyes. "I sha'n't keep you then," she returned, her words little more than a whisper. "Don't try to read a misunderstanding into my words," said he, his voice shaking. Then he seemed to break his stiff, controlled pose as if it had been a coating of ice, and expand into a trembling, white-hot man in a moment. "God's name, girl! Say something, say something! You know where that glove was found?" "No; and I shall not ask you, Major King."