When they reached Mackenzie's, Beatrice came out on the piazza as Robert went in after the paper, and she was evidently inclined to conversation. "Where have you been?" she asked sweetly. "Oh, just up-stream a little ways," replied Ronald, carelessly. "Have you had Queen out this morning?" "Yes, I rode her half-way to Fort Wayne and back. She got pretty well used up, but it did her good." "How dare you!" flamed Beatrice, stamping her foot. Ronald laughed and leaned easily against the side of the house while she stormed at him. Even Robert's appearance did not have any effect upon her wrath. "Say, Rob," said the Ensign, when she paused to take breath, "your cousin here doesn't seem to know a joke when she sees it. She thinks I'd ride that old gun-carriage she keeps in the garrison stables. Calm her down a bit, will you? Bye-bye!" The fire died out of the girl's eyes and her lips quivered. Her breast was heaving, but she kept herself in check till Ronald slammed the gate, then her shoulders shook with sobs. "Bee!" cried Robert. "Don't, dear!" Instinctively he put his arm around her, and she leaned against his shoulder, sobbing helplessly, her self-control quite gone. Ronald was untying a pirogue at the landing, when he looked back and saw the inspiring tableau. "Good Lord!" he said, under his breath, as Robert, with his arm still around her, led Beatrice into the house. * * * * * Later in the week, as Robert was on his way to breakfast, he met Maria Indiana in the long, narrow passage back of the living-rooms. "What have you there, baby?" he asked. Maria Indiana held out a small Indian basket of wonderful workmanship, filled with berries, fresh and fragrant, with the dew still on them. Tucked in at one side was a note, written upon his own stationery, as he could not help seeing. "It's for Tuzzin Bee!" lisped the child. "Misser George said nobody mus' see!" The little feet pattered down the passage, but Robert stood still for a moment, as if he had turned to stone. Then wild unrest possessed him and stabs of pain pierced his consciousness. "Fool that I was!" he said to himself, bitterly; "blind, cursed fool!" All at once he knew that he loved Beatrice with every fibre of his being--that she held his heart in the hollow of her hand, to crush or hurt as she pleased. He was shaken like an aspen in a storm--this, then, was why her flower-like face had haunted his dreams. Swiftly upon the knowledge came a great uplifting, such as Love brings to the man whose life has been clean. It was a proud heart yielding only to the keeper of its keys--the absolute surrender of a kingdom to its queen.