"I've heard of him. That's the Lloyd place a little down the river,--old brick house, but all torn down now--burned by Gibdon's men; good-sized park, or 'grove,' as they call it. That's the man, is it? Commanded some Rebel cavalry in the Bear-grass Creek skirmish." "Fought like a bear with a sore head--mad about his house, I suppose." "If I _knew_ that Miss Fisher was engaged to him, I would send her a barrel or two of fine old books that I rescued from Gibdon's men--thought I'd save 'em for the owner. They made a bonfire of the library there." "Lloyd used 'em up in a raid last fall--Gibdon's fellows. I don't blame 'em. But, say Miss Fisher has not been fair to me if she is engaged to that man." "I always thought Miss Fisher was particularly fair--owing to a sun-bonnet, rather than to a just mind." "You think she would treat me as she has--encourage me to make a fool of myself--if she is engaged to another man?" "I think she is likelier to be engaged to five than 'another.'" "You should not say that, Ashley," retorted Seymour, gravely. "It is not appropriate. You should not say that," he urged again. "Oh, I mean no offence, and certainly no disrespect to the lovely Miss Fisher, who is my heart's delight. But you have heard the five-swain story?" As Seymour looked an inquiry-- "Five Rebs in camp, all homesick, very blue, on a Sunday morning," began Ashley, graphically; "all sitting on logs, each brooding over his fiancée's ivory-type. And, as misery loves company, one sympathized with another, and, by way of boastfulness, showed the beautiful counterfeit presentment of his lady-love. Their clamors brought up the rest of the five, and _each_ had the identical photograph of Miss Millie Fisher. She was engaged to all five! There was nothing else they could do--so they held a prayer-meeting!" "What bosh!" exclaimed Seymour, fretfully. "People are always at some extravagant story about her like that. It isn't true, of course." "It is as much like her as if it were true," Ashley declared laughingly. The serious, not to say petulant traits of Seymour were intensified by the conscious jeopardy of his happiness, and the continual doubt in his mind as to whether he had any ground for hope at all. "By George! if I knew she was engaged--or--if I knew--anything at all about anything--I'd cut it all, and give it up. I don't want to be a source of amusement to her--or to be made a show of. Sometimes, I pledge you my word, I feel like a dancing bear." "Miss Fisher has something of the style of a bear-ward, it must be confessed," said Ashley. "I fancied at one time she had a notion of getting a chain on me--she is enterprising, you know." Then, after a moment, "Why _don't_ you cut it all, Mark?" "Oh," cried Seymour, with an accent of positive pain, "I can't. Sometimes I believe she _does_ care--she makes me believe it." "Well," smiled Ashley, banteringly, "you dance very prettily--not a bit clumsily--a very creditable sort of bear."