And so he could forgive it in Harris that he should come forth with no welcoming look for him, the conqueror, and only a yearning gaze for her. He could have felt quick resentment had Harris manifested nothing but rejoicing, even in expressing it. He had hated Harris when, deposed from his high rank as first captain of the Corps of Cadets, he had seen that far less showy soldier, his classmate, step easily into command and hold it with better discipline and ever-increasing respect from the entire battalion. The day of their departure from the Point had been to Willett an unforgotten, unforgiven lesson. It was the custom of the times--an unwritten, if unmilitary law--that on graduation day the class should appear at the mess hall at the dinner hour, and either singly or in little groups of two or three leave the building while the corps still sat at meat. It was even permitted that some should utter a word or two of farewell. Man after man Willett's fellows had taken their departure, and been accorded by the gray battalion a godspeed more or less thunderous as the individual was honored, popular, or merely a negative quantity. Willett had planned to be the last to leave, expectant of ovation that should out-thunder all others, but the officer in charge apparently would not see that regulations were being ignored, that cadets were on their feet about the head of certain tables, actually clinging to would-be going fellows, in unbecoming and unaccustomed "cits," while he was forcibly restrained by none. So, finally, waving his natty straw to table after table, he passed on to the broad-arched entrance, the clamor of voice and the battering of the old time iron stool beginning in kindly and cordial fashion--they would not send a dog away, those big-hearted fellows, without some show of friendliness--yet in all that array he numbered not one real friend, for self-seeking had ever been his creed and there was no man of their sturdy brotherhood that did not know it. Beneath the arch he turned and gazed once more over the familiar scene, his eyes dry and glittering, his throat dry and husky. Yearlings and some upper classmen were making lively play with stamp and stool, but the din was more perfunctory than powerful--nowhere near what had happened the moment before when two well-beloved fellows, with bowed heads and moistened eyes, had fairly rushed from the hall lest men should see that at last there had come realization that this was the parting of the ways, that the daily habit of four long years was shed forever, that to most of their number the greeting of the gray battalion would be given never again. But he had his wits about him, even then. He saw that now at last, with but four minutes left before the companies must rise and quit the hall, Harris was coming--the new-made first captain, adjutant and quartermaster escorting--the commandants of table all over the hall springing to