nearest of the tall blue-gum trees that ranked right and left before the house. Halting there she faced him, or, rather, her eyes rose no higher than the level of his breast, as she began, with gentle abruptness, "My mother wants me to tell you that you must not come any more."

"Oh!" spoke Morgan instantly, his quick astonishment edged with more than a little resentment and blunt refusal. "And what is that for? I'm all right, am I not?"

"You know that-perfectly," answered she softly; "but the burghers have begun to talk about it. They say things to my brother and my cousins that-that are very hard for them to deny, or to listen to. And-you will do me the one favor in the world by not coming again.”

"You mean your brother and cousins have been here saying that they won't have you talking to a khaki," returned Morgan, but not at all in the superior manner. "I know that your father and mother didn't object before."

"They have talked it over," replied she steadily, as one having something to say which must be said, all argument ignored. "It is they who asked me to tell you not to come."

"And you; what do you say?" demanded he, with a touch of quick masterfulness.

"I told you from the first not to come," answered she, very quietly, as one who had thought all this out beforehand. She was still not looking him in the face. He had noticed all along from the first that she was not looking him in the eyes with the grave, open softness of other visits. And her mouth seemed under restraint, too. Her lips moved stiffly when she spoke, neither were they at rest when she was listening for his answers.

"I know," spoke he, grave with the flood of thoughts his noting of her face let loose in his brain. "But you

know what I've always said to that. And if I did stop away now you know what you'd think of me." His tone was very earnest; his eye waiting to catch hers.

Her lips stiffened and then opened again. "I should be glad if you did," returned she, and her mouth set stiffer still, her arms straight down by her sides.

He could see all that this was costing her. He could read all the quivering of her heart at having herself to cut him out of it. Yet he held his own way.

"Oh, then," returned he, in a high, quick voice. "If I stay away you'll be glad. That will make you happy, will it?" He was forcing her to a confession, now while he had her on the rack. Most of us are pitiless to have our victories acknowledged.

She knew all that was in the speech; all that it was so cruelly intended to do. Yet, with that utter nobleness of a true woman in love, she did not hesitate in giving him that answer which he would not plead for, but would tear out savagely. "Yes," said she steadily. "Yes, I should be happy-for you would be safe"; and just once she lifted her eyes and looked him into the life of his own; one flash, full as a summer midnight's lightning; all unashamed love, laying her heart at his feet in this last interview for him to tread on if he would-showing him all, everything, in that glance before her flickering eyes fell again.

The glance lifted the heart out of his breast, swept it beyond all his grasp for a breath. A ringing note that he could not control came into his voice as he answered, exultingly, "And what if I refuse to stay away?"

She did not lift her eyes to him again. If anything she dropped them lower. But she moved the least shade in the world nearer and spoke, clearly, in spite of the little tremor that ran

in her voice, "But you will. I know that. When you come to think it over you will think of me—and you will stay away."

he

"Will I? By God! will I?" His blood was singing in his head, and the words spoke themselves in spite of him. "I shall think of you: I shall do that indeed. And then how" checked and filled his lungs with a bursting breath to restrain himself, but it was no use: it was too late; he had gone too far; out it would come, and out it came, with a headlong gladness that seemed the soul of himself rushing out to her, leaving him, ignoring him. "And how if I think of you and then cannot, cannot, cannot stay away?" And with the words as he spoke them he took the full stride nearer and stood over her, for he was the six-foot and she a handbreadth shorter.

A little shiver of sheer happiness ran through her. Her eyelashes closed tightly again and again. Yet brave; brave and true yet; she lifted her face and looked up at him again. "But," spoke she, her voice husky from a heart too full-"but then you will remember that if you were killed"-he felt her shrink-"it would be by my own brother. Your blood would be”she paused long; she could not say the rest of that. She began again. “And then, indeed, you will stay away."

His breath came with a catch of quick amaze. That point was utterly new to him. "Gad! I had never thought of that," said he, all aback.

"You see, it is their honor that is at stake; so my brother and my cousins think," said she, so gently that his heart heard rather than his ears.

"Yes, yes," answered he, humbled to the heart of his victory by the glory of her woman's sacrifice: overwhelmed by the austere truth of the part she had chosen. "Yes. I will."

So complete and sudden was her

victory that he was half way to his horse, to obey and be gone, before a second thought struck him. He turned back with the same quick stride. "Give me a flower: give me a rose; give me something of yourself to take away, something to stay away with me, as a token." He could no longer command: he pleaded vehemently.

But as he looked he caught the utter lack of color in her face, with the desperate struggle of lids and lips to control themselves. And at the realization of that he paused. “Liefste”— the word came out solemnly-a Taal word he had picked up in camp in fun. It means "Beloved," and its fullest meaning was in his tone as he uttered it. Word and tone were all her heart I could have dreamed on.

The tears be

It was the last straw. gan to force a way out under the longlashed lids. Her shaking fingers hastily loosed the rose from her breast and gave it to him, even while her feet had begun their flight from the spot. But as she gained the door she turned, pausing for an instant with a little gesture that tried to tell him all that a man can know in the manliest moment of his life.

Then she was gone, and he took horse for camp again.

The doctor was alone in the mess hut when Morgan entered it. He was, moreover, smoking, and not looking at all at Morgan. But the latter spoke. "Doctor," said he, in a good, full voice, "you needn't worry any more about the girl with the soft gray eyes. I'll make no mistake there."

"Quite so," returned the doctor, not quite so casually as he spoke at times. "I saw her once-when I brought in that scout who'd been wounded. Have a drink of your own whisky. Scoff will be up in a minute."

Hutchings made no jokes about the game which had not made its appearance that meal, neither did he allude

to it in any of the next few daysthose new days to Morgan. The arrival of the mail from home seemed only to confirm the newness of those days, for that event no longer took first place in his mind. Home-meaning his native place, his people, and friendsnow took its proper place as the thing which abutted on his life instead of enclosing it. It had become the next estate to his own instead of the one he walked in. In fine, he found he had now a home of his own; a man's home; the heart of the woman he loves. It is assuredly not roof and walls that make home to the man whose calling, like the soldier's, moves him from place to place as the years pile on his head. Morgan had begun to picture to himself what life would be with the girl with the soft gray eyes as the core of it. Then came the day when it suddenly struck him to picture what life would be like without the girl with the gray eyes. It was after luncheon again, when they were sitting smoking, and the thought no sooner went through him than the doctor spoke a little sharply. "What's that white for, young man? Sickening for hospital?"

Morgan smiled, though the gray was not yet all passed from his face. "I'm sickening for something a deal more needful; and, doctor, I'm going to another doctor for it-a doctor outside our lines."

"Ah," spoke the doctor, drawing and dwelling on the sound, "well, and I think you're lucky!"

"Thanks," said Morgan.

Hutchings stirred, stared, and then, with one gesture, indicated that he must now let his comrade come a purler in his own way.

Morgan rose to go at once, and the doctor spoke up in rather an insisting tone. "Hadn't you better call it a reconnaissance and take a gang out with you? The commandant can look on it as exercise for men and horses."

"Have you been down the horse lines this morning?" returned Morgan, quizzically.

"Ah, that's it, is it? Blue-tongue, I suppose," acquiesced the doctor.

Morgan nodded. “Any reconnaissance would have to be done on ammunition boots."

As he threw leg over saddle he found the doctor had followed and was at his knee, speaking. "Is it wise to go out again alone now you have-in the new circumstances?" corrected he.

"No," admitted Morgan. "It's a deal more unwise than you can guess, too. It's risking something that's a deal more consequence than my death. You'll see that I won't do it again after to-day. It's all my own fault. I took oath to her the other day that I wouldn't come again, but, like an utter ass, I forgot to get a certain promise from her in return. I'm just going for that. Then I'll be good."

"Don't you think you might take the promise for granted, in the circumstances?" suggested the doctor, smoothly.

"I'm not hit that way, doctor. It's gone a lot deeper than that. I can't take anything for granted; but you'll see how good I'll be after this. So long, then." So he rode away.

He had brought rifle and bandolier. His life had suddenly become precious because he had found a use for it, and because it was precious to her. All the way as he went he kept his eyes roving, and he cast about for a good view of the sluit before riding down into the dip of it. It was clear; everything was clear, and presently he was drawing rein under the great gum-trees.

This time the faces of the father and mother showed only politeness and no warmth of welcome. The girl herself did not appear at the moment of his entering. The mother, however, called for coffee. "Thanks; but never mind

that," spoke Morgan at once. "I haven't come to stay long enough for that, I've only just come to speak to your daughter for one moment, and then I'll go back. Ah!"

The "Ah!" was to greet her appearance as she stepped quietly into the room. It was as if she had been listening and debating whether she would see him, and then, because of his explanation, had decided to come out. Her eyes met his for the briefest glance in the world, and if there was love in them there was a great dread in them, too. Morgan did not wait to be chidden. "May I speak to you for just a minute-as last time?" pleaded he, with grave eagerness.

Her slow, gentle gesture of assent was part of her whole movement as, without a word, she walked to the door to acquiesce. Evidently her parents understood the situation, and left the matter in her own hands, and evidently she took their permission for granted. Morgan held the door for her, and then followed. Not till she had reached the same spot as before, under the great eucalyptus did she pause: and not till then did he speak. "I know it seems like not playing the game," began he, with earnest haste; "but there was one thing I forgot last time. It's something I can't do without, something I must have. It's your promise."

"My promise?" repeated she, with a catch in the breath, but with no echo of surprise.

She knew. He saw she knew; but he saw her face go white with the tension of the crisis of her life. He saw that she was hesitating to have her fortune put to the touch; and he no longer found any pleasure in forcing her to confess. Instead, he felt the emotion of it for her, and hastened to supply the words. "You know what promise I want. There is only one. You love me; that I know. And I love you; that you know. But I want

your promise, too, that you'll be my wife. I'll be good then. Only I can't stay away without it."

"Oh!" she said; "oh!" and a sudden gush of happy tears, bright as dewdrops from a shaken branch, rushed out from under her closing eyelids and leaped off her soft cheeks, that curved in a quick, happy smile. But her hands went out a little, just a little way towards him, as if they would catch hold of his, but that they were half afraid.

He saw those hands, and his long arms went round her instantly, all his blood in his clasp. "Liefste, liefste!" cried he, half fiercely, wholly earnestly. "But let me have the words, too. Say you promise to be my wife."

She looked up at him. She could not hold the look steadfastly into his eyes, but as often as it fell she lifted it again. "Are you sure?" she said, at last. “I "don't want you to do anything like that unless you are quite, very, very sure. I know you love me; I know that, and that justifies me. And you know that I can never-can never love any other man but you, the first and the last. I don't ask you to marry me, dear, dear love. I can be true without that -you know that I can't help being true. But you are a British officer, and I am only a burgher girl. I know what your people think of us, and what they would say to you."

"I'm a man and you are a woman," was all he said. "Promise, promise. liefste! Speak the words."

"Oh!" and she laughed again, soft and low. As soft and sweet as were her eyes so was her laugh then. "I do promise. I promise to be your wife," and she met his kiss half way with a kiss as warm as his own.

Then straightway he, master now because this woman was his possession, she having softly stepped into his soul to be the centre of his life henceforth— straightway he began to give orders, and she, feeling an added glory in sub

mitting as his slave, studied at once to obey. "You must pack up and come into the town to-morrow, sweetheart," commanded he. "There I'll get you a permit to go down to Cape Town, out of the way of the war, and all these fevers and things. You must come. All this misery and this bad food-and not half enough of that-it's killing you."

"Must I?" asked she, not in denial, but all for the sheer pleasure of having him reiterate his orders, taking her will out of her own hands and giving her only his own.

"You must, liefste. When I started this afternoon I thought that if I once got your promise that was all I wanted. But now I find that was only the beginning of things. I can't stand it now so long as you're anywhere near this horrible war. You're me, nowall there is of me that's worth anything. And I must get you away to a safe place. You must come."

She made a movement to nestle closer in his arms. "But my father and mother refuse to leave the farm," she answered.

“Yes; but you have friends near Cape Town-I remember you telling me that. So you'll come? Say 'Yes,' sweetheart." He grew more grimly anxious with every moment, as his kisses continued to meet hers in each pause of speech and answer.

"I promise," consented she, her wet eyes swimming in smiles. "My mother has been urging me to go ever since the war began."

"So you'll come in to-morrow. Whom shall I tell to get a room ready for you? You have a cousin inside the town there, haven't you?"

"Yes; but you needn't warn her. She'll be glad to have me as soon as she sees me."

She looked at him with a pause of manner, her eyes debating, her hands and arms lifting a little.

He understood. "Put your arms round my neck, liefste," pleaded he, making a favor to him of what she could not help longing to do.

"Oh, how you understand me!" cried she, lifting her arms to where she had been hungering to place them. To be understood-that is the heaven of every woman in love.

"And now we'll go in till I tell your mother and father. Then I'll get away and be good," ended Morgan.

She put him back, with a special caress. "But please leave them to me. It will be all right. I can promise you that. Still, they are burgher, and you are a khaki. They will take it better from me."

He assented at once. "Very good, sweetheart; but I want just another token; not a flower this time, but something nearer-something of you. Your hair is so very soft and beautiful. Give me one lock of it to be with me till you come in to-morrow."

It was manna to hear him say it. It was glory to loosen her hair, and let it fall to her waist like a shower of splendor in the sunlight, and to let him choose the lock for himself. He took out the folding pair of scissors, which so many officers carried to help in dressing any wounded man, and lingeringly he cut off the tress he had singled out.

Slowly he coiled it, and smilingly she watched him unbutton his tunic and slip the coil inside his shirt till it was over his heart. "Now please pin it fast just there," pleaded he. He was giving her her full dues of courting.

Shyly she pinned it fast, her eyes glowing with the wonder and the happiness of it all. Shyly obedient to his triumphant command she called him her promised husband at parting.

So at last he swung up into the saddle and turned for camp.