I must do Mrs. Ironwood the justice to say, that she did not fulfil her destiny after that night, so far as it involved going to sleep when she should be on duty. And she did the duty well, as befits long habit. Always accidentally on hand; keen-eyed, though taking no notice; interfering when she must, in a way that was wholly pleasant—and unmanageable. The two girls, so unlearned in the world, could not have had a more wisely careful friend. Violet never guessed how it was that she was generally free to walk with Mr. Trueman, nor why Mr. Clinker always fell to the lot of Mrs. Ironwood herself. "She must be very fond of him," thought the girls. And Magnus was careful, too, in a way, and would by no means present everybody he knew to his two young sisters.

So within that twofold invisible fence Violet and Rose moved joyously on, and had—as they wrote home—"the very loveliest time that girls could."

And it became plain to lynx-eyed Mrs. Congressman, that Magnus soon ceased to be the only grey figure on the horizon. His walks with other girls were borne meekly; and the days when he was on guard called forth less lamentation. In short (in the prettiest sort of way) the cadet fever had claimed our two young Westerners. As how should it not, when they were in such demand? Men did not stand round them to see "what those girls would do next," the poorest sort of a compliment; but came for the real liking and appreciation of the fair womanliness, of which even faulty men have an idea—or an ideal. Then fresh common sense is very pleasant when you find it; and if Rose was thought too sensible by some—or too sedate, Violet was as full of fun and frolic as any young, unspoiled nature ought to be; so they set each other off. But the fun was not pointed with slang, nor did the frolic show out in shrieks of laughter, or in familiar ways. It never occurred to either of them that it was witty to say "Get out!" or ladylike to beg for buttons and buckles. Or interesting, to give a kiss to some man who was unmannerly enough to ask it. But nobody dared that of them.

Mrs. Ironwood's "sleepy" eyes saw all these things; saw also, by degrees, some others. She could tell, to a time, how often Cadet-Captain Trueman had walked with Violet, as also that Violet seemed quite unconscious that he came oftener than other men.

"Great pity!" said Mrs. Ironwood in her heart, waving her fan there on the hotel piazza. "He's the best fellow living—and she's the girl of girls for him. But she hasn't a sou—and he hasn't; it would never do. I did try to keep Rose in the way—but my! he'd get round a standing army. Study, drills, examination, don't head him off one bit. A fine piece of three weeks' work! And in ten days more he graduates, and there's an end."

And just at that very time, this is what was going on among the casemates at Fort Putnam.

"Do you think you could live on a second lieutenant's pay?" Trueman was saying. "It is not much, you know—but then at first we should probably be stationed at some small one-company post, where it would not be needful to make a show."

"I have never lived where it was needful, or possible, to make a show," said Violet, with a bit of a laugh at the idea of being "stationed" anywhere. "But you know I have had no chance to think of anything yet."

"Yes, of course," said Trueman; "it's all very sudden to you. But the first minute I saw you I knew I had met my fate, and I have done nothing but think, ever since. Thinking out the fairest story that ever came into any man's heart. And I am going so soon. Write home to-night, will you, Miss Violet, and get leave to promise?"

And then with the sound of coming footsteps, the two drew apart a little, and walked decorously down the hill; Trueman screening himself carefully with Violet's blue parasol from the sun without, and she conscious only of a strange new sunlight within.

Rose, meanwhile, was having a different sort of talk with Mr. Bouché; an American, despite his French name.

He was a handsome fellow, stood well up in his class, and was proficient in more than West Point learning; but as much adrift as any unpiloted boat in all matters of faith, and some of practice. Why he sought out Rose Kindred (as he had done persistently from the day she came) it would be hard to tell, unless from that peculiar masculine contrariness which, as Mrs. Ironwood phrased it, "makes Arctic men always swear by the South Pole."

It was Mr. Bouché's special delight to get Rose away from everyone else, find her a splendid seat in some leafy nook, throw himself down on the grass where he must needs look up and so could properly gaze into her face, and then draw her into an argument. I do not know that Rose was more wedded to her opinions than other women, but she knew what she believed, which they do not all. And when the point was of importance she could fight, and fight well; zeal and love of the truth holding their own fearlessly against more polished weapons. Even as did the old "Queen's Arm" in the hand of one of her ancestors at Concord.

On this particular afternoon, every place seemed taken. Gee's Point, of course, but also the seat by the river edge, and the almost unscalable rocks, and the grey stones that lie about the way to Battery Knox.

"Never mind," Rose said. "I am not tired. I would just as leave walk."

"Tired! You? No," said Mr. Bouché; "you are the most rested creature that ever lived. But I am a lazy fellow, and I want a comfortable place, where you can lecture me."

"Upon your laziness?"

"Upon what you will. I need it all round."

"There will not be time for an all-round lecture before parade."

"Bother parade!" said Mr. Bouché. "Why need you remind a fellow of parade, just when he's happy? Here—come this way. Now we can dive through these bushes—look out for your dress, Miss Rose!—and we can sit on the rock and be out of the way of all the spoons. And Catkins himself couldn't find us."

Laughing at him, guarding her dress, following through the tangle like a true fresh-air girl, Rose presently forgot everything in the loveliness that was all about. Behind them, trees and bushes were both shade and screen; but in front there was only rock, river, and hill. The grey ledge on which they stood took a sudden dip almost at their feet, and went down, down, sheer and smooth, with little to break the line till it ended in a low fringe of riverside bushes. And the stream itself, curling rapidly round Gee's Point, went in full flow through the broadening channel towards Anthony's Nose and the "Race." One or two sailing vessels beat up against the breeze; from under the fringe of bushes came the measured dip of oars. The east-side hills, with their wavy outline, caught the full glory of the sinking sun.

"Oh, how beautiful!" Rose cried.

"Yes!" said Mr. Bouché, who had been eyeing the girl much as she studied the landscape; "just what I was thinking."

"It is like nothing I ever saw anywhere else," said Rose.

"Nor I," assented her companion.

"You see, I have never been just here before," said Rose, turning at the somewhat peculiar tone of voice. "Have you?"

"I am not sure—that I have," said Mr. Bouché, considering with himself whether certain sensations in the region of his heart could possibly (in a cadet of such wide experience) mean something new. "It rather seems to me not. What are you going to lecture me about, Miss Rose?"

"Nothing."

"Oh, yes, you are!" cried Bouché, rousing up. "That's not fair. It is in the bond that you are to lecture."

"Who signed the bond?"

"I—for self and partner," said Bouché audaciously.

"'Himself and he,'" said Rose, quoting Cowper.

"Now, that is truly unkind," said Mr. Bouché, with an injured air; "and therefore not like you, Miss Rose. And people should always speak in character. I am surprised at you. Do you believe that I never think of anybody but myself?"

"Oh, I suppose when you are speaking to me, you must be thinking of me a little," said Rose, a faint tinge coming into her cheeks as she made the admission. "Look at that eagle flying across the river."

"Let him fly—" said Bouché. "You really suppose I think of you 'a little,' then? When it's week days and Sundays, Saturdays and common days. When the reveille gun has grown sweet to my ear, because——"

"Now hush!" Rose interrupted him. "That is a good place to stop. Nothing ever yet made the reveille gun sound sweet to a cadet."

"Other cadets."

"Well, you are just another cadet," said Rose.

Bouché burst into a laugh, in spite of his efforts to look tragic.

"There," he said; "she's making fun of me. It's all up. I am only 'just another cadet.' One more in her train. Only so many additional bell buttons, and a pair of chevrons thrown in."

"Who is the professor of nonsense here?" Rose demanded. "I never saw such proficients as you cadets are, in all my life. Have you had forty pages to learn? and are you trying them off on me? Very well recited, Mr. Bouché."

"It isn't at all. You are getting off grinds on me the whole time, and that's not fair. I should think conscientious scruples would hinder you."

"Conscientious scruples?"

"Yes," said Bouché. "The way you throw away opportunities tries even my conscience. You see, Miss Rose, I never had folks to stand round me and keep me straight. I've been a Topsy boy, all my life."

"Topsy-turvy?" suggested Rose.

Bouché drew a deep sigh.

"There it goes again," he said; "I shall have to take it, I suppose. But I guess it's true. And now, when somebody has a chance to set me right, she don't do it."

"What could she do?" Rose asked, seriously now.

"For one thing, she could take a long, long walk with me on Sunday. Keep me out of mischief the whole afternoon."

"You mistake, Mr. Bouché," said Rose, turning her clear, grave eyes upon him. "Getting into mischief one's self, never helps anybody else out."

"How would you get in?" Bouché said eagerly. "I'd max it on care of you."

"Ah, yes, I do not doubt. But—I was not brought up so," Rose said, hesitating over her words. "At home, Sunday is such a special, set-apart, happy day. We never take it for common things."

"It would be a very special and happy day for me, if you would take the walk," said Bouché. "Of course you would count it 'common' doings to go with me, any day."

"It is not fair to twist my words," said Rose, looking troubled.

"Then if it would be uncommon, you can go. You are throwing down opportunities, Miss Rose. I'll take you to some remote, far-wilderness corner, and you shall preach to me till the drum beats. I'm as meek as skim-milk on Sunday. Why, if you only tell me to take my cap and go to chapel, I shall do it."

"But you have to do that."

"You'd better believe I wouldn't be there else," said Bouché. "But I'll listen to you a quarter longer than we give the chaplain."

"I do not think you will—for I shall not speak, on Sunday," said Rose.

"Not speak! Turning into 'a sweet, silent Carthusian,' and thinking up hard things to say to me on Monday."

Rose did not at once answer.

"Mr. Bouché," she said, "I think you make a great mistake about the chapel."

"It's the biggest-sized mistake to make me go there."

"But if you went willingly, you would forget all about being made to go," said Rose.

How Bouché laughed! Rose coloured a little, but stood her ground.

"I mean," she said, "the bonds you strive against are the ones that press hard."

"Good beginning," said the cadet, controlling himself. "Go on, Miss Rose."

"Well," she said, "then you need not have laughed at me quite so much. But somebody says, there are two ends to a sermon."

"Only one here," said Bouché, "and that's at the beginning."

"Two ends," Rose went on steadily; "the human and the Divine, the text and the preacher. If you begin with the preacher, one man may not like him, and another one may——"

"That man hasn't reported yet," Bouché interrupted her.

"And it would be just the same," Rose said, "if an angel came and preached to you. Some men would be sure to criticise him, and study the length of his wings."

"Wishing he'd use 'em to fly away with; that would be me, every time—unless he wore your bonnet."

"So the best speaker would not please you all," Rose concluded. "But if you would begin with the text, you could not dispute that authority, nor question that style. You would not dare to criticise it. And if you were studying the text all the way through, no sermon could seem dull, because it would have such living light upon it, from the Lord's own living words."

There was such a light and glow on the girl's own face, that Mr. Bouché gazed at her with evident admiration.

"All depends," he said. "Give me my particular angel for the preacher, and the text may go."

"Mr. Bouché," said Rose, rising up, "I am sure I heard a drum."

"You can always hear a drum here, any time of day or night."

"Not that drum; listen!"

"Happy drum to be listened to."

"But seriously, we must walk on; you will be late."

"'One private absent.' Hard on the Com. But it's not imminent yet, Miss Rose."

"Why, you do not look!" said Rose. "See how the shadow lies on the river. Please go! Just run on; never mind me."

"Never mind you!" said Bouché, taking leisurely steps at her side. "Not if I know it."

"Mr. Bouché, you will be late."

"Like enough. The first sergeant of D Company will tell it with his hand on his heart, regretfully adding: ''Tis true, 'tis pity; pity 'tis, 'tis true.' And old Powder Flask will jump for joy in his regulation shoes."

"What for?"

"The chance of skinning me for the ninety-ninth time this week."

"Well, I'll not be responsible for his joy," said Rose. "Good-bye!" And as they came to one of the many cross-paths that led towards the plain, Rose suddenly turned up the ascent, running so lightly and easily that it was almost as pretty to see as the regular double-time. Bouché stood open-eyed for a second, and then came up with her, fuming.

"Now this is atrocious, preposterous, unheard of!" he said. "I don't care a button for a 'late.'"

"Well, you should," said Rose, laughing round at him, keeping her pace and her breath admirably. "And this might turn into a cold absence. You ought to care. Magnus says discipline counts. There's a different sort of text for you."

"I vow!" said Bouché. "Don't you give me any of his wise sayings, or I'll punch his head when I get back to barracks, the first thing."

"Not the first," said Rose with a gay laugh, as they reached the edge of the open, "Look! there goes the band. Run, Mr. Bouché!"

"As if I hadn't been running!" said Bouché, much aggrieved. "Miss Rose, I'll owe you one better for this."

And then, run he did.