The long wait for the coming of the big transports with the regulars was over. For the first time in history America was sending her soldiery past the pyramids and through the Indian sea, landing them, after forty days and nights of voyaging, upon the low, flat shores that hem Manila Bay, and shoving them out to the hostile front before their sea-legs could reach the swing and stride of the marching step; yet, to all appearance, as unconcernedly at home as though they had been campaigning in the Philippines since the date of their enlistment. This, to be sure, in the case of more than half their number, would have given them scant time in which to look about them, since raw recruits were more numerous than seasoned men. But no matter what may be his lack of drill or preparation the average Anglo-Saxon never seems to know the time when he There were changes in the composition of the forces even before the move began. The Dudes and the “Toughs” parted company; and the former, with Stanley Armstrong once more riding silent at their head, joined forces with Stewart’s riddled regiment up the railway toward Malolos. Colonel Frost had succeeded in convincing the surgeons that he would be as out of place as his name itself in such a clime and climate, and was in daily expectation of an order home. Billy Gray, mending only slowly, had been sent to Corregidor, where the bracing breezes of the China Sea drove their tonic forces through his lungs and veins, and the faintly rising hue of coming health back into his hollow cheeks. The boy had been harder hit than seemed the case at first, said the fellows of the —teenth; but the wise young surgeon of the “Second Reserve” That something most unusual had occurred in the room of Mr. Gray the day that the sad-faced, kind old general visited the hospital at least half a dozen patients could have told; for an attendant went running for one of the women nurses, and the doctor himself hurried to the scene. It was on his arm that, half an hour later, Mrs. Garrison slowly descended the stairs, her flimsy white veil down, and silently bowed her thanks and adieux as the doctor closed the door of her carriage and nodded to the little coachman. It was the doctor who suggested to Colonel Frost that Manila air was not conducive to his wife’s recovery, and recommended Nagasaki as the place for her recuperation until he could join her and take her home. The Esmeralda bore the White Sisters over Hongkong way within a week; and they left without flourish of trumpet, with hardly the flutter of a handkerchief; for, since the battle There were two young fellows in khaki uniforms landed from the hospital launch on the back trip from Corregidor one warm March day. One wore the badge of a subaltern of the —teenth Regulars, the other the chevrons of a corporal and the hatband of a famous fighting “One of ’em’s young Gray, of the —teenth; he that was hit in the charge on the Pasay road,” said the officer of the guard to a comrade. “But who the devil’s the other? He had corporal’s chevrons on. Some fellow just got a commission, perhaps.” And that was the only way the soldier could account for a corporal riding with a commissioned officer in a general’s carriage. They had a long whirl ahead of them, these two; and the corporal told Gray, as he already had the General and Colonel Armstrong, much of the story of his friendship for “Pat” Latrobe, of that poor fellow’s illness at San Francisco, and all the trouble it cost his friend and chum. There was a strong bond And now poor Pat was gone and Prime’s father had been cabling for him to return home; “I want you, boys,” said he, “to be ready to Again the blood rose guiltily to Billy’s cheek. Not yet had he made his peace with his conscience, and that valued counselor and invaluable friend from whose good graces he seemed to have fallen entirely. Not once had opportunity been afforded in which to speak and open his heart to him. As for writing, that seemed impossible. Billy could handle almost any implement better than a pen. But even in the few minutes left him in which to think he knew that now at least he must “face the music,” like the man his father would have him be, even though it took more nerve than did that perilous dash on the Tagal works that Sunday morning. Billy would rather do that From that day until this, here on the banks of the swift-running Pasig, they had not met at all; and it seemed to Gray as though Armstrong had aged a year. There was a lump in his throat as he went straight up to the colonel, his blue eyes never flinching, though they seemed to fill, and bravely spoke. “Colonel Armstrong, I have an explanation that I owe to you. Will you give me a few minutes on the gallery?” “Certainly, Gray,” was the calm reply; and the youngster led the way. It was a broken story. It told of his desperation and misery through Canker’s persecution, of his severe illness, then of the utter weakness and prostration; then her coming, and with her “But how was it—what was it that so utterly crushed her?” asked Billy, when the colonel had once more extended his hand. “The evidences of her own forgery, her own guilt,” said Armstrong gravely. “One was the order she wrote in excellent imitation of her husband’s hand and signature, authorizing the changing of guard arrangements on the In the silence that followed the soldier of forty and the lad of only twenty-one sat looking gravely into each other’s face. It was Armstrong who spoke again: “Gray, it was manly in you to tell me your story and your trouble. I could help you here; “Next time?—father, do you mean?” queried Gray, a puzzled look in his blue eyes. “I hadn’t thought, do you know, to worry dear old dad—unless he asked.” Armstrong’s grave face grew dark: “You ought to know what I mean, Gray. This story may come up when least you think for, and—would you have it told Miss Lawrence before she hears it from you?” “Miss Lawrence,” answered Billy, flushing, “isn’t in the least interested.” “Do you mean that you are not—that you were not engaged to her?” The colonel had been gazing out over the swirling river; but now, with curious contraction of brows, with a strong light in his eyes, he had turned full on the young officer. “Engaged to her! Do you suppose I could have been—been such an ass if she would have had me? No! She—she had too much sense.” It was full a minute before Armstrong spoke again. For a few seconds he sat motionless, “Forgive me, lad, for I judged you more harshly than you deserved.” One lovely, summer-like evening, some five weeks later, in long, heaving surges the deep blue waves of the Pacific came lazily rolling toward the palm-bordered beach at Waikiki, bursting into snowy foam on the pebbly strand, and, softly hissing, swept like fleecy mantle up the slope of wet, hard-beaten sand, then broke, lapping and whirling, about the stone supports From a little grove of palms close to the low sea wall came the soft tinkle of guitar, and now and then a burst of joyous song, while under the spreading roof of the broad portico or lanai, the murmur of voices, the occasional ripple of musical laughter, the floating haze of cigarette smoke, told where a party of worshipers were gathered, rejoicing in the loveliness of nature and the night. It was a reunited party, too, and in the welcome of their winsome hostess, in the soft, soothing influence of that summer clime, and through the healing tonic of the long sea voyage, faces that had been saddened by deep anxiety but a few weeks gone, smiled gladness into one another now. A tall, gray-haired man reclined in an easy lounging chair, his eyes intent on the clear-cut face of a young soldier in trim white uniform who, with much animation, was telling of an event in the recent campaign. By his side, her humid eyes following his every gesture, sat a tall, dark, stylish girl, whose hand from time to time crept forth to caress his—an evident case of sister worship. Close at hand another young fellow, in spotless white, his curly head bent far forward, his elbows on his knees, his fingertips joining, was studying silently the effect of his comrade’s story on another—a fair girl whose sweet face, serene and composed, was fully illumined by the silvery light of the unclouded moon. “Coming by transport, via Honolulu”—“Gov.’s” cabled message had brought father and sister to meet “Did you hear who came with her?” he somewhat eagerly asked, “or on the Doric?” he continued, with less enthusiasm. “I did not,” was the answer—“that is, on the Sedgwick;” and the gentleman baited lamely and glanced furtively and appealingly at his wife. There was that embarrassing, interrogative silence that makes one feel the futility of concealment. It was Miss Lawrence who quickly came to his relief and dispelled the strain on the situation. “I should fancy very few army people would choose that roundabout way from Manila when they can come direct by transport, and have the ship to themselves.” “Well—er—yes; certainly, certainly,” answered the helpless master of the house, dodging There was an instant hurried glance exchanged between Gray and Prime. Then up spoke in silvery tone their hostess: “Other officers, you know, are ordered home. We have just heard to-day that Colonel Frost comes very soon. His health seems quite shattered. I believe—you knew—of them—slightly that is to say, Miss Prime, did you not?” But even with her words she cast an anxious, furtive glance along the dim reach of the lanai, for the pit-a-pat of footfalls, the swish of feminine draperies was distinctly heard. Two dainty, white-robed forms came floating into view, and, with changing color, their hostess suddenly “Dear Mrs. Marsden, how perfectly (kiss, kiss) delicious! Yes, this is the baby sister I’ve raved to you about. We go right on with the Doric; but I had to bring her out with me that you might have just one glance at her. Why! Mr. Prime! Why, what could be more charming than to find you here? And ‘Gov.’ too—you wicked boy! What won’t I do to you for never telling me you were in Manila? And Mildred!” (kiss—kiss, despite a palpable dodge and heightened color on part of the half-dazed recipient). “And you, too, Miss Lawrence?” (Both hands, but no kiss—one hand calmly accepted). “Ah, then I know how happy you are, Mr. Willie Gray!” (beaming arch smiles upon that flushed and flustered young officer. Then, turning again to twine a jeweled arm about the slim waist of their hostess, to whom she Bowing gravely to the sprite in front of him, vaguely to the group in the shaded light at the edge of the lanai, and joyously to the little hostess, as almost hysterically she sprang forward and clasped his hands, the colonel of the Primeval Dudes stood revealed before them. “Colonel Armstrong! How—when did you get here? What does this mean? Is your arm quite well again? Why didn’t you let us know you were coming?” were the questions rained upon him by Mrs. Marsden, immediately followed “Shall I answer in their order?” said he, smiling down at her flushed and joyous face. “By the Sedgwick. This afternoon. That I wished to see you. Doing quite well. Because I didn’t know myself until two days before we sailed.” Then, as he stood peering beyond her, she would have turned him to her other guests had not Mrs. Garrison made instant and impulsive rush upon him. “As fairy queen or fairy godmother I claim first speech,” she gayly cried. “What tidings of my liege lord, and where is hers, my fairy sister’s?” she demanded, waving in front of him her filmy parasol and pirouetting with almost girlish grace. “Captain Garrison was looking fairly well the day I sailed,” he answered briefly; “and Colonel Frost left for Hongkong only a few hours before in hopes, as we understood, of finding Mrs. Frost at Yokohama. Permit me,” he added, with grave courtesy. “I have but little time as I transfer to the Doric to-night.” A shade spread over the radiant face one instant, but was as quickly swept away. “And I have not met your guests,” he finished, turning to Mrs. Marsden, as he spoke, and quietly passing Mrs. Garrison in so doing. The next moment he was shaking hands with the entire party, coming last of all to Amy Lawrence. “They told me of your being here,” he said, looking straight into her clear, beautiful eyes; “and I thought I might find you at Mrs. Marsden’s. She was our best friend when we were in Honolulu. They told me, too, that you desired to go by the Doric, but feared she would be crowded,” he continued, turning to Mr. Prime. “There is one vacant stateroom now; its occupants have decided to stay over and visit the islands. There will be, I think, another.” And drawing a letter from an inner pocket he calmly turned to Nita, now shrinking almost fearfully behind her sister. “The colonel gave this to me to hand to you, Mrs. Frost, on the chance of your being here. He will arrive by next week’s steamer, and, pardon me, it is something I think you should see at It was vain for Margaret to interpose. The letter was safely lodged in her sister’s hands, and with so significant a message that it had to be opened and read without delay. Gayly excusing herself, and with a low reverence and comprehensive smile to the assembled party, she ushered her sister into the long parlor, and the curtain fell behind them. There followed a few minutes of brisk conference upon the lanai, the Marsdens pleading against, the father and daughter for, immediate return to the hotel, there to claim the vacated rooms aboard the steamer. In the eager discussion, pro and con, both young soldiers joined, both saying “go,” and promising to follow by the Sedgwick. In this family council, despite the vivid interest Armstrong felt in the result, neither Amy Lawrence nor himself took any part. Side by side at the snowy railing over the breaking sea they stood almost silent listeners. Suddenly there came from the front again the sound of hoofs and wheels, loud and distinct at “Oh, I ought to have known how it would be if I left you a moment!” she cried despairingly, on her reappearance, a little folded paper in her hand. “But at least you must stay half an hour. We can telephone direct to the dock and secure the staterooms, if go you must on the Doric. Yes,” she continued, lowering her voice, “they are not going farther until Colonel Frost comes. Mrs. Garrison explains that her sister was really too ill and too weak to come out here, but she thought the drive might do her good. She thought best to slip quietly away with her, and bids me say good-night to you all.” So, when next day the Doric sailed, four new They were nearing home again. Day and night for nearly a week the good ship had borne them steadily onward over a sea of deepest blue, calm and unruffled as the light that shone in Amy’s eyes. Hours of each twenty-four Armstrong had been the constant companion, at first of the trio, then of the two—for Mr. Prime had found a kindred spirit in a veteran merchant homeward bound from China—then of one alone; for Miss Prime had found another interest, and favor in the eyes of a young tourist paying his first visit to our shores, and so it happened that before the voyage, all too brief, was half over, Amy Lawrence and Armstrong walked the spacious deck for hours alone or sat in sheltered nooks, gazing out upon the sea. The soft, summer breezes of the first few days had given place to keener, chillier air. The fog ahead told of the close proximity of the Farallones. Heavier wraps had replaced the soft “That was the surgeons’ doing. They sent me back from the front because the wound did not properly heal, and then ordered a sea voyage until it did; but I turn back at once from San Francisco.” She was silent a few seconds. This was unlooked for and unwelcome news. “I thought,” she said, “at least Gov. heard Dr. Frank say it would be four months before you could use that arm.” She plucked at the fringe of the heavy shawl he had wrapped about her as she reclined in the low steamer chair; but the white lids veiled her eyes. “Possibly,” answered Armstrong; “but you see I do not have to use it much at any time. I’m all right otherwise, and there will soon be need of me.” “More campaigning?” she anxiously inquired, her eyes one moment uplifting. “Probably. Those fellows have no idea of quitting.” Another interval of silence. The long, lazy, rolling swell of the Pacific had changed during the day to an abrupt and tumultuous upheaval that tossed the Doric like a cork and made locomotion a problem. The rising wind and sea sent the spray whirling from her bows, and Mildred’s young man, casting about for a dry corner, had deposited his fair charge on a bench along the forward deck house and was scouting up and down for steamer chairs. Armstrong had drawn his close to that in which Miss Lawrence reclined, her knitted steamer cap pulled well forward over her brow. His feet were braced against a stanchion. His eyes were intent upon her sweet face. He had no thought for other men, even those in similar plight. His gaze, though unhampered by the high peak of his forage cap, comprehended nothing beyond the rounded outline of that soft cheek. Her eyes, well-nigh hidden by her shrouding “Eh—eh—yes. It’s not ours, I suppose you mean.” But now Amy Lawrence was beckoning, and he made a rush for the rail, then worked his way aft, hand over hand. Every movable on deck was taking a sudden slant to starboard, “Oh! that you, Shafto? Yes; take it by all means.” Anything, thought he, rather than that they should come here. The young Briton stepped easily past between them and the rail—behind there was no room—and, swinging the long, awkwardly modeled fabric to his broad shoulder, started back just as a huge wave heaved suddenly under the counter, heeled the steamer far over to port, threw him off his balance, and, his foot catching at the bottom of her chair, hurled him, load and all, straight at Amy’s reclining form. One instant, and even her uplifted hands could not have saved her face; but in that instant Armstrong had darted in, caught the stumbling Briton on one arm, and the full force of the shooting chair crashing upon the other, already pierced by Filipino lead. When, a moment later she emerged, safe and unscratched from the confused heap of men and furniture, it was to cut off instantly the stutter and stammer of poor Shafto’s apologies, to bid him go instantly for the ship’s doctor, and, with face the color of death, to turn quickly to Armstrong. The blow had burst open the half-healed wound, and the blood was streaming to the deck. Both liner and transport turned back without Stanley Armstrong, Doric and Sedgwick sailed unheeded, for the highest surgical authority of the Department of California had remanded him to quarters at the Palace and forbidden his return to duty with an unhealed wound. He was sitting up again, somewhat pallid and not too strong, but with every promise, said the “medico,” of complete recovery within two months. But not a month would Armstrong wait. The Puebla was to start within the week, and he had made up his mind. “Go,” said he, “I must.” They had been sitting about him, the night But then her heart began to flutter uncontrollably. The blood went surging to her brows, for all of a sudden, as through impulse irresistible, her hand was seized in his—in both of his, in fact—and the deep voice that had pleaded at her behest for the cause of Billy Gray was now, in impetuous flow of words that fell upon her ears like some strain of thrilling THE END. GROSSET & DUNLAP’S Desirable Editions of Popular Books The following books are printed from new, large type plates, on fine laid paper of excellent quality, and durably and handsomely bound in the best silk finished book cloth, each with a handsome and distinctive cover design. They are in every way superior to any other editions at the same price. They are for sale by all booksellers, or will be mailed by the publishers on receipt of FIFTY CENTS PER VOLUME
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