Only twice did Maud Maxwell receive letters from Dr. Beaumont during the months that followed that memorable morning when the companies started out on their long march. One was from Quebec, in which he gave details of the journey and an account of the dance at the Citadel, but he made no mention of his meeting with the beautiful Louise de Rochefort. On the whole, the letter, to Maud's mind, seemed cool. At this she felt piqued, more than she cared to acknowledge to herself. The devotion declared by the ardent lover on leaving, notwithstanding the coolness with which she had received it, seemed scarcely to be adequately sustained. Why so sudden a change? Had he forgotten her already? Was he contented to woo nature in the wild woods of the west, in place of the maiden to whom he had so recently declared his passion?

But the next letter from Montreal was more cheering, for although the canny Scotch, inherited from his mother, seemed, in the first part of the letter, to have thrown a damper upon his passion, the conclusion was in better form. There was a warmer ring—a plea for the future—a touch of genuine sentiment. "You may not think of me," he said, "or if you do, only as one whose presence is not missed; but I think of you as my guiding star, my beacon light, urging me onward through the forest—over ice and snow—along river and lake—to a little spot in the west which is to be my home and, please God, yours also." Then he signed himself: "By all that is holy," as one "who will ever be true."

The coolness of the one letter, followed by the renewed passion in the other, had a good effect upon Maud. Although she read the latter a little indignantly and laid it aside, before long she took it up and read it again.

"He has no business to write me in that strain," she commented to herself. "So cool at first, and, then almost as if we were betrothed; when there is really nothing between us. Still, I do not dislike him. He is such an independent fellow, and so strong and true." And, although her eye flashed, she heaved a little sigh.

It was the beginning of April—the very time that the men were pitching their first camp on the bay of Penetang, and she speculated much about the Doctor and Mrs. Manning.

"If he had only remained in Halifax," she soliloquized, "I would have done my best to be her companion. I am sure I am strong enough." And seizing hold of a horizontal bar, placed at the end of her room, she drew herself up with both hands and placed her chin above it, repeating the exercise several times until she was tired. "Colonel Mason says I am a good shot, too."

"At it again!" exclaimed her sister Eugenia, who at this moment entered the room. "I consider such exercises exceedingly indelicate for a young lady. To think of a daughter of Judge Maxwell gesticulating and throwing her limbs about in such a wild way is simply shocking."

"You are about the only person who has the opportunity of being shocked by my gymnastics," said Maud, elevating her eyebrows. "It cannot be such a dreadful thing or Dad would never have had the bar put up for me."

"You were a spoilt child, and he just humored you."

"Bless the dear man for doing it. Come now, Eugenia, just try it once. You've no idea how delightful it is to pull yourself up on this cross-bar."

"How dare you ask me? I couldn't think of such a thing." And the large blonde tried ineffectually to look severe.

"Oh, yes you could; and what's more, I've something interesting to tell you. Still, I shan't say a word unless you try my bar."

"What impudence!"

"You know the conditions," said Maud, commencing to put on her hat. "It's quite easy to try. You can keep your feet so close together that a cat couldn't see between them. All you have to do is to hold on and pull yourself up. See, even with my coat on I can chin the bar with one hand. You surely can with two."

"Don't be silly!"

"Bah! it's just the finest exercise."

"But what's your secret, Maud, without this silly nonsense?"

"If you try my bar I'll tell you."

"And won't you if I don't?"

"Not while water runs nor grass grows," said Maud in mock solemnity, buttoning on her gloves.

With an air of resignation Eugenia walked up to the pole. She was taller and heavier than Maud. Consequently, when she stretched out her long arms and took hold, her knees bent ungracefully a foot above the floor. Maud slipped behind her sister to hide her amusement.

"Now, draw yourself up with all your might," she cried. "You must put your chin on top of the pole."

"I can't!" exclaimed Eugenia, who, with all her tugging, could only raise herself a few inches and then let herself suddenly down again.

"You must!" said Maud; "any child could do better than that."

After another strenuous effort Eugenia stopped in disgust.

"There," she exclaimed, sitting down to rest. "I have humored you in your childish folly, what have you to say to repay me for my trouble?"

"Well," returned Maud, unbuttoning her coat and taking a seat opposite her sister. "It's about Captain Morris. When I was at Pennington's last night he was there. From pure accident we were alone in the library for a short time, and he proposed to me."

"Humph! that's the third young man who has been silly enough to do it already this year."

"I can't help that," said Maud, gravely. "If they have no better sense than to be enamored with my poor face, I am sure I am not responsible."

"You are not, eh? And what was your decision this time?"

"Just what you might expect. After declaring the grand passion, instead of asking for a return of his love, he requested permission to at once ask father for my hand. I suppose that's the English way of doing it."

"And what did you say to that?"

"That my surprise was very great, I couldn't think of such a thing, and that I was too young and inexperienced even to dream of love."

"Captain Morris is of good family and very wealthy," said Eugenia, reflectively. "His father left a fine estate in the south of England, I understand; and the Captain is his eldest son and heir."

"I don't care what estates he has," was Maud's quick rejoinder; "if I ever marry a man it must be for what he is, not what he has."

"Very true, my dear," returned Eugenia, who viewed things generally from a material standpoint. "Quite correct sentiments, but I have sometimes noticed that incidental fortunes are not necessarily a bar to matrimony. Usually they are the reverse. And Captain Morris himself is irreproachable."

"I know that he's nice and all that," said Maud, "and has charming manners. I expect his regiment will remain here for a long time yet, as all the troops have been ordered to the front, so I shall have ample opportunities of seeing him again."

"Well, my impression is that he is the best of the lot, and when desirous of winning your hand you should give him the chance——"

"Of winning my heart?"

"Certainly. Another thing, it is not a bit fair to entangle so many men, and then throw them overboard one after another."

"But, my dear, I don't wish to entangle them. If they cannot control themselves it is surely not my fault."

"Don't talk nonsense, Maud. You know very well it is not your face that does it."

"'Pon my word, am I so ugly as all that?" interrupted Maud, with seeming surprise.

"It is your manner and what they call your character," said Eugenia, with attempted severity.

"Well, Eugenia, I wish you'd leave me to myself. I really like them all. I can tell you candidly that I have not positively refused any of them, and they are still my friends."

"And how long is this condition to last?"

"Ask me a year hence and I will tell you." And with a flushed face Maud left the room.