her knight-errant across the desert, guard her from privations and
hardships, and crown himself with her smiles. If she was poor, he
might--well, he would not speculate upon that; it was too dizzying.

We must say a word as to his history in order to show why he was so shy
and sensitive. He had been through West Point, confined himself while
there closely to his studies, gone very soon into active service, and so
seen little society. The discipline of the Academy and three years in the
regular army had ground into him the soldier's respect for superiors. He
revered his field officers; he received a communication from the War
Department as a sort of superhuman revelation; he would have blown himself
sky-high at the command of General Scott. This habit of subordination,
coupled with a natural fund of reverence, led him to feel that many
persons were better than himself, and to be humble in their presence. All
women were his superior officers, and the highest in rank was Clara Van
Diemen.

Well, hurrah! he was to march under her to California! and the thought
made him half wild. He would protect her; he would kill all the Indians in
the desert for her sake; he would feed her on his own blood, if necessary.

As he considered these proper and feasible projects, the audacious thought
which he had just tried to expel from his mind forced its way back into
it. If the Van Diemen estate were insolvent, if this semi-divine Clara
were as poor as himself, there was a call on him to double his devotion to
her, and there was a hope that his worship might some day be rewarded.

How he would slave and serve for her; how he would earn promotion for her
sake; how he would fight her battle in life! But would she let him do it?
Ah, it seemed too much to hope. Poor though she was, she was still a