The puzzled expression in Andrew Sevier's face deepened. Of course he had
become more or less accustomed to the interest which his work had caused
to be attached to his personality, and this was not the first time he had
had a stranger read the poet into the man on first sight. They had even
gone so far as to expect him to talk in blank verse he felt sure,
especially when his admirer had been a member of the opposite and fair
sex, but a thing like this had never happened to him before. It was, at
the least, disturbing to have a lovely woman rise out of the major's very
hearthstone and claim him as a familiar spirit with the exquisite
frankness of a child. It smacked of the wine of wizardry. He glanced at
her a moment and was on the point of making a tentative inquiry when the
major came into the room.

"Well, Andy boy, you're in from the fields, I see. How's the farm? Every
thing shipshape?" As he spoke the major shot a keen glance from under his
beetling old brows at the pair and wisely let the situation develop
itself.

Andrew answered his salutation promptly, then turned an amused glance
on the girl at his side.

"He isn't going to introduce us," she laughed with a friendly little look
up into his face. "I ought to have done it myself when you did, but I was
so astonished--and relieved to find you. I'm Caroline Darrah Brown."

The words were low and laughing and warm with a sweet friendliness, but
they crashed through the room like the breath of a swarm of furies.
Andrew Sevier's face went white and drawn on the instant, and every
muscle in his body stiffened to a tense rigidity. His dark eyes narrowed
themselves to slits and glowed like the coals.