The major seated himself, wrote, erased, interlined, rewrote, and
finally handed to the lieutenant a sheet of letter-paper, of which
nearly a page was covered with the major's very characteristic
chirography.

"By gracious, major!" exclaimed the lieutenant, his face having
lightened perceptibly during the perusal of the letter, "that's
magnificent! I declare, it puts hope into me; and yet, confound it, it's
plaguy like marching under some one else's colors."

"Never mind, my boy, copy it, sign it, and send it over, and don't hope
too much."

The romantic young brave copied the letter carefully, line for line; he
spoilt several envelopes in addressing one to suit him, and then
dispatched the missive by the major's servant, laying the rough draft
away for future (and probably sorrowful) perusal.

The morning hours lagged dreadfully. Both warriors smoked innumerable
cigars, but only to find fault with the flavor thereof.

The lieutenant tried to keep his heart up by relating two or three
stories, at the points of each of which the major forced a boisterous
laugh, but the mirth upon both sides was visibly hollow. Dinner was set
at noon, the usual military dinner-hour, but little was consumed, except
a bottle of claret, which the major, who seldom drank, seemed to
consider it advisable to produce.

The after-dinner cigar lasted only until one o'clock; newspapers by the