Garrison made some absent-minded, commonplace answer. His eyes were
kindling strangely as he watched the oncoming filly. His blood was
surging through him. Unconsciously, his hands became ravenous for the
reins. A vague memory was stirring within him. And then the girl had
swung her mount beside the carriage, and Major Calvert, with all the
ceremonious courtesy of the South, had introduced her.

She was a slim girl, with a wealth of indefinite hair, now gold, now
bronze, and she regarded Garrison with a pair of very steady gray eyes.
Beautiful eyes they were; and, as she pulled off her gauntlet and bent
down a slim hand from the saddle, he looked up into them. It seemed as
if he looked into them for ages. Where had he seen them before? In a
dream? And her name was Desha. Where had he heard that name? Memory was
struggling furiously to tear away the curtain that hid the past.

"I'm right glad to see you," said the girl, finally, a slow blush coming
to the tan of her cheek. She slowly drew away her hand, as, apparently,
Garrison had appropriated it forever.

"The honor is mine," returned Garrison mechanically, as he replaced his
hat. Where had he heard that throaty voice?



CHAPTER V.

ALSO A READY-MADE HUSBAND.

A week had passed--a week of new life for Garrison, such as he had never