Cameron, have you another girl somewhere, you're flirting with?"
"Yes," he answered, slowly, coming closer and his voice dropping to a whisper, "and her name is Death."
"Why, Ben!" Marion gasped, placing her trembling hand unconsciously on his arm, a faint flush mantling her cheek and leaving it white.
"What do you mean?" asked the mother in low tones.
"Nothing that I can explain. I only wish to warn you both never to ask me such questions before any one."
"Forgive me," said Marion, with a tremor. "I didn't think it serious."
Ben pressed the little warm hand, watching her mouth quiver with a smile that was half a sigh, as he answered:
"You know I'd trust either of you with my life, but I can't be too careful."
"We'll remember, Sir Knight," said the mother. "Don't forget, then, to-morrow—and spend the evening with us. I wish I had one of Marion's new dresses done. Poor child, she has never had a decent dress in her life before. You know I never look at my pretty baby grown to such a beautiful womanhood without hearing Henry say over and over again—'Beauty is a sign of the soul—the body is the soul!'"
"Well, I've my doubts about your improving her with a fine dress," he replied, thoughtfully. "I don't believe that more beautifully dressed women ever walked the earth than our girls of the South who came out of the war clad in the pathos of poverty, smiling bravely through
