An Apache Princess

But Graham went straightway to the quarters of Captain Wren, a rough

pencil copy of that most unusual paper in his hand. "R-robert Wren,"

said he, as he entered, unknocking and unannounced, "will ye listen to

this? Nay, Angela, lass, don't go." When strongly moved, as we have

seen, our doctor dropped to the borderland of dialect.

In the dim light from the shaded windows he had not at first seen the

girl. She was seated on a footstool, her hands on her father's knee,

her fond face gazing up into his, and that strong, bony hand of his

resting on her head and toying with the ribbon, the "snood," as he

loved to call it, with which she bound her abundant tresses. At sound

of the doctor's voice, Janet, ever apprehensive of ill, had come forth

from the dining room, silver brush and towel in hand, and stood at the

doorway, gazing austerely. She could not yet forgive her brother's

friend his condemnation of her methods as concerned her brother's

child. Angela, rising to her full height, stood with one hand on the

back of her father's chair, the other began softly stroking the

grizzled crop from his furrowed forehead.

No one spoke a word as Graham began and slowly, to the uttermost

line, read his draft of Blakely's missive. No one spoke for a moment

after he had finished. Angela, with parted lips and dilated eyes, had

stood at first drinking in each syllable, then, with heaving bosom,

she slowly turned, her left hand falling by her side. Wren sat in

silence, his deep-set eyes glowering on the grim reader, a dazed look

on his rugged face. Then he reached up and drew the slim, tremulous

hand from his forehead and snuggled it against his stubbly cheek, and

still he could not speak. Janet slowly backed away into the darkness

of the dining room. The situation had softening tendencies and Janet's

nature revolted at sentiment. It was Graham's voice that again broke

the silence.

"For a vain carpet knight, 'whose best boast was to wear a braid of

his fair lady's hair,' it strikes me our butterfly chaser has some

points of a gentleman," said he, slowly folding his paper. "I might

say more," he continued presently, retiring toward the hall. Then,

pausing at the doorway, "but I won't," he concluded, and abruptly

vanished.

An hour later, when Janet in person went to answer a knock at the

door, she glanced in at the parlor as she passed, and that peep

revealed Angela again seated on her footstool, with her bonny head

pillowed on her father's knee, his hand again toying with the glossy

tresses, and both father and child looked up, expectant. Yes, there

stood the young adjutant, officially equipped with belt and sword and

spotless gloves. "Can I see the captain?" he asked, lifting his natty

kepi, and the captain arose and strode to the door.