Nell of Shorne Mills

Drake's face grew expressionless in an instant.

--"Sir Richard--or--was it Sir Joseph--Blake? He took the first for

shorthorns in seventy-eight."

Drake drew a sigh of relief.

"No relation of mine, Sir William, I regret," he said.

"No? Same name, too. Funny! But there are a good many Blakes. So you're

going to run off with the belle of Shorne Mills, eh? Lucky fellow!"

With a chuckle he ambled off to his wife, to be sent to some one else,

and Drake bent to Nell.

"Come!" was all he said, and he put his arm round her. The floor was

good, the band from the garrison town knew its business, and Nell----Was

he surprised that she should dance so well? Was not every ordinary

movement of hers graceful? But the fact that she could dance like an

angel, as he put it to himself, did not make his love for her any the

less or his pride in her diminish, be certain. He himself had been the

best dancer in his regiment, and this, his first waltz with the girl he

adored, sent the blood spinning through his veins.

"Aren't we in step rather--nicely?" she whispered, trying to speak

casually, but failing utterly; for the joy that throbbed in her heart

made it impossible for her to keep her voice steady. "Oh, Drake, I--I

was afraid that I might not be able to dance, it is so long--ever so

long--since----Why, this is my first real ball, and I am dancing with

you! And how well you waltz! But you have danced so often--this is not

your first ball!"

He glanced at her with a pang of uneasiness, but her eyes shone up at

him innocent of any other meaning than the simplest one, innocent of any

doubt of him, any question of his past.

"He would be a rank duffer who couldn't dance with you, Nell," he said.

Her hand tightened on his with the faintest pressure, and she closed her

eyes with a happy sigh.

"If it could only go on forever!" was her thought; and she prayed that

no other man might want her to dance, for a long time.

She would have liked to sit out the dances she could not have with

Drake, to sit and watch him. And she would not be jealous. Why should

she be? Was he not her very own, her sweetheart, the man who loved her?

The waltz came to an end all too soon, and as Drake led her to a seat,

young Maltby approached her with two young fellows. She was the

prettiest girl in the room, though she was the simplest dressed, and the

men were anxious to secure her.