Hamlin hesitated, watching the boy disappear.

“At the Palace—­the dance hall across the street?” he asked incredulously.

“Sure,” indifferently, relighting his pipe.  “Officers’ ball; couldn’t break in with a can-opener unless you had a invite.  Guards at both ends, sergeant taking tickets, an’ Third Regiment Band makin’ music.  Hell of a swell affair; got guests here from Leavenworth, Wallace, and all around.  Every room I got is full an’ runnin’ over—­say, there are fellars over thar in them fool swaller-tail coats; damned if there ain’t.  If the b’ys ever git sight of ’em on the street there ’ll be a hot time.  Say, ain’ that the limit?  Injuns out thar thick as fleas on a dog, an’ them swells dancin’ here in swaller-tails like this yere was Boston.”

He was still talking when Hamlin crossed the narrow hall and entered the dimly-lighted, unoccupied parlor.  The side window was open, a slight breeze rustled the heavy curtain, and the Sergeant stepped outside on to the dark porch.  There was a bench close to the rail and he sat down to wait.  A gleam of light from the Palace fell across the western end, but the remainder of the porch lay in shadow, although he could look up the street, and see the people jostling back and forth in front of the Poodle Dog.  The sound of mingled voices was continuous, occasionally punctuated by laughter, or an unrestrained outburst of profanity.  Once shots echoed from out the din, but created no apparent excitement, and a little later a dozen horsemen spurred recklessly through the street, scattering the crowd, their revolvers sputtering.  Some altercation arose opposite and a voice called loudly for the guard, but the trouble soon ceased with the clump of hoofs, dying away in the distance, the regimental band noisily blaring out a waltz.  Hamlin, immersed in his own thoughts, scarcely observed the turmoil, but leaned, arms on railing, gazing out into the darkness.  Something mysterious from out the past had gripped him; he was wondering how he should greet her when she came; speculating on her purpose in sending for him.

It seemed as though he waited a long time before the curtain at the window was thrust aside and the lady emerged, the slight rustling of her dress apprising him of her presence.  The curtain still held slightly back by her hand permitted the light from within to reflect over her figure, revealing in softened outline the beauty of her features, the flossy brightness of her hair.  She was in evening dress, a light shawl draping her shoulders.  An instant she paused in uncertainty, striving to distinguish his face; then stepped impulsively forward, and held out her hands.

“I have kept you waiting, but you must forgive that, as I came as soon as I could manufacture an excuse.  Won’t you even shake hands with me?”

“Is it necessary?” he asked, almost wearily.  “You have come to me for some purpose surely, but it can hardly be friendship.”