The Colonel, who knew her well enough by sight, raised his cap and, stopping a moment, asked courteously after her health.
"I am better," replied Mrs.Lawrence, "and I want to thank you for your kindness in letting me stay in the quarters.

I will not trespass any longer than I can help." "May I ask," said the Colonel, kindly, "if you have any friends with whom I could help you to communicate ?" Mrs.Lawrence smiled as she answered: "I have relatives, if that is what you mean.

But I do not care to communicate with them.

Please understand me that I do not, for a moment, admit that my husband is a deserter." "I wish I could think he was not," said Colonel Fortescue, "but unfortunately, his misconduct----" Colonel Fortescue caught himself; he had done what he seldom did--used the wrong word.

Mrs.Lawrence struggled feebly to her feet, the divine obstinacy of a loving woman shining in her melancholy eyes.
"Stop!" she cried, "I can't allow any one, even the Colonel of the regiment, to disparage my husband before my face." "I beg your pardon," said Colonel Fortescue, "I regret the word I used." Mrs.Lawrence, inclining her head, sank, rather than sat, upon the bench.
"Perhaps I should not have spoken so," she said, in a composed voice, "as my husband was only a private, and you are the Colonel; but I think you understand that I was neither born nor reared to this position." "I do understand," replied Colonel Fortescue, "and some one has done you a very great wrong in bringing you to this post; but you may depend upon it that neither you nor your child shall suffer for the present, and I hope you will soon be well." [Illustration: "Neither you nor your child shall suffer for the present."] "It is my heart that is more ill than my body," replied Mrs.Lawrence, and the Colonel passed on.
The tragedy of a desertion is very great, and as Colonel Fortescue said, tragedies grow more intense in the fierce cold of winter, and Mrs.Lawrence and the beautiful little boy were, in themselves, living tragedies.