The face of the dead young officer coming towards him out of the blue smoke rose as vividly as on that memorable day.

The picture and letter he had taken from the dead man's breast, which he had retained ever since; the romantic and fruitless quest he had made for the fair original in after days; and the strange and fateful interest in her which had grown up in his heart since then, he now knew had only been lulled to sleep in the busy preoccupation of the last six months, for it all came back to him with redoubled force.
His present mission and its practical object, his honest zeal in its pursuit, and the cautious skill and experience he had brought to it, all seemed to be suddenly displaced by this romantic and unreal fantasy.
Oddly enough it appeared now to be the only reality in his life, the rest was an incoherent, purposeless dream.
"Is--is--Miss Sally married ?" he asked, collecting himself with an effort.
"Married?
Yes, to that farm of her aunt's! I reckon that's the only thing she cares for." Courtland looked up, recovering his usual cheerful calm.

"Well, I think that after luncheon I'll pay my respects to her family.

From what you have just told me the farm is certainly an experiment worth seeing.

I suppose your father will have no objection to give me a letter to Miss Dows ?".