where lay his patient, so guarded that he never once saw her face.
Before the earliest risers were called to the long breakfast hall there
echoed the cry of a little child in the southern cottages--a girl baby
that opened its eyes first in an atmosphere of secrecy and mystery.

* * * * *

Sixteen years had gone by. It was the eighth of January, and the Capitol
Hotel at Frankfort was a blaze of military glory. It was the annual
commemorative ball, and Strauss' band was pouring forth inspiring
strains, as the dancers, in fancy costumes of every age and clime,
flitted to and fro. The beauty, wealth and chivalry of Kentucky were
there. The stars and stripes were draped about the speaking portraits
of dead heroes, and munitions of war glittered on every side.

Among those wearing the neat broadcloth evening dress of the plain
American citizen was Dr. Egbert Mason, the famous surgeon, now a
distinguished looking man of thirty-five. It was rather late in the
evening when he appeared, and he was soon captured by his friend,
the Hon. Leslie Walcott, who bore the distinction of being the youngest
member of the House, and presented to Miss Eleanor Carleton, the most
popular of all the belles and beauties on the floor. Her dress was an
exquisite personation of the stars and stripes, from the crown of stars
on her golden brown hair, to the gaily ribboned white satin slipper. Her
white muslin skirts showed the red stripes at intervals; a soft blue
sarcanet sash across her breast was stamped with the outstretched wings
of the American eagle, and in every detail this unique costume was
alluring to a degree.

Dr. Mason was more than impressed by her extreme youth, in its setting