started up, stared at Rand, then fell back with a gasp of
relief, and the water in his eyes.

"Lewis? Thank the Lord!"

"It's Lewis," said the other. "My good old fellow, did you think only to
see my ghost? Well, the comedy is over."

"Lord! it's been a long hour!" breathed his associate. "What did you do
to him, Lewis?"

"He has a ball through his shoulder. It is not serious. I don't want to
talk about it, Tom." Rand spoke abruptly, and, walking to his desk, sat
down, drew a piece of paper toward him, and dipped a quill into the
ink-well. "Is Young Isham there? He is to take this note to the house,
to Mrs. Rand."

Mocket went to find Young Isham. Rand, alone in the room, wrote in his
strong, plain hand:----

JACQUELINE:--We met an hour ago. He is slightly wounded--through
the shoulder. I tell you truth, it is in no wise dangerous. I am
unhurt.

The hand travelling across the sheet of paper paused, and Rand sat for a
moment motionless, looking straight before him; then, with an indrawn
breath, he dipped the quill again into the ink and wrote on,----

He fired into the air.

Thine, Lewis.

He sanded the paper, folded and sealed it, sat for a moment longer,
leaning back in his heavy chair, then rose and himself gave the missive
to Young Isham, with orders to make no tarrying between the office and
the house on Shockoe Hill. Rand's slaves had for him a dog-like
affection combined with a dog-like fear of his eye in anger. The boy
went at once, and the master returned to the waiting Tom. "The
Washington stage is in," he said. "I am going now to the Eagle, and you
had best come with me. Then back here, and to work! Where is that man
from the Bienville at Norfolk?"

"He's waiting at the Indian Queen. I can get him here in ten minutes.
This morning's Argus says that the Bienville of New Orleans sails on
Saturday--valuable cargo and no passengers."

"Ah," said Rand; "the Argus's eyes are heavy."

"A half-breed hunter was here this morning. He says that, ten days ago,
crossing the Endless Mountains with his face to the east, he met the
great hunter they call Golden-Tongue walking very fast, with his face to
the west. Learning that he was on his way to Richmond, Golden-Tongue
gave him this to be delivered in silence to you." Mocket took from the
table a feather and held it out to the other.

"A blackbird feather," exclaimed Rand, turning it over in his hand.
"That would mean--that would