ssing affairs of state that he could find no room for
individual cases in his memory." However, he referred him to the
Secretary of War, with a request that the latter would look into the
matter. By dint of persistent inquiries at various sources, Harold
finally ascertained that the prisoner had a few days previously been
released, upon the assurance of the surgeon at the fort, that his
failing health required his immediate removal. Inquiry had been made
into the circumstances leading to his arrest; made too late, however, to
benefit the victim of a State mistake, whose delicate health had already
been too severely tried by the discomforts attendant upon his
situation. However, enough had been ascertained to leave but little
doubt as to his innocence; and Arthur, with the ghastly signs of a rapid
consumption upon his wan cheek, was dismissed from the portals of a
prison, which had already prepared him for the tomb.

Harold hastened to Vermont, whither he knew the invalid had been
conveyed. It was toward the close of the first autumn day that he
entered the little village, upon whose outskirts was situated the farm
of his dying friend. The air was mild and balmy, but the voices of
nature seemed to him more hushed than usual, as if in mournful unison
with his own sad reveries. He had passed on foot from the village to the
farm-house, and when he opened the little white wicket, and walked along
the gravelled avenue that led to the flower-clad porch, the willows on
either side seemed to droop lower than willows are used to droop, and
the soft September air sighed through the swinging boughs, like the
prelude of a dirge.

Arthur was reclining upon an easy-chair upon the little porch, and
beside him sat a venerable lady, reading from the worn silver-clasped
Bible, which rested on her lap. The lady rose when he approached; and
Arthur, whose gaze had been wandering among the autumn clouds, that
wreathed the points of the far-off mountains, turned his head languidly,
when the footsteps broke his dream.

He did not rise. Alas! he was too weak to do so without the support of
his aged mother's arm, which had so often cradled him in infancy and had
now become the staff of his broken manhood. But a beautiful and happy
smile illumined his pale lips, and spread all over the thin and wasted
features, like sunlight gleaming on the grey surface of a church-yard
stone. He lifted his attenuated hand, and when Harold clasped it, the
finge